Lee's Deli of Racine - A Complete Review

Lee's Deli in Racine, Wisconsin - A Complete Review
by
The Emperor of Racine
As a five-year resident of the West side of Racine, Wisconsin, I have had ample
opportunity to sample the delectable dietary drama that is the crown jewel of
Racine, the infamous Lee's Deli experience. As the city of Racine grows on me,
learning of its infinite hidden treasures, I must confess within myself that the pearl
of this culinary clam is none other than Lee's Delicatessen, a virtual heaven for
one's taste buds. I want to recount two of my divine culinary experiences at Lee's
Delicatessen.
Do you remember the first time you made love, or the first time you dosed on LSD
back in the sixties? Forget about all that drivel. Trivial in comparison. My first
encounter with what I consider God himself, or at least the Hand of God, came
under the expert guidance of a sandwich genius named Nancy, a goddess sent from
the 77th level of sandwich paradise. I had heard much of what I thought was mere
urban legend concerning this taste temple, Lee's Deli, thinking the town residents
were only joking around, or maybe exaggerating. Boy, was I ever in for a surprise.
As I stood at the order station, Nancy approached with a knowing look on her face,
sporting a mysterious Mona Lisa smile, as if she knew I was a first timer.
Somehow knowing I had not yet incorporated Lee's Deli atoms into my
constitution. She said, in a rather mischievous, yet tame tone of voice, "May I help
you?". I could see a deep flame in her eyes, as a burning of the enlightened
masters of old that consumed many sandwiches in the Tibetan highlands. Rising to
the apparent challenge, I simply said, "Yes.", in the most diabolic voice I could
muster. "I would like to order a Gobbler, with onions, lettuce and tomatoes, and
French dressing." She got challenging with me, saying, "Yeah, well, do you want
mayo on that?", as if I could not handle the oral stimulation of raw meat, but I said
to her, "No. Hell no. I don't like sauce on my meat." Then she turned away
robotically as a wolf that has nibbled the very last bit of meat from the carcass of
its prey, and began manufacturing my unsaucy submarine.
Some people do not appreciate great artists. But I do. Where do the great ones
hide, the foxes that cover their tracks? Apparently, at Lee's Deli. After I purchased
my submarine sandwich, at a shy price I must say, I crept away from the temple to

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my jet-powered chopper and proceeded at a very deliberate pace to my dark home
in the sewer on 16th and Thurston Avenue. The suspense was to die for, having this
culinary mystery wrapped in white paper suitable for Guggenheim's transcriptions,
contained within the clutches of my shit-stained claws. After I had arrived within
the confines of my domicile, I laid the cosmic delight on the floor and placed six
candles around it, and lit them. I said an extensive prayer to Satan for granting me
the privilege of experiencing this hedonistic pleasure, then I slowly and
methodically tore many long strips of the wrapping paper away from the naughty
sandwich.
At first glance, I thought "My God. It's full of stars.", but I leaned up against the
wall and said many personal affirmations to try to reaffirm my own sanity. Unable
to hold back on my spiritual journey that was the exploration of this pleasure stack
of esoteric meats and cheeses, I squeezed the top slice of Italian bread, screamed,
and loudly lifted the slice off the top of the sandwich to reveal one of the greatest
modern masterpieces my eyes have ever experienced.
An obvious graduate of the post-modernist school, Nancy had carefully dribbled
the French dressing into a configuration in perfect agreement with the Golden
Ratio, which excited me in despicable ways. I could bear the artistic treachery no
longer, so I exploded out of the sewer and threw the sandwich at a Racine police
officer, who had severe philosophical disagreements with me apparently. I was
about to consume the delightful sandwich off of the pavement of 16th Street, but
ended up eating bologna sandwiches instead.
Six months later, I once again had been granted privileges by the demonic legions
to savor the culinary debauchery that is Lee's Delicatessen. This time, no Nancy.
But there was present a lesser-experienced angel, but without question, this being
was up to challenge me. This cherub thought she was bad ass. She thought she
could take me. Little did she know that my buds ain't no punks. This younger one
was named Sarah, a deceptive name meant to conceal her treacherous nature.
Sarah was all business. She took my order like the B9 robot on Lost in Space. I
fell for this, hook, line and sinker. She acted as if there would be no emotion
invested in the sandwich, but this turned out not to be the case. Sarah has a unique
talent in all of sandwich land. After I paid for my sandwich, I took it to my
domicile as before, and performed my traditional evile ritual. This time, having
been put at ease by Sarah's seeming clinical facade, I opened the sandwich with
little intrigue, no expectations. I opened the top of the sandwich and, alas, she had

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written, not in French dressing, but in her own blood, "I will end you". I sat there
with my jaw open for a minute, thinking, "What is the meaning of this?". Are her
sandwich skills so profound that if I were to even lick this sandwich, that the pure
awesomeness of it would literally end me? Would it cause the taste centers of my
brain to hemorrhage? Oh, now it's on! I felt compelled to not only eat, but to
viciously and savagely devour the sandwich in a sloppy animalistic attack using
only my mouth, as a hatchet to wood. No hands. Only teeth, tongue and grotesque
sounds like a wild boar. With Sarah's blood-substitute dressing smeared all over
my face. I attacked the sandwich and rolled around with it, accompanied by Bach's
Goldberg Variations playing on my phonograph, powered by trained rats which I
feed crack cocaine if they obey my commands. The experience was as delicious as
the sandwich, and I felt quite guilty afterwards, which made me want to get drunk
on sour goat's milk.
Lee's Deli is as surreal as it is fantastic. I love the appearance of the owner, I
believe his name is John. He reminds me of the egg-like creatures in the old
Beatles animations from years ago, or perhaps a sea barnacle, if you were to wet
his lips he would be quite suitable to stick on your refrigerator door as a kitchen
decoration. A fairly nice fellow.
All in all, I am so happy to live less than a couple miles from Lee's Deli, it is
convenient, well-priced and the food there is absolutely excellent. The service
during the day is superb, a little slower at night, but fast enough. They have a
catering service there that is utterly superb, and somewhat legendary. Overall,
Lee's Deli is excellently managed and has a great reputation, I recommend it to all
my friends and it is just a great, friendly place. But the old timers are the real talent
there, so if you want the best, timing is everything. 10 stars during the day,
probably 7 stars at night, but the night manager probably belongs in the 10 star
class. Overall, Lee's Deli is an excellent business, 10 stars.

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