Good morning, my extended Stage Deli family!

As the owner of a modern Jewish delicatessen and restaurant, I’m often asked, “Steve, do you ever get sick of smoked fish?”

The answer is no. No, I don’t.

I’ve spent 45 years sourcing only the finest smoked fish, and each week, when boxes arrive fresh from New York City, I still feel like a boy on his birthday. I’m consistently taken by the gold and copper shimmering color of whitefish; the crisp, clean appearance of Nova lox; the glistening, ivory-white flesh of the sable. When that lid opens, the robust aroma of the smokehouse and the sea wafts through the air, making my heart flutter. It’s magical, and it puts a smile on my face every time. Smoked fish has brought me immense joy since before I can even remember.

Dear deli aficionados, 

As we fast approach the holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I would like to share a deli maven‘s perspective on the seasonal themes of celebration and awe. 

As a young boy, I knew something special was afoot when I woke up—bleary-eyed but fresh—to the sound of a blade colliding with wood. Decades later, those loud, rhythmic thwacks are still etched in my memories. Who held the blade? My Bubbie, of course, hard at work chopping trout and walleye for her special holiday gefilte fish. Fast on the heels of those firm whacks followed a persistent, pungent aroma which flooded the house for days—tender balls of fish and vegetables swimming together, bobbing alongside fish heads as they all simmered in a sharp, flavorful fish stock. All of these wonderful smells and sounds could only mean one thing: Rosh Hashanah was fast approaching.

Good morning, pastrami lovers!

Today, I want to talk about my mother, Harriet. Of course, my father was the soul of Stage Deli, but my mother was its beating heart. 

July 6th would have been her 100th birthday. So, to commemorate her centennial, we threw a big party (with a rather large feast, of course). Family and friends all gathered as we told stories about my mom. For those who couldn’t make it in person, we solicited letters and emails from distant relatives in California and New York. Everyone responded. It was such a special event, and a fine opportunity to not only celebrate her life, but to freshen her memory for the younger generation, too. For them to understand who she was and her indelible impact on not just the Stage, but every single person who met her. It’s crucial to preserve our collective heritage.

My mom was many things, but for the Stage, she was the consummate hostess. The charming, energetic, beautiful, always perfectly dressed mistress of ceremonies. It was a perfect partnership between my mother and father, both romantically and professionally. 

Good Morning, deli fanatics.

Father’s Day is this Sunday, and of course I’m thinking about my dad. Actually, I started writing this on his birthday, which is June 8th. He would have been 105, but he’ll always be a legend to me and so many others. Many of you never got to meet Jack Goldberg, so I want to talk about him, the legacy he built, and who this influential deli dynamo really was.

My father was a man of action. He was a perfectionist — always very well groomed, very well dressed, fastidious and passionate. He would work all day in the kitchen, and by the end of his shift his apron would still be stark white. Not a spot. He believed in quality and the pursuit of passion, and these are just some of the many values he bestowed upon not only me, but every single employee that passed through Stage Deli’s doors.

Good morning. It’s Steve Goldberg, owner and second-generation operator of the venerable Stage Deli.

Today, we launch a brand new newsletter. 

Why start a newsletter now? If you’re reading this, you probably already know your way around our dining room or deli counter. You know the West Side Story. But that’s not the only story we’ve been building for the last seven decades…