An interview with and profile of Sy Ginsberg of United Meat and Deli, maker of Zingerman's award-winning corned beef

"No. No. We used to be in Eastern Market... " This reporter had set off with a notebook and pen but no directions. They were kindly provided... back down Mack till it changed names and dead-ends at Grand Boulevard (a buffet of Detroit contrasts on the way — houses that looked smitten by giant hands from the sky... smiling necktie-wearing middle school kids emerging into the gray afternoon)... around the big S curve, sharp left, right into the lot (entry triggering a brief wail of sirens — there's no sneaking in here) and park.

This is United Meat and Deli, Detroit, MI where the best corned beef in the world is made by Sy Ginsberg, the original Friend-of-Zingermans (FOZ).

Production has just ended, the floor is freshly mopped, a few dozen boxes sit assembled with tops open waiting for tomorrow's shipments to be packed and taped. The room has that magical vibe of a raucous place — be it kitchen, garage, barroom, party store — brought to abrupt stillness, like touching a finger to a struck tuning fork. Sy buzzes me into the office.

The office is everything one could hope for in a meat packing plant office. Geological layers of yellow invoice dupes are tacked to the wall along with family pics, game ticket stubs, articles, banners. (While Sy is himself football neutral, a 'Spartan Parking Only' sign hands in a nod to his partner Scott's favorite team) — the happy collage of a couple decades (and change) of Good Works. Sy immediately puts things in an immediate and emotional context.

"From Paul and Ari, who are just two of the greatest people I've met... to anyone... I've never met anyone associated with Zingerman's who hasn't been someone really special."

Sy's fated entry into the Professional Food Service came at age 15 when, in his 3rd summer helping out in the Summer Camp Cafeteria, he ascended to 3rd cook and got a taste of The Life.

First Stop — Lou's Deli on 6 mile. Weighing the choice between Asst. News Editor of the school paper or putting on the apron; Sy chooses the latter. Here he dished, bussed, cooked, scraped out the wooden barrels (that's right kids). His tenure at Lou's would span from 1960 to 1968. There was hiatus with a bank job that seemed to offer little opportunity for advancement ("There were no Jews. It was just this WASP country club atmosphere)... so it was back to Lou's (with a little excursion into the scrap metal business with his father as well).

Sy had gotten married by now and a friend and coworker suggested they buy a small deli whose owner wanted to retire. Sy was reluctant but his friend campaigned to Sy's wife who said 'Go talk to the guy' This 35 seater (at 7 mile) would be his first business prophetically dubbed 'Mr. Delicatessen' where he held court from 1968 to 1974.

Not too long after a sign went up at the corner of 12 Mile and Evergreen for a shopping development. Sy liked the area and knew a real Deli would go over big. He called up the owner and laid out his idea. The guy agreed. 'We want a Deli in here. Show me your business plan and financial plan and let's see if we can work it out"

"I don't know much about business plans and I don't have much money but I know I can do it," Sy replied. After two more appointments, Sy had successfully sold himself to partner #1 but there were still two others not willing to just roll on a hunch. A controller at Gold Star products Sy had met helped him with the business plan and arranging financing through a bank on the west side of the state ("He was a magician with numbers"). The Pickle Barrel was born in 1975.

Sy's mother Fannie was the cook (in a nice article about her that he had on the wall one quote leapt out — "This is a Home Kitchen") and The Pickle Barrel (not unlike a little Deli in Ann Arbor that opened a few years later) was a huge hit from day one, with lines out the door and legends in the making.

"We had two cent Seltzer. We had miniature barrels of pickles at every table — that's where the name came from. The mugs were barrel-shaped. The tumblers were barrel- shaped. We were the first ones to bring in Dr. Brown's sodas and Haagen Daaz... it was great. The whole thing just felt blessed"

But this is the restaurant business, so it was also murderously hard work.

"We were busy all the time but there never really felt like a time we weren't undercapitalized. There was a natural gas shortage for a while and for nearly two years we had to run the place off propane — big tank out back and that was through a couple of cold winters. You know it's 60-70 hours a week. I didn't want to delegate anything. I had to do everything myself... so I'm on the line, I'm out front. It was a lot of fun but it was murder."

By 1980, Sy was burned out. "I either had to find a new thing or a tall building with an open window. I found a guy from New York who wanted to buy and I got out from under it." (Sadly but as is so often the case The Pickle Barrel did not survive the change of ownership.) Sy was on his way to a fateful moment.

He worked a year in sales with a wholesaler towards a potential partnership and began to form the relationships with restauranteurs and other food folk that would lead him to form United Meat and Deli.

One of those contacts was a then-hirsute, live-wire by the name of Paul Saginaw, kitchen manager of long-gone Maude's in Ann Arbor (they had good ribs... ) who called up and said 'Hey we want to open a Deli. Can you come down and help us?"

And help he did.

"The guy I worked for, he was kind of chintzy. He would only deliver out there once a week. For the other two deliveries I would load up my VW Dasher hatchback with 100 lb kegs of corned beef, cram in whatever else they needed and, tailpipe dragging, drive to Ann Arbor, drop the stuff and work behind the counter for a couple of hours."

