Nestled amid the sneaker shops, KFCs, and 99-cent stores on a bustling stretch of Bed-Stuy, this tiny counter kiosk attracts cops on break and weekly regulars who order their usual and wash it down with cans of root beer or Cel-Ray soda. The standout here is the no-frills pastrami sandwich: the meat is warm and tender—boasting a slight sheen and light marbling that hints at its mouth-melting moistness. A thick black rind breaks up the wall of deep pink stacked between slices of standard rye scantily clad in yellow mustard. A lean, crumbly corned beef is also on offer as is a competent brisket that errs on the dry side and isn’t rescued by an oily gravy. Sandwiches can be had in two sizes which avoids the gargantuan sliced-meat monstrosities of some pastrami purveyors, unless that’s what you’re after, in which case, order a large. Delightfully, the fressers are quick to extend a sample and the only downer is a disappointing coleslaw bizarrely featuring relish and bell peppers. Another option: brisket for breakfast—starting the day with a plate of eggs, pancakes and delicious deli meat, is uniquely alluring.