Last Friday, we ditched work and headed to Baltimore to secure our marriage license. Although we were expecting a dull and interminable wait, the City of Baltimore’s Marriage License Department was surpisingly efficient and happened to host quite a scene.
One seemingly bewildered fiftysomething gentleman was demanding that the clerk somehow produce a record of his divorce despite the fact that his divorce proceedings occurred in an entirely different state. And a young couple were resplendent in their wedding day finery as their families waited patiently in the corridor for the affirmation of their new legal status as man and wife. The groom’s ensemble, in particular, was an amazing spectacle: two-tone faux alligator dress shoes and an oversized white coat with the two designer’s banner tags still affixed to the sleeve.
Later, we were momentarily shocked when the clerk, in the midst of rolling through our questionnaire, asked us if we were first cousins. After an uncomfortable pause, she revealed that this is a standard question, and a few minutes later, we saw that there was, in fact, a checkbox following this question on the official documents. Still, you really haven’t experienced being a couple until a total stranger asks if you’re related to each other.
After all that drama, some real comfort food was in order, so we set out for Attman’s Delicatessen, one of the few remaining vestiges of what was once Baltimore’s fabled “Corned Beef Row”. Until recently, anyone who recommended Attman’s typically advised to be mindful of its bombed-out surroundings. But the current state of the neighborhood is indicative of the sweeping development that seems to be revitalizing much of Baltimore. In this case, that means Attman’s is a lonely antiqued outpost amidst a sea of brand new townhouses and condos that have yet to be occupied.
Attman’s was established in 1915 and has been owned and operated by the same family for three generations. Though the Washington area has a handful of Jewish delis, if you want to experience the atmosphere of a true deli time capsule, similar to Katz’s in New York, you have to schlep out to Attman’s.
And like Katz’s, much of Attman’s available wall and counter space is crowded with the same sort of schticky Jewish deli humor that begat “Send a salami to your boy in the army.”
Be sure to snag a can of Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry, or if you’re feeling more adventurous, Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray, the unlikely celery soda classic. Then place your order, head over to the Kibbitz Room (note requisite Hebraic style font) and wait for one of the countermen to deliver the food and the bill.
While some of the soups and appetizers are pleasing enough, they all fall short of the very high standard once set by the sadly defunct Second Avenue Deli. Still, if you crave deli food, you’ll settle for the dilapidated casserole that is Attman’s noodle kugel. And their matzo ball soup is pleasing enough, offering nice chunks of carrot and celery, and short, fat, doughy noodles to complement the matzo balls.
But if you’re a true deli purist, you’ll steer clear of these distractions and stick with the sandwiches and the pickles.
The pickles were amazing- jumbo sized and listed on the menu as “green or well-done”. Of course, we sampled both. The half-sour was refreshing with a solid crunch and the right hint of sour, while the full-sour boasted the vinegary power of a deep brining. Sadly, we didn’t think to try the pickled tomatoes or pickled onions, all of which were idling in a row of barrels along the counter.
We had to find a way to try all the standard deli meats in one meal. Pastrami is our absolute favorite, so we had to have one sandwich solely devoted to it. The hot pastrami had the perfect ratio of fat to lean, a nice smokiness, and an extra peppery end. Though it performed well solo, I’m a condiments junky and had to make use of Attman’s proprietary deli mustard.
We also wanted to make sure that we sampled their corned beef, salami, and brisket, so as to hit all of their potential deli meat high points. We’re usually opposed to the sort of double and triple decker sandwiches that often take up the majority of a deli menu. After all, if a meat is truly wonderful, we want it to be showcased in its own sandwich, and not merely be a supporting player. But given our circumstances, we decided to go for the one sandwich that would offer all of the other standard deli meats in the least offensive manner: The Whopper, an absolute monstrosity stuffed with corned beef, roasted brisket, salami, swiss, cole slaw, and Russian dressing.
But instead of eating it as it’s intended, we basically deconstructed the Whopper into three separate sandwiches. The salami was a real disappointment with no rigidity and barely any spicing. We should have requested slices of their presumably housemade hard salami instead. But the corned beef was wonderful, and like the pastrami, featured just the right amount of melt in your mouth fattiness. And we almost forgot about the brisket, which was unceremoniously tucked away at the bottom of the sandwich. The brisket was definitely house roasted, juicy, and full of rich, beefy flavor.
We had a sampler of their rugelach for dessert, but like the appetizers, they fell short of the deli standard. Rugelach need to have a crunchy exterior, a chewy interior, and be studded with walnuts and raisins. But these rugelach were feeble and doughy, somewhat satisfying if you require a sweet ending to all that salt and pickling, but otherwise unremarkable.
Check out Attman’s Delicatessen for corned beef, pastrami, brisket and pickles at:
1019 E. Lombard St.
Baltimore, MD
(410) 563-2666
—AC
