New York Magazine - USA (2019-12-23)

64 new york | december 23, 2019–january 5, 2020

Succession

How three iconic retail food shops are using

new branches—and the universal appeal of the

sandwich—to grow their brands.

by robin raisfeld and rob patronite

E

ven in a food-obsessed town like

New York, where we’re hardwired to

sniff and squeeze and inspect, grocery

shopping has transformed from take

a number to point and click, from quaint

and historic to big box and bland. We’ve

lost Balducci’s and Dean & DeLuca, plus

venerated cheese shops and bakeries. The

family businesses that remain have become

cultural artifacts, places to feed your soul as

much as your stomach. In recent months,

three of the city’s most storied establish-

ments have spun off spiffy new outposts,

engineered by the younger generations as

vehicles to navigate their legacies through

the mires of modern-day commerce, e- and

otherwise. We took a tour.

Around this time last year, iconic

appetizing shop Russ & Daughters opened a

shiny new counter and commissary kitchen

at the Brooklyn Navy Yard’s Building 77

food hall (141 Flushing Ave., nr. Vanderbilt

Ave.; 212-475-4880). For anyone who has

ever squeezed into the narrow confines of

the East Houston Street store on a weekend

or holiday or at any other time that calls

for smoked fish and a dozen bagels, the

Navy Yard fortress will come as a shock. Its

gleaming, glass-walled production kitchen

signals the culmination of the 105-year-old

brand’s transition from preeminent product

sourcer to bona fide food manufacturer.

The retailer’s future, its fourth-generation

owners believe, lies in making and shipping

its own goods in addition to supplying its

downtown shop and restaurant and uptown

museum café.

Half the fun of trekking to this concrete-

and-steel food incubator is in watching the

sausage being made (or, in this case, the

bagels and babka). The marble-clad takeout

counter is as elegantly designed as the other

locations are, with vintage family photos

and a wall of branded merch. The staff are

unfailingly friendly, if not exactly learned

menu scholars (a request for a listed but

unavailable egg cream drew blank stares),

but they take great care in assembling

the signature sandwiches. (We’ll always

have a soft spot for the Super Heebster,

an inventive layering of horseradish-dill

cream cheese, whitefish-and-baked-

salmon salad, and wasabi flying-fish roe.)

Did the machine-shaped bagels seem less

than sublime, without a notable chew to

the crust; the rugalach and hamantaschen

a bit unyielding; and the black-and-white

cookie on the dry side? Perhaps, but in

the life span of the company, the baking

operation is still in its infancy. (If you want

something sweet, we recommend the moist

honey cake or the airy, raisin-studded sweet

bun.) And the matzo-ball and mushroom-

barley soups are beyond reproach, as are the

chubby latkes, which were still warm when

we ordered them and were served with the

customary sour cream or applesauce for an

additional $1.50 each.

Sahadi’s was born in lower Manhattan’s

Little Syria in 1898; once that area was

razed to make way for the Brooklyn-Battery

Tunnel, it put down retail roots on Brooklyn’s

Atlantic Avenue. For 71 years, the Middle

Eastern bazaar resisted major expansion.

Then Industry City made the Sahadis an

offer they couldn’t refuse, and now there

is another terrific Brooklyn emporium for

bulk-bin dried fruits, nuts, seeds, spices, and

five types of feta (34 35th St., Sunset Park;

718-788-7500). New to this location are

seating, a full bar, and an expanded range of

prepared foods, including sandwiches made

on superthin Lebanese flatbread baked on a

domed griddle called a saj.

To make saj bread, according to YouTube,

you toss and twirl and generally juggle a

giant round of dough, flapping and rolling

your arms like a ’70s-era disco dancer.

