The number the barker gives is off by a digit, so we pick up someone else's soup, stand to the side while they figure out whose soup or sandwich is whose, and the line grows wearily behind us. The upside to this supposedly up, Brooklyn-style experience is that, once the chazeri is settled, the massive deli sandwiches and chicken noodle and mushroom barley soups and salads aren't bad. So fine, the meat and cole slaw you may have upon it tumbles in one grand mess on your tray. Since takeout is against policy, we actually see a staffer walk through the commissary-like dining room, arms outstretched holding a hopelessly tangled piece of plastic wrap. Wear ear muffs.
All restaurants are wheelchair accessible.
We welcome your comments .