I grew up in Philly's western suburbs near Center City and the Overbrook delicatessen was our temple. My dad would take me there on Sunday mornings so he could buy everything for what he called his Scandinavian breakfast, which was a little more extensive than just lox and bagels. The smoked fishes we ate! The mysterious language he used to kibitz around with the counter guys! The delicatessen was a spiritual, soul expanding place and the essence of the experience is well rendered in Ben Nadler’s The Jewish Deli: an Illustrated Guide to the Chosen Food. But, what makes food and food culture, a life sustaining element, into a spiritual experience?
Food and food culture become spiritual experiences through their deep connections to identity, community, tradition, and memory. That sounds plausible right? Many religious and other cultural traditions involve specific foods that are consumed during rituals, holidays, and life-cycle events. You’ve all been there. In Judaism, foods like challah, matzo, and latkes are not just sustenance; they are imbued with spiritual significance through their association with rituals like Shabbat, Passover, and Hanukkah. The act of preparing and eating these foods connects individuals to centuries-old traditions, fostering a sense of continuity and belonging.
Food often serves as a tangible link to cultural heritage, especially for diaspora communities. For Jewish people, foods like bagels, gefilte fish, and deli sandwiches are not just meals; they are symbols of Jewish resilience, creativity, and adaptation. Eating these foods can evoke memories of family gatherings, ancestral homelands, and shared cultural narratives, making the experience deeply personal and spiritual.
Meals are often communal experiences that bring people together. In Jewish culture, the concept of breaking bread (or matzo) together is a fundamental expression of unity and solidarity. Whether at a synagogue, a family table, or a deli, sharing food creates bonds and fosters a sense of community, which can be experienced as spiritually fulfilling.
When food is approached with mindfulness, it becomes more than just a means to satisfy hunger. Mindful eating involves being fully present in the moment, appreciating the flavors, textures, and origins of the food. This awareness can elevate the act of eating into a form of meditation, fostering a deeper connection to the self, the environment, and even the divine. Yum!
Food has the power to comfort, heal, and provide a sense of safety and familiarity. For many, the act of cooking or eating certain foods can evoke feelings of warmth, love, and nostalgia. This emotional nourishment can be as vital as physical sustenance, contributing to a holistic sense of well-being that is often described as spiritual. And that’s without even mentioning the wonders of chicken soup.
In literature, religion, and art, food often symbolizes more abstract concepts like love, sacrifice, or transformation. In Jewish tradition, the seder plate at Passover is a prime example, where each food item represents a different aspect of the Exodus story. These symbolic meanings deepen the spiritual experience of food, transforming a meal into a multi-layered ritual and journey.
The aesthetics of food—its presentation, color, and aroma—can also contribute to its spiritual significance. The beauty and sensory pleasure of a well-prepared meal can inspire gratitude and a sense of awe, similar to the way one might respond to a beautiful piece of art or a natural landscape.
Making food choices based on ethical or philosophical values, such as keeping kosher, supporting sustainable farming, or choosing vegetarianism, can transform eating into a spiritual practice. These choices reflect an alignment of one's actions with their beliefs, making the act of eating a reflection of deeper moral and spiritual commitments. Many Jews nowadays define kosher for themselves in alignment with their personal values.
Through these layers of meaning, food transcends its basic function and becomes a medium for spiritual expression, connection, and reflection. Whether it's through the rituals of preparation, the symbolism of the dishes, or the communal act of sharing a meal, food becomes a way to nourish not just the body, but the soul. For me going to the deli had many ritualistic aspects, the special foods, ritual language and a donation box on the counter.
Nadler's The Jewish Deli: An Illustrated Guide to the Chosen Food is a vibrant tribute to the beloved foods that define Jewish deli culture. The book delves into the history and preparation of iconic deli staples like corned beef, lox, bagels, and rugelach, offering readers a deeper understanding of their cultural significance. Nadler's narrative is rich with interesting facts and anecdotes that highlight the importance of each menu item within the Jewish community. The colorful illustrations not only keep the eyes engaged but also bring the text to life, making the book a feast for both the mind and the senses. This combination of visual and narrative storytelling captures the essence of the Jewish deli, celebrating it as a cultural institution where food, history, and identity converge.
Nadler's book resonates with me on a deeply personal level because the deli was more than just a place to eat; it was a source of Jewish identity. For my father, the deli was a fixture in the urban ethnic neighborhood, a corner establishment steeped in tradition and familiarity. For me, growing up in the suburbs, the deli was a nostalgic link to that earlier time. It was the suburban version of an urban ethnic neighborhood, transplanted to a strip mall parking lot, open to the surrounding melting pot of cultures. Despite this shift in setting, the deli continued to serve as a bridge to Jewish heritage, offering a taste of tradition in an environment that was otherwise increasingly detached from its roots. Nadler's narrative, with its rich historical context and evocative illustrations, perfectly captures this sense of continuity and adaptation, showing how these beloved deli foods remain a vital part of Jewish identity, even as their surroundings evolve.
