Fresser’s Special

Langer’s Delicatessen is in the pulsing Latin core of the Westlake district--smack among the 99 stores and fly-by-night swap meets, a short walk from Home Boy Taco, convenient to many ancient beer-bars and kitty-corner from the bulldozed shoreline of a temporarily pondless MacArthur Park. Here’s the kind of shoulder-to-shoulder sidewalk jostling that’s not supposed to exist outside of Manhattan or the Loop.

On the block anchored by Langer’s, sidewalk vendors sell sunglasses and a wide selection of gory Mexican tabloids. From an upturned bucket across the street, a Guatemalan woman does a thriving business in cigarettes and cucumbers. If this ever resembled a Jewish neighborhood--and 40 years ago, it apparently did--Langer’s “Hot Pastrami” sign is the last visible remnant.

During a recent week in New York, in the course of which I ate pastrami at Stage (dry), 2nd Avenue (bland), Wolf’s (bad bread) Carnegie (weirdly spiced) and Katz’s (blubbery), I found myself daydreaming about Langer’s more than once, at least between daydreams about the cheese pierogen at B&H; Dairy Restaurant or the Romanian tenderloin at Sammy’s Steakhouse.

The fact is inescapable: Langer’s probably serves the best pastrami sandwich in America, on a block better suited to Salvadoran cow’s-foot soup.

A pastrami sandwich may not be much, I guess, but a good counterman can have skills as finely honed as a sushi chef’s--Langer’s do. Behind the deli counter, Langer’s seasoned professionals prod the steaming slices as they work, occasionally pushing aside a piece that is less than tender. Langer’s bread, a perfect seeded deli rye, comes from a secret source . . . actually Fred’s Bakery on South Robertson. Most delis get their corned beef and pastrami from one of only a couple of sources--it’s the final preparation that counts.

The meat, preferably hand-cut, should be well-spiced, steamed to softness, and piled neither too skimpily nor too high (actually, there should be slightly too much meat--it allows the alte kakers who make up much of any deli’s clientele to custom-adjust their sandwiches to taste), with enough variation in the thickness of the pastrami to make each bite texturally different from the last. The bread--seeded rye--should be thick-cut, crisp-crusted and soft inside, with a slightly sour tang that cuts the richness of the meat. Yellow mustard, of course.

There is more to Langer’s than pastrami-on-rye, of course--there’s also pastrami and tomato on rye, with a dollop of sweet Russian dressing, and pastrami on rye grilled with sauerkraut and “nippy cheese,” and a platter of pastrami with gritty chopped liver. Corned beef sandwiches are nice--sort of like the pastrami, only a little less so--and the hot tongue sandwich is tender and juicy. Langer’s has no sandwiches named after celebrities, but there is something called the “Fresser’s Special” that’s too baroque even to contemplate.

Chicken soup can be pale--tasty matzo balls, though--and the latkes are mushy and a little bitter. A herring appetizer consisted of about an ounce of fish and a half-pint of sour cream. Romanian tenderloin--skirt steak--is profoundly beefy, but can be tough to chew as a steel-belted radial. For dessert, sweet noodle kugel can be rich and delicious, but can also suffer from something that tastes very much like freezer burn.

So the pastrami’s good here, and some other stuff is uneven. And if you don’t like it, there’s always the cucumber lady across the street.

Langer’s Delicatessen, 704 S. Alvarado St., Los Angeles, (213) 483-8050. Open daily, 6:30 a.m. to 11 p.m. MasterCard and Visa accepted. Validated lot parking (one block east, on the corner of Westlake Avenue and 7th Street). Beer and wine. Take-out. Curbside service (call ahead). Lunch or dinner for two, food only, $12-$22.