At 16, my dream job was working behind the deli counter at Daitch Shopwell. As a stock boy this would be a coup. Watching Milton or Marty cut thin slices of rare roast beef and Jarlsberg Swiss, I cried with pain. Pain that some son of a bitch was going to eat that tasty mound of meat… Read more »
In 1969, desperate to escape my crappy job at a Daitch Shopwell supermarket, I secured a better crappy job in my Yorkville neighborhood. Ben’s Meat O’Mat was a mom and pop butcher/grocery store, except there was no Mom and no Pop, just two oafs named Pete and Harry. They weren’t twins, but they could have… Read more »
