![]() While logged in and authenticated, you will not be asked to solve any complicated Recaptcha V2 challenges. In addition, all pages on Bizapedia will be served to you completely ad freeĪnd you will be granted access to view every profile in its entirety, even if the company chooses to hide the private information on their profile from the general public. Viateur bagels (headquartered in Mile End, the ethnically diverse hipster enclave for which the deli is named) through entire office will be able to use your search subscription. If you get your pick of seats, go for the lone two-top or the counter stools.Ĭonversation piece: Homesick Montrealers can order St. It does, however, offer a more palatable version from Virgil’s.Įat this: Smoked-meat sandwich, smoked-meat hash, poutine, pickles, bagelach But, as a friend reminded me, so is Schwartz’s, and that never stopped me from eating there.ĭrink this: Montreal deli purists will notice that Mile End does not carry the vile-tasting Cott’s cherry soda. It’s a tight, at times off-putting squeeze. Tables are too close together, and thanks to that awkward picnic seating, God forbid someone has to go to the bathroom. The meat runs out by 4pm or so (Mile End set up a Twitter feed to track its “meat status”). The bagelach, meanwhile, a flaky horseshoe-shaped pastry filled with sweetened pot cheese, is the closest thing Mile End has to dessert. The fries are rich and starchy, the gravy savory but not overpowering, and the cheese curds half melted, half squeaky and just right. The poutine, however, is perhaps the best I’ve ever had, here or in Montreal. The Beauty, named for a well-known luncheonette, is a bland open sandwich of smoked salmon, sliced onions, capers and cream cheese on an untoasted Montreal bagel (thinner and sweeter than its New York counterpart, and covered in sesame seeds). Other items that pay homage to his hometown do so with varying degrees of success. The quality of the meat measures up to his forebears’-it can skew a bit salty, but is otherwise assertively seasoned, smoked and marbled with melting fat. He cures his meat the old-school way, and serves his sandwiches just like Schwartz’s, small and adorned with only the mandatory mustard. The menu is short and focused, offering a small variety of sandwiches, breakfast dishes (such as the phenomenal smoked-meat hash, crisp cubed potato with softened onions and shredded smoked meat, topped with a runny egg) and sides (the house-made pickles are everything they should be-garlicky and crisp, with a lively fermented flavor). Owner Noah Bernamoff, a 27-year-old Montreal native who owns the restaurant with his wife, Rae Cohen, seems determined to keep it real. The restaurant does for Canadian cuisine what Frankies did for Italian-it’s hipsterfying it. The subway-tiled space, with its few picnic-style tables and sparse counter seating, is in line with the borough’s DIY aesthetic, and the waitresses are dressed in subdued librarian tones. Mile End showcases some of the country’s most beloved regional specialties-smoked meat, Montreal-style bagels and yes, poutine-with Brooklyn flavor: The coffee is Stumptown, the cream cheese is Ben’s, and the brisket is from Pat LaFrieda. The eatery is neither a theme park-like T Poutine on the Lower East Side, with its drunk-food motif-nor a gimmick-such as the defunct Inn at Little West 12th, with its nominal Canadian offerings. Perhaps more important, it could be the city’s first proper Canadian dining establishment. Mile End, a two-month-old restaurant in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn, may be the first restaurant to bring the Montreal deli tradition to New York City. The result, if done correctly, is flavorsome hot-pink flesh held together tenuously by creamy fat, and saturated with the taste of salt, spice and smoke. It’s brisket that’s been dry-rubbed, cured, smoked, steamed and hand-sliced. But Montreal’s deli staple isn’t so different. A New Yorker might ask: Is this really a deli?Īnd then there’s what they call the meat: “smoked meat.” Sounds awfully generic when you’re used to names like pastrami and corned beef. When I first visited Schwartz’s, Montreal’s answer to Katz’s Delicatessen, I was surprised to see a modestly portioned sandwich: a reasonable stack of meat on coaster-size rye that I could actually fit into my mouth. When New Yorkers hear the word deli, a few things come to mind, and most of them involve excess-like that mile-high Carnegie Deli behemoth.
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