Taste of imports hides Mort's

"I'm looking at the biggest sandwich west of New York City," said the dapper retiree to my right. We were seated at the counter at Mort's Delicatessen, and just as I was about to start talking smoked brisket with him, he turned his head and I saw the Bluetooth wedged in his ear.

Awkward. Thankfully, he was oblivious to my near-interjection, and while he merrily continued his conversation I turned my attention back to my corned beef on rye. He was right. I could have skipped several meals, sweated off a few pounds in back-to-back spinning classes, hiked to Golden Valley from my downtown Minneapolis office and still not had an appetite commensurate with the mountain-on-a-plate sitting before me. And it was a half-sandwich.

Everything is big at Mort's, starting with the owners' ambitions. It takes guts to step into the classic deli arena, in part because everybody and their rabbi has their own extremely specific ideas of what constitutes the real thing, and heaven help the hapless restaurateur who deviates so much as a kishka from the One True Way. If the corned beef isn't cut in a certain manner, if the matzo balls are sinkers rather than floaters -- or vice versa -- if the pastrami doesn't have just the right amount of fat ... you get the picture.

The powers behind Mort's have bypassed much of this potential controversy by skipping their own handiwork and instead relying upon the allure of a host of nationally recognized standard-bearers. Here's a conversation I had with a server at lunch last week:

"Do you make the kreplach here?" "I don't think so."

"How about the gefilte fish?"

"No, that comes from somewhere else."

"And the knishes?"

"I'm pretty sure we buy those."

"What about the tongue?"

"We get it from New York."

Perhaps the sign on the door should read the Made Elsewhere Delicatessen, or the Easy Way Out Deli. Here's the thing: I know how Carnegie Deli-brand pastrami and potato knishes and cheesecake (to name but a few of the menu's imported items) taste, and they're fine, honest. But you know what? I'd rather become acquainted with Mort's own take on pastrami and potato knishes and cheesecake. In other words, the Mort's folks obviously know how to shop, but can they cook?

Sometimes. One morning the latkes were thin, crisp and teasingly oniony; a few afternoons later and they were glorified hash browns. I can't say anything kind about the coarse, one-note chopped chicken livers. The chicken soup had a bright, golden flavor, but the matzo balls were made with a heavy hand. During one dinner, a piece of salmon arrived at the table so perilously under-baked that for a second I wondered: Is this sushi?

This is what happens when I eat deli: I start talking in questions. As in, are there reasons to pay Mort's a visit? Of course there are. Breakfast, with its overstuffed four-egg omelets, abundant scrambles, hearty corned-beef hash and well-made French toast, is a smart way to start the day in the 763. If I worked in the neighborhood, Mort's would definitely earn a regular berth on my lunch calendar, if only so that I could eat my way through the selection of more than three dozen sandwiches, some hot, some cold, all plus-sized, made to order and served with crispy, house-made potato chips.

There are a half-dozen uncomplicated, comfort food-style entrees -- pot roast, beef stroganoff, a gigantic pot brimming with a meaty half chicken, a few matzo balls, a handful of noodles and chicken broth -- that are tailor-made for nights when the idea of preheating the oven and setting the table pushes even the most organized person to the brink of sanity. Most are also sold family-style and, believe me, will more than feed a family of six healthy eaters.

The surroundings and the menu are both kid friendly, and a small takeout counter makes drop-ins easy. Oh, and along with a perfectly serviceable Carnegie Deli contingent, desserts include a number of brazenly over-the-top layer cakes (carrot, coconut, chocolate, red velvet) made by the fine folks at the Queen of Cakes in Edina and served in slab-sized slices. They're terrific, and I'm not trying not to beat a dead horse here, truly, but shouldn't any operation worthy of the proud name "deli" be doing, at the very least, its own baking?

My final question: So is Mort's a Minnesota reincarnation of the beloved, old-school New York deli that some diners (myself included) are forever pining for? Nope, and that's OK. After all, this is Golden Valley, not the Lower East Side. The traditions, the clientele, the expectations, the environment are all different here, and Mort's realistically seems to recognize that. My friend summed it up best as we walked to our cars and rehashed our filling, yet somewhat colorless, lunch.

"You know what this restaurant reminds me of?" he said, this time asking the question. "A Perkins that only makes it to synagogue on the High Holy Days." Dang, I wish I'd said that.

Rick Nelson • 612-673-4757