Welcome, bubeleh. Come, sit your tuchas down next to me, so I can tell you about a restaurant. It's all the way downtown, but once you experience its spirited atmosphere and legitimately good food, you won't kvetch about the schlep. You have a good kepala on your shoulders, so you know I would never steer you wrong.
Annnd with the exception of a couple phrases, we have essentially exhausted my Yiddish. This somehow just didn't feel like the time for "The hat burns on the head of the thief," or "Go take a dump in the ocean."
Introducing Sammy's Roumanian. It bills itself as a steakhouse (and with options like Tenderloin, Prime Rib and Veal Chops, this makes sense), but it is so much more. Situated in a Lower East Side joint with merely a whiff of your Uncle Morty's basement, this Jewish-style eatery serves up Flanken, Kishka and Kreplach to people who grew up on the stuff and to shiksas who have never heard of it before. The restaurant is not Kosher, but the food has that old school, old world angle bubbies have been slinging for ages - schmaltz included (and yes, that would be chicken fat...available in diner-style maple syrup dispensers). Chopped Liver is prepared tableside, Stuffed Cabbage is a knock-out, and Potato Pancakes are a crowd-favorite whether you're inclined to call them "Latkes" or not.
The food, however, is only half the draw. Sammy's is a place for parties, and this is clearly indicated by the limp twists of crepe paper taped to the ceiling and the occasional balloon. Ok, so the decorations are a tad sad, but as illustrated in the many photographs plastered to the walls, patrons over the years (some famous, some not) are anything but. Large groups of friends and families can be found laughing and hollering at every meal.
Why? For starters, a keyboardist is spewing Borscht Belt schtick from the back of the room, asking girls to stand up and twirl while the rest of the guests clap. He's cracking jokes between "Hava Nagila" and "December 1963 (Oh What a Night)" and insisting you grab the hand of a stranger in order to do the hora around the tables. He's asking if anyone in the room is not Jewish and then following with, "Well, we can't all be perfect."
So round up the mishpocha for Cousin Ida's birthday, or gather your urban family for a raucous Friday night. Start the meal with a frozen bottle of vodka, try the Karnatzlach, and finish up with a chocolate egg cream. Sure, a milk-based beverage may sound like a terrible idea after garlicky beef, but everyone has to experience chocolate syrup pouring from the height of the ceiling and seltzer spraying from the classic dispenser. Miss this, and everyone will call you mashugana.
Sammy's Roumanian - 157 Chrystie Street, at Delancey Street
Annnd with the exception of a couple phrases, we have essentially exhausted my Yiddish. This somehow just didn't feel like the time for "The hat burns on the head of the thief," or "Go take a dump in the ocean."
Introducing Sammy's Roumanian. It bills itself as a steakhouse (and with options like Tenderloin, Prime Rib and Veal Chops, this makes sense), but it is so much more. Situated in a Lower East Side joint with merely a whiff of your Uncle Morty's basement, this Jewish-style eatery serves up Flanken, Kishka and Kreplach to people who grew up on the stuff and to shiksas who have never heard of it before. The restaurant is not Kosher, but the food has that old school, old world angle bubbies have been slinging for ages - schmaltz included (and yes, that would be chicken fat...available in diner-style maple syrup dispensers). Chopped Liver is prepared tableside, Stuffed Cabbage is a knock-out, and Potato Pancakes are a crowd-favorite whether you're inclined to call them "Latkes" or not.
The food, however, is only half the draw. Sammy's is a place for parties, and this is clearly indicated by the limp twists of crepe paper taped to the ceiling and the occasional balloon. Ok, so the decorations are a tad sad, but as illustrated in the many photographs plastered to the walls, patrons over the years (some famous, some not) are anything but. Large groups of friends and families can be found laughing and hollering at every meal.
Why? For starters, a keyboardist is spewing Borscht Belt schtick from the back of the room, asking girls to stand up and twirl while the rest of the guests clap. He's cracking jokes between "Hava Nagila" and "December 1963 (Oh What a Night)" and insisting you grab the hand of a stranger in order to do the hora around the tables. He's asking if anyone in the room is not Jewish and then following with, "Well, we can't all be perfect."
So round up the mishpocha for Cousin Ida's birthday, or gather your urban family for a raucous Friday night. Start the meal with a frozen bottle of vodka, try the Karnatzlach, and finish up with a chocolate egg cream. Sure, a milk-based beverage may sound like a terrible idea after garlicky beef, but everyone has to experience chocolate syrup pouring from the height of the ceiling and seltzer spraying from the classic dispenser. Miss this, and everyone will call you mashugana.
Sammy's Roumanian - 157 Chrystie Street, at Delancey Street