The Dairy Restaurant by Ben Katchor explores a facet of Jewish food culture that is less familiar to many today: the dairy restaurant. Unlike the bustling delicatessens that remain a staple in Jewish communities, dairy restaurants have largely faded from the culinary landscape. Katchor's book dives into the rich history and cultural significance of these unique establishments, which were once a prominent feature of Jewish life, particularly in New York City.
Through his detailed narrative and evocative illustrations, Katchor traces the origins of the dairy restaurant, rooted in Jewish dietary laws and Eastern European traditions. These eateries offered a menu centered around dairy products, vegetables, and fish, adhering to kosher guidelines that separated meat from dairy. For Jewish immigrants and their descendants, dairy restaurants provided a space where one could enjoy a meal that was both familiar and in keeping with religious practices, all in an environment that felt distinctly Jewish.
Katchor not only recounts the evolution of these restaurants but also delves into their broader cultural implications, reflecting on how they shaped, and were shaped by, the Jewish experience in America. His work captures the essence of a culinary tradition that, while nearly vanished, remains a significant chapter in the story of Jewish food and identity.
Ben Katchor's The Dairy Restaurant is not just a book about food; it's a deep, intellectual exploration of culture and history, rendered in his distinctive artistic style, which I describe as loose realism. His illustrations, with their loosely drawn lines, manage to clearly delineate people and objects while giving the work a unique, almost whimsical quality. This looseness extends to the text as well, where Katchor's narrative sometimes takes on a fluid, almost surreal quality, stretching the boundaries of traditional storytelling.
The seeming simplicity of Katchor's black-and-white imagery contrasts strikingly with the density of his text. His writing is far more intricate and substantial than what one might typically expect from a graphic novel, filled with historical insights, cultural analysis, and personal reflections. This interplay between the minimalistic visuals and the rich, complex narrative creates a reading experience that is both visually engaging and intellectually stimulating.
Katchor's work in The Dairy Restaurant goes beyond mere nostalgia for a nearly forgotten aspect of Jewish culinary culture; it is an impressive study of the intersections between food, culture, and identity. His intellectual gravitas shines through every page, showing why he is one of the most respected voices in graphic literature. The depth and sophistication of his work earned him the prestigious MacArthur "Genius" Award, underscoring his contributions not just to graphic novels but to the broader cultural conversation about Jewish life and history.
Both The Jewish Deli: An Illustrated Guide to the Chosen Food by Ben Nadler and The Dairy Restaurant by Ben Katchor offer rich explorations of Jewish identity through the lens of food, though they approach it from different angles.
Nadler's book emphasizes the deli as a community hub, especially in secular Jewish communities, where it serves as a modern-day temple—a contemporary anchor for Jewish identity in both suburban and urban landscapes. For many, the deli represents continuity with Jewish traditions, adapted to the realities of American life. Katchor, on the other hand, delves into the more obscure world of dairy restaurants, which, while less familiar today, once played a crucial role in maintaining Jewish dietary laws and cultural practices. Both works illustrate how these culinary spaces functioned as much more than places to eat; they were environments where Jewish culture was preserved, adapted, and celebrated.
Both books evoke a sense of nostalgia, though in different ways. Nadler’s colorful illustrations and accessible narrative create a warm, engaging exploration of foods like corned beef, lox, and rugelach, drawing readers into the comforting world of the Jewish deli. Katchor’s The Dairy Restaurant is more reflective, using loose realism in both art and text to conjure a nearly vanished world, creating a powerful sense of loss and remembrance for the once-common dairy eateries.
The books together highlight the deep connection between food and Jewish identity. Nadler’s work celebrates the everyday joy and communal spirit found in deli foods, showing how these dishes have become cultural symbols of Jewish life in America. Katchor’s book, with its more intellectual and historical approach, illustrates how food practices like those in dairy restaurants are tied to religious and ethical considerations, offering a broader perspective on how food serves as a link to spiritual and cultural identity.
Both authors utilize the graphic novel format to convey complex ideas about food, culture, and identity in ways that are accessible yet profound. Nadler's vivid, engaging illustrations keep readers visually captivated, while Katchor’s detailed, text-heavy approach challenges readers to engage deeply with the content. Together, these works demonstrate how graphic novels can be powerful tools for exploring and preserving cultural narratives.
As it turns out my father took me to a dairy restaurant in Center City once when I was a kid. It was named the Blintz but it closed years ago; I don’t think it survived into the seventies. Fortunately, there are still some “temples” that serve blintzes to Philadelphians, such as the Famous 4th Street Delicatessen.
The thing I love about these books is that they reveal how food serves as a powerful symbol of identity, memory, and spirituality within Jewish life and that gives some legitimacy to the role, as I see it, of the delicatessen and food in general. For anyone interested in the intersection of food, culture, and religion these graphic novels are essential reads. They are a lot of fun too.