Register Wednesday | January 17 | 2018
A Schwartz’s in Paris Illustration by Sophia Hydman.

A Schwartz’s in Paris

Due North of the Arc de Triomphe’s starbursting giratoire, in the tourist-free seventeenth arrondissement of Paris, I caught sight of a beacon from back home. The sign promised to satiate my North American taste for meat with a cut of beef far more familiar than the Parisian penchant for steak tartare and tripe: it was Schwartz’s cherry red logo, signature swoosh and all.

Those who were initiated at the Hebrew Delicatessen on The Main—the once Jewish-settled artery that fed working class immigrants and buffered Montreal’s Anglo and French solitudes with shops and factories—know that there is a certain level of devotion one must bring to the table. The sandwich is to be eaten with a Cott’s Black Cherry soda, a side of fries and a single kosher dill pickle, all served on separate plates. If you must ask your server to hold the yellow ...

Subscription Required!

Already have a subscription? Try logging in.