FOOD

You won't
believe the
stories
behind your
favorite Deli
Sandwiches.

AMY J. MEHLER

Staff Writer

IlAt ho hasn't sat at
his neighborhood
Jewish delicates-
sen and puzzled
over sandwich
menus piled high with catchy,
alternative names like Jason's
Jammer; Moishe's Mazel and

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FRIDAY, MARCH 6, 1992

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Forman's Follies?
And don't forget those
sandwiches with imaginative
handles like Hannah's
Chalaluya, Dolores' Worry,
and Ronnie's That's My
Delight.
What's bugging Dolores,
anyway? Every menu at
Sara's Deli, she's worried
about something. Would you
complain if you were a
toasted, four-decker, two-
and-a-quarter pound burger
draped with tangy beef
bakon on a cushy bed of let-
tuce, tomato and Russian
dressing?
Thought not.
And what's the deal with
Ronnie at the Bread Basket?
What's he so delighted
about? (Don't you just hate
people who have some cons-
tant, secret delight?)
Don't you wish you could
just turn to your eating
partner or food server, and
ask him once and for all,
"Who are these people?" and
"What are they doing on my
sandwich?"
Delicatessen sandwiches, as
Midwesterners call them, (in
the East, they're heroes)
aren't just numbered slabs of
pastrami or sides of corned
beef nestled between warm,
(and hopefully) hand-cut
slices of Jewish rye bread.
Today, they have heart, per-
sonality, and if you're lucky
to be related to or friends
with the proprietor, one
might have your name on it.
Jason Winkler, 4-year-old
son of Alex Winkler, owner
of the Pickle Barrel on 12
Mile and Evergreen, has
such a distinction.
Jason is Mr. Winkler's
youngest son, and the big-
gest eater of his four chil-
dren.
"Huge eater," clarified his

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