THE WASHINGTON POST MAGAZINE 29multipage, plastic-bound menu: chili,
chicken, hash brown omelets, salads
galore, Reubens (and enough other
sandwiches to fill a Potbelly), “Jewish
fare” and dinners of the type that
suggest home (roast turkey, stuffed
cabbage).
Parkway’s chicken soup — with or
without a fluffy-if-undersalted matzoh
ball — I know well. While I was working
from home during the pandemic, my
significant other knew that a takeout
order from Parkway was pretty much all
I needed to power me till showtime
(okay, a dinner review). Tender chunks
or shreds of chicken packed the
container of golden broth, gently herby
and crammed with a fistful of sliced
carrots, celery, onion and egg noodles.
Every spoonful had the power of a hug.
I can understand why the gentleman
from my first sit-down dinner at
Parkway was upset about the missing
pickle bar. “It gives you something to do
while you’re waiting for your food,” says
Gurewitz. In the ’70s and ’80s, he says,
pickles and sauerkraut were brought to
the table. The welcome was later
replaced by a help-yourself refrigerated
cart and expanded to include pickled
beets, bread-and-butter “chips” and
more.
The dining room, painted in purple
and aqua, is otherwise plain and
practical. A band of mirrors lets you play
voyeur from just about every table, and a
carousel of condiments grants a flurry of
wishes: salt and pepper shakers, of
course, but also two kinds of hot sauce,
three sweeteners, plus a plastic card
promoting happy hour specials.
The dinners, served starting at 4 p.m.
every day, make me wish more such
sources existed. Slices of turkey roasted
in-house all but hide the onion-laced
cornbread stuffing that supports them.
Just like at Thanksgiving, the bounty
comes with brown gravy and cranberry
sauce. Diners select a side; lightly
dressed coleslaw or creamy macaroni
and cheese tend to round out my feast.
Cabbage stuffed with ground beef and
rice is, for some of us, as cheering as a
call from home, despite its too-sweet
tomato sauce. And I love the crunch and
the juice of the fried half-chicken. Alas,
the idea of liver and onions is better
than the reality: Thin slices of calf’s liver
that appear to have surrendered all their
juices on the grill have me consoling
myself with the crisp bacon and roasted
peppers heaped on the entree.
From top: The chicken
soup is full of carrots,
celery and egg
noodles, and can be
ordered with a
matzoh ball, as well.
Sandwiches, such as
the Reuben, are
generously
proportioned.“The menu’s so big, there’s no way the kitchen could make
everything,” a young server says when we ask about how a few
dishes are prepared. Staples including the chopped chicken
liver, knishes (both sweet) and fish and chips are made by a
food distributor. Does it necessarily matter, though? The beer-
battered cod comes from a vendor, but the tartar sauce and
slaw are from scratch. In all, a tasty combo. Similarly, the
chunky apple sauce you can get with the crisp golden potato
cakes smacks of a home kitchen, but it’s made elsewhere.
Can we talk? The blueberry pancakes are tough and the
hash browns inside the omelets are underdone. I like the
Reuben, though. Grilled rye bread packing shaved corned
beef, tangy sauerkraut, sweet Russian dressing and melted
Swiss pushes all the right buttons. Same for the affable
service, and the banter at the counter that comes from staff
knowing longtime customers. There’s something to be said for
a place that has outlasted so many other area attempts at
“deli.”
When I later talk to Gurewitz by phone, I’m startled by his