At CityBeat, we're not just people who eat. We're people who eat with a sense of civic duty. It's not enough to shove nourishment in our mouths! When we choose a corned beef sandwich, it's like voting with our taste buds.
So the folks at Izzy's were not happy when upstart Tropicana of Newport on the Levee featuring corned beef flown from the Carnegie Deli in New York was cited as "Best Corned Beef" in CityBeat's 2003 Best of Cincinnati® issue. To tell the truth, that surprised a lot of people. After all, Izzy's is a 100-plus year old Cincinnati tradition and a multiple winner of "Best Deli," as voted by CityBeat readers. Their founder, Izzy Kadetz himself, was the kind of character that makes for Cincinnati legends.
Finding out that corned beef from the Carnegie Deli was the favorite made some of us feel like the incredulous cowboys in the salsa commercial -- "New York City?" they growl as they head off to lynch the campfire cook.
We felt that the home team needed our support. So a crack team of corned beef tasters was assembled, and we set off to settle the score. We even had a ringer on the squad -- a genuine NYC native wearing a Yankee's jacket and a mensch-like quality that marked him as an expert. A New York Jew, two food writers, their editor, celebrity guest WEBN DJ Jay Gilbert, and a soccer mom with a minivan to carry us all. We were set.
We'd done some homework and knew what we were after. With corned beef, leaner isn't always better. A little bit of fat on the brisket, the cut of beef, helps. You don't want it too fatty, but fat's where the flavor is. We wanted flavorful meat, tender and juicy, that was beautifully seasoned. We wanted that perfect deli moment when rye bread, meat and mustard melt in your mouth. We were on a mission. Izzy's was our first stop.
Jay told a story on the walk over about how you can tell an amateur in a deli when they ask for cheese on their corned beef. Of course we all laughed knowingly, because mixing meat and dairy is just not kosher -- literally. In Izzy's original location they didn't sell Reuben sandwiches, and they laughed pointedly at the people who asked for one.
Well, times have changed. We had a terrific, friendly waitress at Izzy's -- but when she asked "Would you like cheese on that?" it made Joel, our ringer, say "Oy veh!" He was barely consoled by Dr. Brown's Cream Soda, a true deli staple.
We were being very scientific at this point. Because the challenge was specifically about corned beef, we ordered straight corned beef on rye -- a purist perspective ($4.85 whole, $3.95 half). The sandwiches arrived instantly, and we got to work. Removing the top slice of rye, we gave the meat a visual examination.
Izzy's corned beef is sliced paper thin. There's no visible fat whatsoever. The quantity of meat is moderate -- it fits well within the confines of the bread.
Now for the taste. Corned beef is called "corned" because the grains of salt used in the brine in days gone by were referred to as corns. So corned beef is always on the salty side, and Izzy's beef was definitely that. It was so lean that while it was tender, there also was not much brisket flavor. And you couldn't call it juicy.
Our panel tried hard to like Izzy's. We complimented the rye bread and the crocks of garlicky pickles and crisp sauerkraut on our table. We loved the waitress, who was "totally Izzy's." We just didn't love the beef.
Somewhat disheartened, we headed to Newport.
The mission was beef, so I'm not going into the over-the-top ambience of Tropicana. We were slightly less scientific here: We ordered only one pure corned beef on rye ($9.50), supplemented by one Reuben ($8.75) and a corned beef and pastrami double decker combo ($10.50).
Here the meat was piled high between slices of slightly darker rye. The slices of beef were substantial, again without visible fat, but this time glistening with juice.
The taste? I was afraid we were going to have to mop our New York friend out of a puddle on his chair. "A sensory experience," he described it -- with a rapturous look on his face.
The rest of us were equally impressed. We had to wipe the juice from our fingers and chins. There was praise for the rye bread, the pickles and the pickled green tomatoes -- yes, you've really got to try them. We tried to criticize things: Lemonade that tasted like a mix; no Dr. Brown's Cream Soda (another "oy veh" from our New York native); the Russian dressing on the Reuben was a little too sweet; we didn't love the coleslaw; and the pastrami was too rich. But those weren't even part of the challenge.
Corned beef to corned beef, Tropicana won.
I called Tropicana's executive chef Ethan Kniskern later to follow up. He explained that the briskets are cured at the Carnegie Deli, and flown in for final braising and slicing in Tropicana's kitchen. He has a great working relationship with the people in New York, and is going back to visit soon to make sure he's doing it right. From our panel's point of view, I'd have to say yes.
Dear Izzy's: We still love you. We love your honest Formica tables, your low price and your Dr. Brown's soda. We'll be back, we promise. But maybe next time, we'll have the Reuben. ©
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