18 months ago, sitting in the Pourhouse (literally and figuratively) drinking mint tea while waiting for Hart Lambert to return from Montreal with a promised Schwartz’s sandwich, I never imagined any of the events that would culminate in my writing this.  It was close to 1 am and Charlotte and I were on our fifth cups of tea.  I kept looking at my phone but the thing wouldn’t budge.  Hart wasn’t coming.  Instead of getting depressed or nostalgic I got angry.

Over the next 10 minutes from the depths of my soul and out my mouth flowed unpunctuated sentenses of suppressed rage.  I wasn’t mad at Hart: I was mad at life. And from that well of resentment sprang my moment of truth.  That truth must be obvious to anyone who has come this far on the journey with me because to be reading my blog means that you have invested something in me (and I dearly thank you). My truth, that I should open a deli was a moment of clarity, a catharsis, 39 years in the making.  I should have said it through tears while tearing off my clothes but I didn’t.  

When I was a little boy and anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up my answer was always the same: “I want to own a restaurant”.  Unfortunately and for whatever reason this idea wasn’t warmly embraced by those around me.  My grandmother once joked that the only reason I wanted to own a restaurant was to eat my own deserts.  It was an innocent enough comment from a woman who loved me dearly but being a sensitive kid and combined with other peoples’ teasing I put away my childish dreams. 

Years later when my father helped found Lime Rickey’s he put his shares in my older brothers’ names and included them in discussions about the business.  I was told that I couldn’t work at the restaurant because the rest of the staff would resent me.  But my input was sought and I’ll give you a moment to guess in what area… the deserts.  I was invited to another partner’s home to give my opinions on the deserts. True story.

When I was 25 I took a backpacking trip around the world that lasted almost five years.  Six months in I found myself in Sydney Australia and out of money.  I took a bus to Sydney University and spent a few hours concocting a fictitious restaurant resume.  Who’s gonna call Canada to check?  Fake resume in hand I walk up and down Military Road and landed three job offers in one afternoon.  This was the beginning of a hospitality career that would see me tend bars in London, make chai in India, rise from dishwasher to sous chef in Fernie BC and finally return to Toronto to finish at the top of my class at George Brown College.  

But this was Toronto and sure enough all of those taunts and teases came back.  I simply couldn’t work in a restaurant here in my hometown.  Some might think I was arrogant but I prefer to think of myself as damaged.  Why should I be ashamed of my love for restaurants?  Why should I be embarrassed to be myself? After graduation I worked on my mother’s election campaign and following that, my brother’s by-election effort to succeed my mother. It would be five years until I would return to restaurants and in that period I experienced, a marriage, a divorce, great business success and ultimate failure and an estrangement from my family.  

For seven years I journeyed along what Scott Peck called “The Road Less Travelled”.  I sought and found answers to the questions in the preceding paragraph.  It was a slow, lonely and often painful process. Like I said, it took seven years and in that time I came to terms with many truths about myself.  I realised I am not be who I thought I wanted to be but thats okay because I like who I am.  Faults and all.

Thus, when I had my moment of clarity, my deli epiphany in the Pourhouse 18 months ago it was not a first step at all but part of a process that had begun years before.  In the following weeks and months as that process evolved, I found David Sax’s SaveTheDeli.com website and joined.  I sent him a message telling him I was trying to start a deli in Toronto not realising that he lives here too or that he’s just finished writing a book on deli or that I was probably the 10th person that month to send him a similar message. But when I signed my lease at the Monarch Sax wrote me that he was going to pitch the Globe and Mail about a story on Jewish food coming back downtown.  ”Yeah right,” I thought ”As if.” We hadn’t met yet and I still had no idea he was a journalist and mensch.

The rest is history.  Sax’s article caused me to run out of food on Day 1 (June 10) and began the buzz that landed me in Joanne Kates’ Top 10 of 2008.  Alphabetical or not, I was in fact first on that list (lol).  In between, Steven Davey featured me in NOW magazine three times (Best Sandwiches, Best of T.O. and Best of 2008 issues), Corey Mintz wrote two pieces for The Toronto Star, Toronto Life put me on the cover of their November issue and printed a wonderful review, BlogTO.com named us Best Deli and National Post printed that review as well as a piece about our Grand Opening.  I also did two televised pieces with Mio Adelman on CBC’s Toronto Living and was talked about on CBC Radio’s Metro Morning show.  If you do a search of my last name on Chowhound.com you will find five pages of discussion thread.  

A dizzying year to be sure but none of this was solicited in any way – except I did unsuccessfully bug Steven Davey to review us and sent messages to food writers apologising for running out of food after the crazy opening we had.  

What’s my point? Do I need one?  This is my kvetchfest so quit bugging me and lower your expectations. I’m a “brisket slinger” not a writer but indeed I do have a point.  It took me 39 years to figure out or at least remember what I wanted to do when I grew up and it took me even longer to finally grow up enough to see it through.  I believe that the success I have achieved to date and the accolades tossed my way are a reflection of these facts.  Success in my little world is not measured in dollars or customers or press clippings.  In fact, it’s not measurable by any means.  I am successful because I live my life authentically and on my own terms. I am successful because I know who I am and I love myself.  

Resolutions for the New Year?  Sure.  I resolve to post shorter blogs.  I do thank you for caring enough to read this far, for your support, love and friendship.  I wish each of you, your families and loved ones a DELIcious New Year.  2008 was a wonderful year and something tells me 2009 will be full of surprises.

As I literally limp towards the Christmas break (we’ll be closing at 6 pm on Christmas Eve and reopening on January 2) the events of today stand out as particularly wonderful and uplifting.  My day started bright and early trying to maneuver my little red VW Golf through fresh snow down my alleyway to my door.  I had to load up four freshly smoked turkeys for the Sax’s Chanukah party.  I kept getting stuck and felt my blood pressure rise as the thought of being late became ever more real.  It was fine.  I arrived a half hour after I had wanted to but in plenty of time to get set up.  

