Let's Do Deli

This morning I will make a sacred pilgrimage to the holy deli of my youth, to the temple of Jewish soul food. To get there, I must travel back in time, over the canyons and through the woods, to a faraway land called Beverly Hills, to a place called Nat n' Al.  In my house, Sunday mornings meant bagels. If we were lucky, those bagels came from Nat n' Al.  Nothing made me happier than to go to Nat n' Al's with my dad on a Saturday afternoon and watch him order a dozen this, a pound of that.  He knew how to get it done.  The last time I deli'd at Nat n' Al?  I can't tell you.  It's been a few decades, at least.  These days, I deli, Valley-side.  Art's, Jerry's, Solley's.  But today, I'll deli old school, with old friends I've never deli'd with before.  I'll probably have to walk the non-Jews through the menu.  "You want lox on the bagel.  Trust me  on this.  You don't want a plain bagel.  You want onion."  If you deli with the SJG, I'm going to take care of you, whether you like it or not.