BackOn the way to Katz's DeliForward

I love cool neon, and snapped this picture on the way to Katz's Deli, where Dan Budiac, James McNally, Wes Felter, Anil Dash, Jish Mukerji and I decided to adjourn for a (very) late dinner after Fray Cafe.

Please note that in this picture it is not raining. That becomes important later on.

Why Katz's Deli? It was now very, very early on Monday morning and we were very, very hungy. We were not the most discerning diners. Our qualifications were "what's open?" and "what's nearby?" Katz's seemed to meet both of those criteria. We obtained an address and rough directions from someone at Ruta Maya and headed out.

The walk to 618 E. Sixth Street was brisk and we cracked jokes and made bad puns and stupid observations about other denizens of Sixth Street and the proliferation of tattoo parlors along the way. When we arrived at the designated address, one thing was patently clear.

This was not Katz's Deli.

This was, not to put too fine a point on it, a greasy taco stand. Which was closed.

There followed some general muttering, lowing and milling about, capped by the realization that our directions were faulty. Katz's was located at 618 West Sixth. The general consensus seemed to be that food, desirable as it was, was not worth walking 12 blocks back in the direction from which we had come. Other dining options were proposed. Someone suggested we join some other folks who had left Fray Cafe and walk to a different restaurant. We set off to meet up with them...

...only to ascertain, some five blocks later, that we were again walking in the wrong direction. By now -- punchy, giddy, delirious with hunger, and six blocks nearer the real Katz's -- we renewed our resolve to have deli. Except Jish, who opted to go back to the hotel and crash.

Smart fellow, that Jish.

In the midst of our quest for the second restaurant, it had begun to rain, drizzle really. A few drops here and there, easy to walk between. As we set out for Katz's the second time, the skies unleashed a torrential downpour.

Actually, "downpour" is entirely the wrong word. Thunder and lightning caused the sky to roil. A fierce wind whipped up from the west and south. This was no downpour. This was a horizontal pour. Rain came at us from all directions, and we began to run. Laughing, tumbling over and past each other, laden with backpacks and umbrellas useless against rain that did not respect the up-and-down compact we'd come to expect from precipitation. We ran three long blocks, getting soaked from all sides, before taking some shelter in the overhang of a building.

We looked at each other and laughed like fools, our crazy taunts competing with the thunder as the leitmotif of the night. A couple of us fished soggy digital cameras from our bags and attempted to record the absurdity of our plight. Someone, I forget who, vainly suggested we try to hail a cab and call the whole thing off.

The rain did not abate and we pressed on. We ran, full out, the remaining three long blocks to Katz's Deli at 618 W. Sixth Street.

We arrived, soaked to the bone, dripping on the floor in front of the hostess stand, laughing our fool heads off, and still very, very hungry. Table for five, please?

Certainly, the hostess must have been thinking to herself. Would you prefer soaking or non-soaking?

BackOn the way to Katz's DeliForward