Saul’s Deli in Berkeley is an undeniable fave. One of the few things Hugh and I miss from our Los Angeles existence is the old neighborhood deli — with its naugahyde booths and rough-and-tumble wait staff. Saul’s is a bit more refined in its Gourmet Ghetto enclave. But it has a deli pedigree stretching back to the 1950s. It reeks of Berkeley nostalgia, both communal and personal. I spent many a lunch hour there during my days at Cal, when Saul’s was a mere morsel of its remodeled and modern self. Saul’s is also one of the Bay Area standbys for Passover treats and prepared holiday fare.
Hugh and I love to meander in after the midday rush and sink into one of their booths for a “meeting.” We ruminate on our unfinished screenplays, our unfinished iPhone app, our unfinished photography projects. We emerge — at worst — with one line of dialogue. Or — at best — having re-written Act I for the 71st time.
And then we eat homemade soup, drink iced tea and play with empty pickle dishes that just beg for creative constructs under the halogen bulbs.
Taken with available light using a Panasonic Lumix TZ5 pocket-superzoom.