Ill Bill is holding court at a table inside Essen NY Deli in the Midwood section of Brooklyn, discussing the plight of kosher delis in New York City. Dressed in a red Polo rugby and fitted NYC cap, the Brooklyn-raised rapper dissects a plate of kishka smothered in gelatinous gravy while lamenting how the neighborhood food spots he was raised on are now “going the same way as how people complain about the old New York and everything disappearing.”

Nursing a can of Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda, Bill explains in his Brooklyn brogue, “In Manhattan you've got that whole Lower East Side neighborhood, where tourists go to Katz's, and at one point there was also a Rivington Deli and an Essex Deli. Each street had a deli named after the street and it was not a big deal. But now they're gone."

Bill's fears aren't unfounded. In Save the Deli, David Sax explores the manifold threats to the time-honored culinary institution—rising beef prices, health-conscious agendas, a consumer base that is largely disappearing. Those same forces affect Ill Bill's primary concern: local legit kosher spots—as opposed to “kosher-style” places that practice a lower standard of religiously-mandated preparation—which were part of his cultural fabric growing up in Canarsie in the ‘80s.

"Delis were a big part of my upbringing in Brooklyn but I wouldn't say it's something we thought about," says Bill. "Now it's fucked up that we have to think about it and do these kinds of stories because that means people need to be told about this as opposed to just knowing about it."

Before paying dues on the hip-hop scene and embarking on a career that saw him become a member of the incendiary indie rap heroes Non Phixion and launching the La Coka Nostra movement, Bill’s youth was fueled by hot dogs and knishes picked up from now-extinct outlets like Joe's South Shore Deli and Grabstein's. Linking the kosher restaurant scene to the homestead, family meals prepared by his grandmother mirrored the menus of the neighborhood kosher deli.

Essen comes off as a throwback to those times. Inside the spot, framed hand-written letters from local rabbis complimenting the restaurant’s sandwiches are displayed on the walls, while a giant painted mural depicting the old Lower East Side Jewish scene faces the deli counter. "It was a big part of my upbringing in Brooklyn but I wouldn't say it's something we thought about," says Bill. "Now it's fucked up that we have to think about it and do these kinds of stories because that means people need to be told about this as opposed to just knowing about it, which is how it used to be." 

As Bill enthusiastically chows down in one of the city’s last bastions of that way of life, he drops science on the importance of kosher Jewish delis in New York’s cultural history, his complicated relationship with eating tongue, and why he'll cosign a flagel but never a cragel. 

'Cause this is my mom's spot. I really only eat kosher deli type food with my mom. When most people wanna eat kosher deli food, they go to Katz's. And they're [usually] out-of-towners. But I eat here with my mom because as much as you'd assume these restaurants and delis are kosher, they're not—instead, they're kosher style. That means they don't adhere to all the kosher laws. Essen is one of the few spots in New York that still does, is still around, and is kosher kosher, a.k.a. glatt kosher. 

I'll have the stuffed derma with the gravy. Well, actually, really in the 'hood, like the Jewish 'hood, it's called kishka, which kinda means "insides" in Yiddish and I guess that's what it's made out of. You know how people say hot dogs are really nasty, like they're made from whatever?

Yeah, that's what this is. It’s like a stuffing. It's not made out of the prime cuts. It's whatever the fuck is left and it's traditional and it's old school. Basically, if someone says they have a kosher deli and they don't serve kishka, it's not a real kosher deli. This spot is official. 

Yeah, I mean this place used to be called Essex on Coney, maybe ten years ago, and it was an annex to a deli in the LES on Essex Street. There are tons of delis like this all over New York that are just gone now. A spot where I grew up was called Joe's South Shore Deli—well, it was called Appy's before that—and it was near a high school on the border of Canarsie and East Flatbush called South Shore High School. That was my go-to deli growing up. My grandmother lived across the street and we could see the deli from the window.

There were lots of places like that, good places like Grabstein's Deli in Canarsie that was a place where people would go there. Like, people wouldn't necessarily go to Katz's in Manhattan even though the sandwiches are great cause they're overpriced. You can get a sandwich here or at Ben's Deli in Queens that's just as good and is more reasonably priced for the neighborhood. It's a family neighborhood, it's not what you'd call a gentrified place. It could be Avenue J, Avenue Jew. 

Well I didn't like what I just ordered now as a kid. Back then, we'd go with a hot dog and a knish, and that's all you'd need as a kid.

I tell you what, I'm the wrong person to talk to about chopped liver. You know how some people have a fear about certain foods? That's me. As a child, I tried it. Hated it. You can't even put it near me on the table. If you're serving it, I'll respectfully ask you to move it to the other side of the table. Just the visual, the smell—I can't do it. Also, gefilte fish, I can't do it. My mom and other family members like it, but it wasn't for me.

We can also talk about tongue, which they have here. Interestingly enough, as a kid I used to like tongue but I didn't know what it was. My grandmother gave me tongue as a kid, like a big kosher deli staple, and I loved it. Once I found out what it was, I was so disgusted by the concept I never tried it again. I just got freaked out by it and have never tried it since. I think the last time I had it was when I was seven.

