There’s a lot of good Jewish-deli merch in this world, and I would conservatively estimate that I own about 10% of it. I do my best to seek out a good (a.k.a. medium-bad) cup of coffee, bowl of matzo ball soup, and bagel wherever I go, whether at Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles’s Fairfax neighborhood, Schwartz’s in Paris’s Le Marais, or Beauty’s Luncheonette in Montreal’s Jewish Quarter.

But it’s not just the food that I crave when I go to these places—although I’ve found that a stack of lacy latkes is capable of curing more or less any ailment, from a common cold to jet lag to a broken heart. At a complicated cultural moment, I never feel more anchored to my faith than when I’m tucking into the same cabbage soup or tsimmes that my Russian Jewish ancestors must have eaten in their

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