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Oh Danny Joy

by G.A. Benton

You only have to travel down a couple steps below street level to reach Danny's Deli. But the journey to the spare little Cleveland import with the scattered black tables and black and white checked floor seems much further in terms of time.

WILL SHILLING PHOTO

See, inside Danny's Deli, the Three Stooges still have a special place reserved for them. I like that. So several photos of the knuckleheaded brothers are posted on a column near the "orders-to-go" counter. Keeping them good company on Danny's walls are loads of black and white photographs of vintage '50s and '60s TV stars.

This all makes perfect sense when you consider that Danny's big meaty sandwiches hearken back to an era before people knew to worry so much about cholesterol, salt and everything else that ruins a good sloppy time. But the thing about Danny's is this: some of its deli delights are so winning that even in these medically enlightened days, I think the place is worth an occasional splurge.

Therefore, cardiovascular concerns aside, I'll earnestly report that the oversized superior hot corned beef sandwich ($7.75) is the must-eat heart of Danny's menu.

Danny's sign outside touts it as "the best in town" and I would not argue with that. Arriving on nice, seeded rye bread, its soft meat is strip-cut, not overly salty, has just the right amount of flavor-delivering fat and needs nothing but a squirt of good Cleveland-style brown mustard (provided on the table).

Oh, yeah, and napkins, because as your jaws greedily gnaw on this lusty mouthful, your fists will have streams of glistening corned beef juice glazing them over. It's a beautiful thing.

When that irresistible corned beef takes a turn into pastrami ($8), it gets much saltier, sweeter and a little more peppery, but not nearly as spicy as other versions I've had. I liked the pastrami plenty, and as with the corned beef, it can be made into a Reuben. Then it gets thickly packed into buttered and grilled rye bread with a bit of kraut and a slice of Swiss cheese—you add your own Thousand Island dressing from a tableside squeeze bottle. Danny's "Reubenizing" never overwhelms the main product; it's still primarily a meat sandwich, just now with a bit of detailing.

Danny's roast beef ($7.75) completes the three stages of its titanic trinity of delicious deli offerings—it's really good too. Likewise fatty enough for full taste transference, Danny's warm roast beef is the real thing, and not at all salty.

As with other protein options here, it can be converted into a specialty sandwich, like Mary's Favorite, which introduces the beef to the company of grilled onions and Swiss cheese. Note that all of Danny's sandwiches can also be had in platter form for an extra $2—meaning sides of a sweet, creamy and homey coleslaw plus rather routine fries are added.

Danny's soups have been real good. I especially liked the homemade matzoh ball variety ($2.75), with its light- to medium-weight orbs and its from-scratch broth redolent of onions, carrot and celery. Chili ($3.50) was old-timey; no cumin or Southwestern spices going on here, just a bunch of hamburger, beans and a sweet and tangy tomato presence.

But while Danny's also does good and cheap breakfasts, I wouldn't venture too far off the soup and super "trinity" of meat path. So a burger ($4) was OK if unremarkable and a club sandwich ($6.50) had lots of smoky ham and OK turkey. No real problems there, but those meats are simply not in the league of the corned beef, roast beef and pastrami. And these are the three things that will keep me coming back to seek an occasional retro-thrill at Danny's Deli. Well, those meats and a peek at a far sillier, Stoogier trio.

April 19th, 2007

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