The following was said with great love. "Ari and Paul didn't really know how to do anything. Didn't know how to slice the brisket, didn't know how to slice the bread, didn't know how to hold a knife." He sincerely adds, "Now they know more than I could ever hope to know."

Sy made the very first sold and served Zingerman's sandwich and a few thousand more besides.

His potential partnership with his wholesaler boss never materialized (and ended acrimoniously — at least on the other guy's part) but Sy had formed a network of loyal customers and, finding a little meat packing operation in Pontiac (the owner wanted to retire), took the first steps towards what would come United Meat and Deli.

"The guy didn't make corned beef but since it was a meat packing facility it wasn't too big a step to a get an old pickle injector and start experimenting."

Which brought us around to the un-revealable answer to, really, the only question I had to ask Sy to draw forth this beautiful story — "How did you become the maker of the greatest corned beef in the world?"

"I was curious about different flavor profiles. I'd been invited to some producers in Chicago and I knew the mechanics... I got to a product that had a great 'acceptable' flavor... you know everybody liked it, but I wanted something more. (D NOTE — we are sort of off-the-record from this point... I can describe the scene but will not name the substance). "I was in my (UNDISCLOSED PLACE ON SY'S PROPERTY) and took a bite of (UNDISCLOSED SOMETHING) and it was so delicious, so fresh and it struck me... that's what's missing. That's the flavor that will really set this apart." He added it to the mix and... the rest is rust and stardust.

Sy's corned beef — amongst numerous other accolades — aced out all the big delis in New York in a Slow Food sponsored Best Corned Beef competition (featuring Mario Batali and Jeffrey Steingarten as jurors — no small thing this).

I asked Sy to describe the newborn Deli. He tried to remember names.

"The place was so small then... cramped little kitchen... the downstairs dark and dingy, like a dungeon, couple of bare bulbs. There was still an apartment upstairs (and this was prior to the addition of the opening of Zingerman's Next Door). Mike Monahan was still a partner then and there was a lot of running back and forth to the fish place... he brought in smoked fish from Brooklyn but also specialty stuff... Eel, Sturgeon... I learned more about fish than I thought I could ever know. There was a gal from Cleveland... there was a guy who built the addition... Louie?"

Yeah, Louie... # 19 Louie's Lunchbox. And I wondered if the gal from Cleveland could be the (mythical?) siren who used to pick up the fresh bread from Avalon Bakery in Detroit (pre-Bakehouse) and strip down for the sauna-like ride back to Ann Arbor... but that's a whole other column.

"Paul has always been so great, shouting out — 'here's the guy who made the first sandwich!' I'm happy to take some credit but Zingerman's has been so instrumental to my own success — both actively and passively... so many of my customers come my way because they know about Zingerman's... whether it's through Zingtrain, or some guy buying food for somebody who wants to have the same stuff as Zingerman's. It's just been a great, great relationship." (Sy's wares are served as far afield as Minneapolis and Sacramento and not just because of us.)

"You know I did something the other day I've never done before. I Googled myself and there was like 9 or 10 pages and almost all of them mentioned me (and partner since 1990, Scott Mendelsohn) in association with Zingerman's.

"They've gotten me to do things I never did before. Rick (Deli Managing Partner Rick Strutz — for those keeping score at home; Rick's New Ski's on the breakfast menu) kept bugging me — 'Can't you make our turkey?'... so I worked on it. It's just a great product. It's really simple but it's out of the mainstream. The ingredient list is turkey broth, salt and... turkey. It's the kind of turkey you would cook at home and it's like nothing else you're going to find."

The turkey is probably a whole other column too but that remark brought me back to Sy's mom's matter-of-fact observation — "This is a home kitchen" — and I realize I was sitting in one right now and this thing is just going to go on and on and it feels kind of blessed.

So, Sy — FOZ#1 — Thanks for all of it. Your teaching, your support, your (much returned) love, and those millions of first juicy, indescribably delicious first bites. You are a Pro amongst Pros.

For old school bad-asses and culinary bungee jumpers, Sy's menu sandwich was Sy's Legend II — Pastrami and Hot Mustard stuffed into a fried Gabilla's knish. It's retired but we can (and will) still make it with unwavering sincerity and pride. The True News? Sy's sensual proteins ring through our top 10 like an unstoppable playlist — check out the following on (this month's feature), our lush Bakehouse Jewish Rye.

#2 — Zingerman's Corned Beef Reuben — The Citizen Kane of Grab-some-Deli, Babee...

#67 — Jon and Amy's Double Dip — CB/Pastrami/Swiss/Muenster/Hot mustard/Yellow mustard/Rye/Pumpernickle Rye... Mies was wrong. More is More.

#81 — Oswald's Mile High — Declaration of Principles — Corned Beef/Mustard/Rye/You.

#13 — Sherman's Sure Choice — Paul's Horse Happy Grandpappy's Sammy — Reubenesque but ungrilled and with Slaw instead of Kraut.

And many more. Dive in.

D$ (your faithful correspondent's menu namesake is #00 — D$ Cuban Conundrum)

back to top