When the dough is practically translucent,

you drape it over a round pillow, invert it

over the saj, and cook it until it’s crisp but

tender. If there’s an art to this process, it

has yet to be mastered at the new Sahadi’s,

where the thin bread is no match for the

hefty fillings rolled up inside it—grilled

Halloumi, harissa salmon, and curried

C. Di Palo

food

Edited by

Rob Patronite and

Robin Raisfeld

PHOTOGRAPH: SCOTT HEINS FOR NEW YORK MAGAZINE

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2619STR_Food12_lay [Print]_36348074.indd 64 12/13/19 3:39 PM

64 new york | december 23, 2019–january 5, 2020

Succession

Howthreeiconicretailfoodshopsareusing

newbranches—andtheuniversalappealofthe

sandwich—togrowtheirbrands.

byrobinraisfeldandrobpatronite

E

ven in a food-obsessedtownlike

New York, where we’rehardwiredto

sniff and squeeze and inspect,grocery

shopping has transformedfromtake

a number to point and click, from quaint

and historic to big box and bland. We’ve

lost Balducci’s and Dean & DeLuca, plus

venerated cheese shops and bakeries. The

family businesses that remain have become

cultural artifacts, places to feed your soul as

much as your stomach. In recent months,

three of the city’s most storied establish-

ments have spun off spiffy new outposts,

engineered by the younger generations as

vehicles to navigate their legacies through

the mires of modern-day commerce, e- and

otherwise. We took a tour.

Around this time last year, iconic

appetizing shop Russ & Daughters opened a

shiny new counter and commissary kitchen

at the Brooklyn Navy Yard’s Building 77

food hall (141 Flushing Ave., nr. Vanderbilt

Ave.; 212-475-4880). For anyone who has

ever squeezed into the narrow confines of

the East Houston Street store on a weekend

or holiday or at any other time that calls

for smoked fish and a dozen bagels, the

Navy Yard fortress will come as a shock. Its

gleaming, glass-walled production kitchen

signals the culmination of the 105-year-old

brand’s transition from preeminent product

sourcer to bona fide food manufacturer.

The retailer’s future, its fourth-generation

owners believe, lies in making and shipping

its own goods in addition to supplying its

downtown shop and restaurant and uptown

museum café.

Half the fun of trekking to this concrete-

and-steel food incubator is in watching the

sausage being made (or, in this case, the

bagels and babka). The marble-clad takeout

counter is as elegantly designed as the other

locations are, with vintage family photos

and a wall of branded merch. The staff are

unfailingly friendly, if not exactly learned

menu scholars (a request for a listed but

unavailable egg cream drew blank stares),

but they take great care in assembling

the signature sandwiches. (We’ll always

have a soft spot for the Super Heebster,

an inventive layering of horseradish-dill

cream cheese, whitefish-and-baked-

salmon salad, and wasabi flying-fish roe.)

Did the machine-shaped bagels seem less

than sublime, without a notable chew to

the crust; the rugalach and hamantaschen

a bitunyielding;andtheblack-and-white

cookieonthedryside? Perhaps,butin

thelifespanofthecompany, thebaking

operationis stillinitsinfancy. (Ifyouwant

somethingsweet, werecommendthemoist

honeycake ortheairy, raisin-studdedsweet

bun.)Andthematzo-ballandmushroom-

barley soupsare beyondreproach,asare the

chubbylatkes,whichwere stillwarmwhen

weorderedthemandwere servedwiththe

customarysourcreamorapplesauceforan

additional $1.50 each.

Sahadi’s was borninlowerManhattan’s

Little Syria in 1898; once that area was

razed to make way for the Brooklyn-Battery

Tunnel, it put down retail roots on Brooklyn’s

Atlantic Avenue. For 71 years, the Middle

Eastern bazaar resisted major expansion.

Then Industry City made the Sahadis an

offer they couldn’t refuse, and now there

is another terrific Brooklyn emporium for

bulk-bin dried fruits, nuts, seeds, spices, and

five types of feta (34 35th St., Sunset Park;

718-788-7500). New to this location are

seating, a full bar, and an expandedrange of

prepared foods, including sandwiches made

on superthin Lebanese flatbread bakedona

domed griddle called a saj.

To make saj bread, according toYouTube,

you toss and twirl and generallyjugglea

giant round of dough, flapping androlling

your arms like a ’70s-era discodancer.

When the dough is practically translucent,

you drape it over a round pillow, invertit

over the saj, and cook it until it’s crispbut

tender. If there’s an art to this process,it

has yet to be mastered at the newSahadi’s,

where the thin bread is no matchforthe

hefty fillings rolled up inside it—grilled

Halloumi, harissa salmon, andcurried

C. Di Palo

food

Edited by

Rob Patronite and

Robin Raisfeld

PHOTOGRAPH: SCOTT HEINS FOR NEW YORK MAGAZINE

crawl