POLITICS: ‘Zabar’s Is a Monument to the Fact That Not Everything Disappears’ – USSA News

For some Jews, especially ones in New York, Zabar’s is a religious experience. They come together to worship not at the Western Wall, but at the smoked salmon counter. On the outside, it may look like a specialty food shop with expensive cream cheese and too-narrow aisles, but really, it’s much more than that.

Saul Zabar, the principal owner of New York City’s iconic grocery store Zabar’s, passed away Tuesday at the age of 97. Over seven decades, he built more than a business. He built an institution. His Upper West Side store sits at the pinnacle of New York Jewish food culture. It remains perhaps the city’s purest relic of diasporic comfort and defines the word haimish. At Zabar’s, whether you look cool or schlubby, you belong.

To honor him and his legacy, we reached out to a few of his loyal patrons to tell us what Zabar’s means to them.

Jerry Seinfeld, Comedian

In the ’70s, people would come from the East Side to the West just to get the food. That was the only thing on the West Side—besides Plato’s Retreat, a creepy sex club—that made it a destination. The famous thing about Zabar’s is the guys who cut the lox. The standard was, you had to be able to read The New York Times through it.

There are so many great New York institutions that have fallen. Zabar’s is a monument to the fact that not everything disappears. For people who remember New York in the ’60s and ’70s, you can still go back to that time when the only thing that mattered on Sunday morning was getting to Zabar’s and getting home. I thought if I brought my kids to Zabar’s every Sunday morning, maybe they’d turn out right—and I think they did. That was our family life. No matter what else was going on, that Sunday morning trip was the anchor everything revolved around.

David Mamet, Playwright (and Free Press cartoonist):

A friend went to work for Saul 50 years back, stocking shelves. He asked how, when blueberries were $.89 cents a quart around the corner at Gristedes, Saul was getting away with charging $2.45. Saul said, “You take the cellophane off.”

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Leah McSweeney, Real Housewife of New York City:

I grew up downtown with my Irish and Italian family where there was no talk of smoked fish, so Zabar’s always felt like another world—one I only entered while visiting Upper West Side friends. Their parents stocked capers, rugelach, mounds of cream cheese and sliced red onion, and those mysterious pink slices of lox I’d never seen before, scattered beautifully on their dining table. When we would go to Zabar’s would be the real treat, though. That’s where I learned that a deli could double as a synagogue and a social club, and that Zabar’s isn’t just a store—it’s a love letter to New York, served with cream cheese and nostalgia.

Colin Quinn, Comedian

Everybody was hunched over with a rolled-up Village Voice or New Yorker in their coat. The workers were trained to address a barrage of questions as to the freshness of the lox, the consistency of the bagels, and the origin story of the olives. The food was nibbled on but opinion was devoured. I think that was why people really went there. The success or failure of every Broadway play, art exhibit, or Lincoln Center recital was decided in the checkout lines.

Richard Kind, Actor

How many orange and white coffee cups can a person have? That’s how many Zabar’s baskets you’ve had. Getting a Zabar’s basket is always a great gift. Makes me smile if I get one in LA or if I receive one in my NYC apartment (which is only two blocks from the store).

And I just can’t throw away the coffee cup.

I was lucky enough to have a photo shoot for Interview magazine in Zabar’s. And I shot a short film there as well. But my happiest moments come from shopping there to take bagels and lox and rugelach and babka to my family for a holiday. Or just stopping by to pick up dinner for my kids. Because they love their prepared food and soups and the stuff from the deli counter.

Some people use Google Maps. I just tell them I live two blocks from Zabar’s, and everyone knows exactly where I live.