Just went to The Hat, a restaurant with inside seating, and lots of take-out activity. Pasadena, corner of Lake and Villa, one of many locations, been there for years.

Claims International Reputation, World Famous Pastrami. I don’t challenge that. I echo it.

The first time Shirley and I went there, so many long years ago, they had just opened this location. It was the end of the day and they had run out of pastrami. We begged hungry, they cobbled together a little something, a few dry shreds left over at the bottom of the container. They charged us not at all, with apologies. We were unimpressed by the meager dry, not motivated to come back. And anyway we were always pinching pennies twice, not eating out more often than not often. In my youthful insensitivity, I didn’t consider the possibility that they were taking pity on the hungry couple coming in late, past the last of the last, an act of charity the way you throw old crumbs to birds on the sidewalk just hoping for a little something.

Years later, we broke down and tried again. And yes, quite good, really good, good enough to go on the list and come back again and again.

Now, years later after later, returning to the area, saw The Hat still there, and we stopped, my Daughter, her Husband, and I. We were hungry, and we love pastrami.

Pastrami had been in the news lately. Langer’s in
L. A. had raised the issue of access, the city had conferenced, reached resolution, Langer’s is still there, and I want to go back to verify again their claim as “the best.”

We’ve been contenting our pastrami hunger closer to home at Everest in Altadena, corner of Lake and Mendocino. They pile the pastrami high and juicy, and with a pickle, they fill the need and hit the spot.

This time though, tonight, we decided to stray a little farther, down the hill to Pasadena, and parked in The Hat’s parking lot.

Warm, friendly, inviting. People sitting at tables, a long counter over which you can see the kitchen working the food.

Our order, three classic pastrami dip sandwiches, one for each of us, and an order of chili cheese fries we could share and fight over.

We watched the making of our sandwiches. I joked my usual joke, “Dinner and a show!”

We watched them slice the roll. Tongs lifted the dripping pastrami from its basin, placed it on the bottom of the roll, piled high and juicy, then another tonged load added higher.

I spoke loud enough to hear, admiring the skilled technique of the Pastrami Master. He looked up, grinned, and added a little more. He dipped the top to insure the juiciness. He wrapped and cut with precision, split the halves enough to show the fullness, we applauded, he smiled again, nodded like taking a bow.

We took our bounty home, feasted on the slathered richness, said, “Let’s go back soon.”

We wondered, having seen on television the visit with cameras to that very location under the heading of food news, were those we saw in person the same ones we saw on TV? Maybe, possibly, probably. They did look familiar. We’ll research the net web to verify.

In any case, it was one of those legendary occasions, “a brush with greatness.”

And yes, we will go back again, soon.