ILLUSTRATION BY LARS LEETARU
I’m a lifelong fan of Izzy’s Deli. I remember Izzy and Rose and enjoyed their arguing at the old location. But I’ve always wondered about a later time when the downtown Izzy’s had a sign in the window disavowing all their suburban locations. Why did they reject their own restaurants? —LEFT A BAD TASTE
DEAR TASTE:
As Izzy Kadetz himself might have said: Oy, don’t get me started. Cincinnati’s famous downtown deli had a nationwide reputation for providing delicious meals served by a loud, cranky staff. And none were louder and crankier than Izzy and Rose themselves. It was all part of the charm—shmear served with shtick.
Son David Kadetz took over the biz in the 1980s and licensed the Izzy’s name for franchising. Oy, that got him started. David became loud and cranky himself when the suburban locations failed to uphold his quality standards for Izzy’s famous corned beef, monstrous potato pancakes, and avalanches of pickles. Lawyers got involved. David went public with a loud and cranky sign in the window, and even TV commercials, declaring that only the downtown Izzy’s locations deserved his father’s name.
It all eventually got fixed and made nice after some warm chicken soup (and some cold lawyer’s fees). The Izzy’s name, locations, and standards are all now back together with the original clan. Here, have a pickle, it couldn’t hurt.
I’ve lived near O’Bryonville for a long time. There’s a restaurant here along the main drag that is always closing and reopening as something else. Restaurants come and go everywhere, but this one is always, always going. I think it’s happened 10 times since the 1980s. Is the place cursed? —GRAND CLOSING
DEAR CLOSING:
The Doctor insists upon accuracy, so please: Said restaurant has been reborn only eight times. Whether or not this building is cursed requires spiritual skills beyond the Doctor’s certification, but let us now close our eyes and hold hands. The red brick building at Madison Road and O’Bryon Street once stood all alone in the 1840s, the farmhouse from which Edward and Mary O’Bryon lorded over their large manor. Suddenly, they lost the farmhouse and the farm to a gambling debt. A good start for curses and hauntings, we thinketh.
By the 20th century the building was just a commoner in a neighborhood echoing the family name. After decades as apartments and various small stores, in 1980 it saw a major renovation and opened as Laura O’Bryon’s, its first life as a full-house restaurant. Thus began a parade of subsequent eateries: Ribbobbie’s Grill, The Brickyard, The Brick House Tavern, Balboa’s, Enoteca Emilia, Eighth & English, Pampas, and the current Ché. Cursed? Maybe, but restaurants are a tough business.
O’Bryonville’s worst curse has been its eternal spelling battle: O’Bryanville, O’Brienville, O’Briansville, etc. How’d you like to be the person having to change all those “Welcome to. . .” signs?
At the Columbia-Tusculum intersection where The Precinct restaurant has its entrance, the curb at the corner sticks way, way out. I realize it’s meant for safety as patrons use the crosswalk, but don’t cars constantly bump over it when they turn there? I sure do. Am I the only one? Is that really safer? —BUMP APPÉTIT
DEAR BUMP:
Welcome to the Doctor’s first all-restaurant column. We partially sympathize with your suffering, although one would think you might start making proper turns after your first few bad experiences.
The Doctor contacted The Precinct (considerately, during a non-busy hour) and inquired about the concrete growth at the corner, which was added around 2015. He spoke to the greeter standing at the entrance. She said that every day, all day, cars making a right turn from Columbia Parkway onto Delta Avenue thump across that bulging curb. Constantly. Suddenly she burst out laughing, because it happened even as we spoke. She was not aware of anyone ever complaining to the restaurant about the curb.
One does wonder, then, what kind of person decides that the best course of action would be to lodge a complaint about the offending curb to a magazine columnist. Perhaps it’s someone who never adjusts their turning after several jarring bumps. Bon appétit!
Submit your questions about the city’s peculiarities here.
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