So it’s 11AM on Wednesday, May 6th in Astoria, Queens, and I’ve just recently gotten up. I usually rise a little earlier, but I was up late listening to a fascinating interview with former Knicks and Bulls center Bill Cartwright. The host, the immortal Steve Somers, was trying to get Cartwright, 62, to go negative on Michael Jordan and other former teammates. But Cartwright wouldn’t take the bait, and he ended up coming off like a real deal OG, a good and honest dude. Score one for athletes.
I spent the next couple corona hours playing with my awesome cat Copper, and then around 1PM I headed out for a walk. I know we’re supposed to stay home as much as possible, and I generally do, but today I was really craving a hero sandwich from the famous Sal, Kris and Charlie’s deli in northern Astoria.
Not only does Sal, Kris and Charlie’s make incredible heros, but they make ‘em huge. One sandwich is two meals. They’re really popular with cops, firemen, EMS workers, Con Ed, and anyone else who wants to fill their bellies twice for a good price.
I exit my building on 34th Street, and I’m immediately hit by pelts of rain. I pop on my wool hat, pull on my anti-corona surgical mask, and head north on 34th Street. There are a decent number of people on the street, despite the stay-at-home order.
Astoria is kind of like the Wild West to me. I grew up on the beautiful, tree-lined and wholly civilized Upper West Side. Astoria, on the other hand, is not beautiful, not tree-lined, and loud and rowdy as hell. In general half the people don’t wear corona masks, and social distancing is a foreign concept to most citizens, who hail from the Middle East to South Asia to Mexico and Latin America to the Balkans. It’s a veritable map of the world. Which is OK most times, but can get a little loud and exhausting at others.
I stop at the Korean deli on the corner of 34th street and Astoria Blvd., hard by the Grand Central Parkway and the RFK Bridge. I buy a water and three masks — because my current mask is getting kind of grimy — from the nice Korean lady owner, and we chat for a few minutes.
I tell her these are strange times, and she agrees. I lament all the people who don’t wear masks, and she agrees they’re not taking the crisis seriously enough. She says corona can always come back.
I exit the store and keep walking north along 31st under the elevated train tracks. As opposed to the typical clanging of the trains above, there are few trains running now. MTA ridership is down 95%, the news tells us.
I continue walking along 31st, and now I’m in one of the hearts of industrial Astoria. You have the trains overhead, the RFK nearby, boarded up apartment buildings everywhere, and nary a tree in sight.
But out of nowhere, like an island oasis, pops a health food store. Well why not? Anything healthy and green to combat this urban sprawl.
I enter the store and walk around. At first it seems interesting, but then I realize it’s just another overpriced health food store with few items on the shelves.
I leave the store and make my way to my final destination, Sal, Kris and Charlie’s deli. It’s a small shop, but the teal blue sign above the entryway beckons with delicatessen delights.
I walk in, and there’s two Mexican guys behind the counter. The first guy is occupied making a sandwich for a guy with a truly massive belly, who looks right at home next to these giant heros.
The second Mexican guy is free, and I tell him what I want. Roast beef, turkey, ham and Swiss on a hero with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, salt, pepper, oil, vinegar, and sweet peppers. I had been thinking about this sandwich since I woke up this morning.
I almost ordered “The Bomb,” their famous hero that has 5 meats, 4 cheeses, 3 vegetables, 2 peppers and lots of sauces. But I decided to select my own cuts, because I find this way always comes out better than a preselected sandwich.
A couple minutes later, the guy brings my sandwich to the counter. It looks great. It’s so big that the tradition is to have it cut in quarters, which I avail myself of.
Just as I’m about to leave, a younger white guy appears at the counter. I think he’s the son of Tom, the owner, who passed away several months ago. There was a notice in the local Astoria paper about it.
“How’s business?” I ask.
“It’s alright,” he replies.
“But not better than before?”
“No, of course not. Not better than before the virus.”
“Do the cops and firemen still come?” I ask. I ask this because apart from me and one other dude, there’s no one else in the store.”
“Not as much,” he replies. “The firemen are required to stay in their firehouse more, and social distance, and all of that,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I reply. “You guys have been around forever, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, since 1987,” he says slightly ruefully, and he lowers his head just a drop.
“Well good luck,” I say.
I open the front door, head out, and make my way south on 33rd Street. I pass two and three story row houses, just like Archie Bunker lived in, because All in The Family was indeed set in Astoria.
I pass the police precinct on 35th Street and Astoria Blvd., make a right onto 28th Avenue, then a left onto 34th street, and boom! I’m in front of my building.
I climb the two flights to my apartment on the 3rd Floor and enter the house. I go into the kitchen and pour myself a Bloody Mary, the first one in a while. I take a sip and let the alcohol relax my body, which it does.
Then I pull out a plate from the dish drainer, place two wedges of the four wedge sandwich on the plate, head back into the living room, sit down on the couch, and place the plate on the coffee table in front of me.
I say “Hey Google, play Peace In The Valley,” by Jim Reeves. Then I dig into the sandwich. Yum! Double yum! It’s absolutely delicious, just like it always is.
As I prepare to take my second bite, I say a silent prayer for the business and prosperity of Sal, Kris and Charlie’s. Neighborhood stores like Sal’s are the lifeblood of Astoria. May they thrive another 33 years and continue to nourish us all.
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