The Sax family is special to me mostly because of the support they have lent to my deli-in-a-dive-bar. Knowing how former Montrealers stick together I figured I’d meet and feed many of them today and be tested by each.  Former Montrealers know smoked meat.  They grew up on it and have been starved for it here in the 416.  They are usually skeptical yet hopeful when they meet me.  I was thrilled by my reception today.  Well over 100 guests braved the fresh snowfall and those four smoked turkeys all met honourable ends and appreciative appetites.  The brisket was also a hit.  ”Like ducks in a barrel,” David Sax said when I asked him what people thought.  

Afterwards I returned to the deli to help host the Annual Fradkin Family Chanukah Party.  Staff member Tamar Fradkin’s folks Sarah and Roni trekked all the way from the 905 along with more than 20 of their friends packing latkes (with all the fixin’s), jelly donuts, menoras to light candles and sing.  Liz, a bar regular and neighbour of 24 years said the Monarch has never seen such a sight.  It was truly a beautiful moment.  

I was particularly happy that Ilana Speigel, one of our original staff members, attended the party with her parents and sibs. Ilana and Jessica Roher are back from school for the holidays and its been wonderful to have them drop in to see what they started.  Very, very special people indeed.  Holidays are good for bringing people together. 

For those who don’t know it, the significance of this holiday isn’t just that the temple oil lamp burned for 8 days. Chanukah is important because it teaches us never to lose hope.  Though outnumbered and outgunned, sometimes the good guys win.  From my own experience, miracles aren’t just bible stories. On this first day of the Festival of Lights I hold in my heart the memory of the people who helped me on my journey.  I love you all.

I did take the day off.  After arriving to find the place less crazy than usual on a Saturday I turned on my heels and sped home to the comfort of my bed.  Ainsley and Ariel had the floor under control and Hushy and Adrian seemed to have the kitchen tamed so I wasn’t needed.  After my nap I’m starting to feel like me again.  After re-reading my earlier post I know I did the right thing.  I am a very fortunate man.

I hurt.  My first few steps out of bed this morning were very painful.  Yesterday I worked from 7 am until 12 pm.  Okay: 11pm really with an hour of hanging with my Friday night regulars that can’t possibly be called work.  In between those hours we served over 250 in the deli and another 100 at an off-site catering engagement.  I feel tired, lonely and more than a little stressed about staffing issues, investor issues, growth issues and relationship issues.  I ache down the stairs and saddle up to my inbox.

I am 40.  I’m not a kid any more.  I no longer need anyone’s approval or appreciation in order to feel good about myself.  However, at times like these, when I ache and moan and hear my bones creak it feels really good when I get messages and reminders of why I do what I do.

Its the people I serve that I love so much.  The parents who bring their newborn children – escaping the house for the “first time in 7 weeks”, the regulars who let me know when we’re great and not as great, the first-timers who rave and the old-timers who reminisce.  

I’m crazy for my food too.  I’m insane about hot crispy well-seasoned french fries.  Hot smoked meat cut just the way you want it.  Poutine that oozes cheese and gravy and flavour.  And my soups? If a Jew could be a Nazi about soups… no.  That’s not right.  I have too much respect for Selma and Chaim Engel to go there.  Speaking of respect… today is Shabbat.  My people’s day of rest.  But not my day of rest.  Today is our busiest day and after preparing a new batch of spices, I will creak these bones into work and do my best.  

What else is there?

Closing for a few days seems to have been the right thing to do.  Once we regrouped and prepped for a few days we were ready and able to rise to the challenge of packed houses on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.  Now we’re back in the three week cure zone and the meat is awesome although we’ll be out of cheese curds until Wednesday.  Thanks again for your patience and support.  

Thanks also to my team for pulling together and accomplishing things I never imagined possible.  We had 6 people in that tiny kitchen on Saturday and three on the floor plus me and no one waited for more than 10 or 15 minutes for their food.  Eric honoured us by bringing his groomsmen for the traditional meal before wedding on Saturday and the funniest part was that my sister attended the wedding.  Yeah, we got him to the church on time.  

Saturday night we also hosted Lara’s twentysomething’st birthday party with twentysomething of her friends. I think I had the best time of everyone because I got to sit down and enjoy my first ever Caplansky’s Smoked Meat sandwich.  I’m not making this up.  I had never sat at a table and eaten like a regular person – I’d always scarfed something quickly in the kitchen.  My verdict? I had the Fresser (fatty of course) and I loved it.  By the way, “Fresser” is yiddish for “eater” and its what we’d call someone who really enjoys his or her food.  Both my Papa and Zaidy were fressers and it gives me great pleasure to watch my dad enjoy that sandwich too.

I must say that having six people working in that little kitchen space concerns me a great deal.  All it takes is for someone to turn around with a knife at the wrong moment for a disaster to happen.  Health and safety is paramount to me and this kind of risk is pushing me towards looking for new space.  In fact just tonight I was pressing my nose up against the glass of a vacant restaurant when a guy came up to me.  ”Hey, Caplansky! You gotta move in here,” he said.  ”Why? Because you own it?” I asked.  ”No, ’cause I live up the street and it would be heaven having you here.”  So I called the number and talked to the agent…  

Stay tuned.

(I know its totally uncool to say this but it was a real thrill to be recognised on the street in such a nice way.  Growing up, many people would recognise my mother because she had high-profile positions in government and sometimes people were unkind.  I’m sure one day someone will tell me how awful their last sandwich was, how soggy their fries or poor the service but until then I’ll bask in the glow of tonight’s encounter)