By Lillian Rizzo
Ordering a hero at John’s Deli in Gravesend is not as easy as standing on line and choosing cold cuts. First, I learned the hard way, you have to know precisely how to stand on the line.
I walked into John’s and proceeded initially to the end of the line that jutted out from the counter. But this line was deceiving. After waiting on it for few minutes, a construction worker turned around and told me that this was not where the true line starts. It began at the other end in the corner, between the soda-stacked refrigerators and the counter.
I shuffled to the other end and when my turn came I began to place my order — a hero with prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, lettuce, tomato, oil and vinegar. A grey-haired man with a beer belly under a “John’s Deli of Brooklyn” t-shirt stood behind a counter of steaming baked ziti, chicken cutlets and rice balls listening to my list.
He said, “Are you getting any hot food with that?”
When I declined his offer he told me that this was not, in fact, the line for a cold hero. I was instructed to proceed to the register.
I was waiting on yet another line by the counter when a tall blonde man joined me. He had had just been redirected to the correct part of the line.
“These guys should have a sign with instructions on how to stand on line,” he said.
At 1 p.m. on a weekday the line – or lines — at John’s Deli on Stillwell Avenue, across from the elevated D train, are long no matter where you start. There are a few tables up front against a temporary glass storefront in place for the winter months. Everyone at the tables or on the lines has two things in common: they are male, and they are on lunch break. MTA workers and construction workers pass in and out of John’s, along with men in suits. The deli that has been open since 1968 and boasts the “Best Roast Beef Heroes in Brooklyn.” There are the requisite headshots of such famous Italian-American actors such as John Travolta, and signed photographs of The Sopranos’ actor Tony Sirico, along with photographs of the deli from the past. Some of the frames are squeezed so close together that it is impossible to see the wall.
Each end of the counter offers different scents. The one closest to the door has the meat slicer and with it comes the aroma of cold cuts and peppers.
On the far side are the hot trays of chicken, veal, ziti and sauce, all of which combine to form a smell that can best be characterized as marinara.
The four men behind the counter build heroes, man the register and refill empty trays of macaroni salad and rice balls, also claimed to be the best of Brooklyn, for new customers. The regulars know them well enough to ask them how they’re doing. In between taking orders they talk about their what they’re doing over the weekend and how fast the year flew by. “Can you believe it’s almost Christmas?” The regulars know which line to stand on.
Every so often a newcomer stumbles into the John’s, perhaps drawn by the“Best” signs out front.
It takes a while until they learn where to stand and how to order.
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