[A waiter approaches the table]

Waiter: What haven't you had since you were seven?

Bill: Tongue, I haven't had it since I was a kid.

Waiter: Today seems like tongue day.

Bill: Yeah? 

Waiter: Seven people have come in so far and six of them have ordered tongue.

Bill: Ha ha, that's funny. I used to eat it as a kid, my grandmother used to give it to me and I loved it. Then I found out what it was and was like, "Never again."

Waiter: Yeah, but you grow out of that fear when you grow older. 

Bill: But I'm not like that, I'm Larry David from Curb Your Enthusiasm, I don't grow out of any type of fear. With age, fear grows actually.

Waiter: That's true. So do you want to try a little tongue? Want to do a deli platter, like some pastrami, some tongue, some brisket?

Bill: You know, we'll get tongue, we'll get the Romanian pastrami, and the regular corned beef.

[The waiter leaves.]

I think it's supply and demand. It isn't the healthiest food in the world, and people eat more health conscious now. Plus, New York as a city is changing. Generationally, I think it's not something that people are aware of. I think it's cool that recently EL-P and Despot opened a deli, Frankel's. They could have done anything in terms of food in New York, and I think it's cool they did something that's quintessentially New York and it's something that's missing and dying out. [Pauses] I got to find out if they serve kishka, 'cause if they don't they're gonna have to get it poppin'. I'm gonna have to call El-P, that's the homie.

Shit, I would go to Katz's. Overall, if it wasn't a thing where it had to be glatt kosher, I would go to Katz's; if it had to be glatt kosher, I would go to Ben's. It’s comparative to Katz's, but there's the tourist trap part that's charging double of what they charge, so as a New Yorker, I send you to Ben's. 

Well New York is the bagel Mecca of the world, so to speak, but at the moment I go to a real nondescript spot that's just called Hot Bagels on Avenue M. There's no rhyme or reason why it's called that. It's been there forever. I think it's literally called Hot Bagels because half the time you go to a bagel spot and they're not hot. Some bagels stores don't even bake their own bagels on their own premises, so that's another way you can verify a bagel spot.

[After being shown a picture of a rainbow bagel] Yeah, it looks crazy to me.

Nah. It looks like the bagels have been infused with Fruity Pebbles cereal. I like Fruity Pebbles cereal, but this doesn't look good. I can't do it.

That's pretty fucked up! I can't cosign that. But there's also something called a flagel—it's a flat bagel, like a bagel that's literally flattened. I saw it and I was horrified by the name, 'cause ordering a "flagel" is questionable; it's a horrible name, but at the same time what would you call it? It's a flat bagel. Flagel. But I tried it and I liked it. Sometimes bagels are too much, they're too bulky, so you take that bagel and you fuckin' flatten it, man, you make a flagel.

Nah, 'cause if you put my name in it, we can't call it a flagel. I can't have a flagel fuckin' my name up! It was a place called Bagel Boys, towards Brighton Beach. Yo, the Bagel Boys, that almost sounds like some NASCAR shit, like something Will Ferrell would be involved in, like [affects accent] "Bagel Boys!" But it's not bad, try a flagel.

[The waiter returns with the deli platter]

Bill: That's the tongue? It looks like tongue, shit…You guys got me eating tongue for the first time in like decades. It's not quite as exciting as jumping out of a plane, but it's close! I'm gonna start out with the pastrami. [Pauses] Alright, I'm just eating the tongue, I'm going for it.

Sort of, it's tender, it's good...but it kinda tastes like tongue. It kinda freaks me out a little bit. The texture of it while you're chewing it, it's kinda rubbing against your own tongue.

Yeah, tongue on tongue action! See, you know what, I'm not really an expert on this food, but you know what it is? I think in the emcee world, I might be an expert in kosher delis. I'm saying, how many rappers could we say would qualify for that? EL-P, me, my brother [Necro], Alchemist—just a couple. Maybe there's more behind-the-scenes music people, like I'm sure Lyor [Cohen] has eaten kosher deli over the years.

Absolutely. What would you call it? The Hip-Hop Hebrews? The Rabbinical Rappers? I think that's why you never really had like the Jewish House of Pain. I don't know if it ever translated. I was approached [to be in a Jewish version of House of Pain] back in the early-'90s. It didn't happen. The manager of Cypress Hill and House of Pain, Amanda Scheer, split from Buzztone [Management] and got a joint venture with Rick Rubin called Ventrue Records, and she approached me to do a demo that was the Jewish version of House of Pain. I was like, "Nah, I'm good." The first act she actually signed was Lordz of Brooklyn, which was like the Italian version of House of Pain. I didn't know those guys back then, but I'm really good friends with them now. We kinda connected the dots on all of it.

Oh, hell yeah, there's tons of great spots down there—it’s like a stronghold for Italian spots—but not kosher delis. They’re disappearing, it’s kinda wack.