Katz's Deli

Unlike the Statue of Liberty, Katz's Delicatessen is a New York landmark that New Yorkers actually go to. Around since 1888, the place has defied the Lower East Side's ongoing trendyfication.

That construction site just across Ludlow Street is not a good sign, however. Small-lot high-rises are worming their way into the neighborhood, and the fabled one-story corner deli is definitely situated on a prime piece of real estate. Perhaps that's why Katz's sandwiches go for $11.95 and a plate of fries will set you back almost four bucks: The same tenement apartment that might've cost you $400 a month 20 years ago now goes for close to two grand.

Even with those prices, Katz's is still packing them in. On a recent early Saturday evening nearly every table was filled. Those in search of some elbowroom could make a right at the water fountain where an overlooked handful of tables fill the back corner.

That gleaming Art Deco fountain symbolizes the joint's impressive nostalgia factor. Like the 1930s-ish signs outside, it's been part of my memories of the place since its spigots were beyond my reach-never mind the shelves above filled with actual glass glasses.

You still get handed a ticket at the front door, mechanically spit out of an antique machine (the same kind that greets you at the Odeon). Once upon a time, its three columns of incremental prices were hole-punched, train conductor-style to tally your purchases. Nowadays the deli-men (it's 100 percent male behind the counter) simply flip it over and grease pencil your total on the back. Don't lose that sucker, either: you'll get hit with a $50 charge if you don't hand it over at the register on your way out.

So (or nu, as my grandmother used to say), is it worth the trip Downtown? They still have a grill filled with hot dogs up front, going for $2.75 or $2.60 a pop, depending on whether you look at the neon sign behind the counter man or the shabby-looking plastic one overhead. The tubs once brimming with self-service sauerkraut sit there empty, so don't forget to have him garnish your dog. While Katz's franks don't have the snappy skin of Nathan's at Coney Island, they're nicely tender inside and far more substantial than a papaya dog. (If you're on a budget though, don't forget that two of them and a fruit drink will cost you roughly the same price as one from Katz's.) Avoid the completely ordinary $2.65 square knishes. Spend an extra dime and pick up a puffy round one that rivals Yonah Schimmel's up the street.

Those big steak fries are pricy, but worth it: slightly crisp on the outside with a soft inside akin to the consistency of mashed potatoes and (if you get them straight out of the deep fryer) volcanically hot. Even better are the jumbo potato pancakes (jumbo priced at $7.05 for a plate of three), better than my (other) grandmother used to make. Hers were terribly greasy, but Katz's are delightful, even (dare I say it?) exquisite. Their crunchy at the edges, pockmarked surface surrounds a slightly onion-seasoned and thick-textured interior. (Now if they would just serve them with more than thimblefuls of applesauce and sour cream?)

One does not go to Katz's with the hope of getting off cheap, although a perfectly decent (though small) cheeseburger, with grilled or raw onion can be had for about three bucks. A humongous $12 roast beef sandwich was excellent, but distinguishable only by its size from one available at a decent neighborhood deli.

Those who like pastrami (count me out) will find their favorite meat tangy and lightly spiced. Me, I'm a corned beef man, and here Katz's let me down. My sandwich was sadly fatty, with some of the meat beyond "stringy" and into "gristly" territory. Still, it was big enough for me to fill up on half of it and take the rest home (where perhaps I can rescue it with some kitchen liposuction). Nice guy that I am, I'm willing to forgive Katz's as long as that ticket machine and water fountain are still there. Sometimes nostalgia is more delicious than corned beef.