Restaurant Review: Cindi’s New York Delicatessen in downtown Dallas

by The Law Reviewers of The Law Reviewers

DALLAS — Man, the west side of downtown really has it all! Union Station! Reunion Arena! Ol’ Red! The West End! A big Hyatt! A brand new (concrete) park! A, uh, grisly murder-site-turned-tourist- attraction where every day literally dozens of visiting Oklahoman and Iowan conventioneers teeter dangerously over the curb onto Commerce Street (next stop, Southfork!). The area has dozens of fine eating establishments, representing the corners of the globe: Texas (Y.O. Ranch), Texas (Chipotle), Texas (T.G.I. Friday’s), Texas (Cadillac Bar), Dallas (cafeteria in the County court house), Texas (Tin Star), and Anywhere (Subway, Quizno’s). Nothing against Chipotle or Tin Star, but sometimes a cowpoke needs a schmear or a blintz, and until now, there’s been bubkis for variety.

Cindi’s N.Y. Delicatessen Restaurant And Bakery opened a downtown branch last month to little fanfare, or so we thought. At 11:30 a.m. in early October, the place was hoppin’, and every table was full; but by the 12:30 p.m. seating, most tables were available. Also, cats were dogs and down was up. We rarely review restaurants with a long-time reputation, or chains for that matter, but despite a fierce loyal following, Cindi’s remains a niche in the area (there are four other locations in far north Dallas and Carrollton). So, we’re getting the word out AND saving the west side of downtown at the same time. That’s what those in the deli business call a mitzvah. One of the great restaurant stories of this city that gets overshadowed by news of Celebrity Chefs is that the Cindi’s empire is owned by Anh Tran, a Vietnamese immigrant (as she explains on the website, "Only in America!"). We’re all mishpocha, if you will (Oh my YAHWEH, will you knock it off with the Yiddish?).

Enough with the meshuginah introduction, let’s get to the food. Noshing is not an option at Cindi’s, the portions are huge. We ordered a starter of dill and half-sour pickles ($1.75, which should be complimentary, but we’re not kvetching here), and even though they arrived after the entrees, we still made room to finish off each chilled, salty, and substantial spear. We didn’t schlep all the way to Union Station already to have a diet soda, so an egg cream was in order. What’s an egg cream, you ask? Don’t be a yutz! What, you’re suddenly acting interested all of a sudden already? An egg cream consists of chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer; any macher knows that. Naturally, an egg cream contains no egg at all, which begs the question, which never came first? (oy) Still, the egg cream tasted like a frothy ice cream-less milkshake, just so you know.

The Open Faced Corn Beef with Meat Knish and Gravy ($12.50) was indeed pricey, but the lean corned beef tasted like buttuh and, combined with gravy on top of two large hash-filled knishes, it made for a plenty filling meal. Of course, we would be total schlemiels if we didn’t try something with some sort of Texas flavor: the migas ($7.95) were decent, considering their competition around town, but were a little heavy-handed on the pickled jalapeños. Between the pickles and one of the two aforementioned entrees, we were each too full to journey on. We weren’t total schmucks, however, and we bought a small black and white cookie ($1.35, $2.95 for a large) and a halvah ($1.60) to nosh on later. The small cookie was a big disappointment; it was basically a piece of cake with two kinds of frosting (a real, New York version, would have consisted of a firmer cookie-like-substance, topped with a thin amount of frosting skin). The halvah is definitely an acquired taste that we're still acquiring. It looks like a hunk of fudge with a very flakey and buttery consistency, but the underlying bitter taste was a little too much for our Gentile taste buds.

Don’t forget the ending shtick! On our famous five-gavel scale that wandered the desert for 40 years, where one gavel is Woody Allen as a love interest to, well, anyone since 1992, and five gavels is Woody Allen’s test of “The Execu-cizer” in Bananas, we give the downtown Cindi’s three gavels, or any of Woody Allen’s movies where he’s not actually in it.

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