Jake's Delicatessen

Deli’s and restaurants display distinct rhythms in their day-to-day service, and occasionally, as it is with Jake’s Deli, the rhythm feels historic, almost spiritual, and essential to the sandwich itself. I park my car across the street from an old red brick building common in Milwaukee but out of place on this particular street. A sign that reads “Jake’s Delicatessen Since 1955” hangs from the second floor. I walk inside to find my friends sitting in a church pew-like wooden booth under a wall full of black and white photos boasting of the landmarks’ history. I place my order – the highly recommended Corned Beef sandwich with a side of chips – and watch the rituals of the room. They call my name, and over the next 60 seconds I witness the perfect sandwich exchange, one which all beloved locales should mimic. A distracted man in a dirty white apron drops a foil wrapped brick of flavor into a brown paper bag alongside enough napkins to clothe a toddler and hands it across the glass counter without ever making eye contact with me. I’m not special; I’m one of thousands of customers he’s served, and he has his carnivorous art to return to. Ten feet to my left, the other aproned man is complaining about something unimportant with a friend of his who walked in just after me. It felt local, felt like home, felt like a destination that generations of fathers have taken their sons to with an excitement that their boy only understood in retrospect as an adult. This is sandwich culture. It’s not as friendly as the overly popular coffee culture or as clean, but it’s genuine and unassuming. The corned beef tasted great by the way, much more than great actually (I’ve found few who know their craft as well as this deli knows theirs), but it’s not the taste that makes this one special: it’s the history.