Let them eat appetizer cake: A tribute to Flakowitz of Boynton

Come for the complimentary cake, stay for the quintessential Jewish eating experience.

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You don’t even have to walk inside Flakowitz of Boynton before the authentically Jewish experiences begin.

Arriving at the iconic deli at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday, there’s an understanding that you aren’t going to walk right in and sit down. The line to be seated reaches the front door. As I opened that door, an older (presumably) Jewish woman walked through. In quick succession, she:

1. Marveled at my instinct to perform this basic task.

2. Let me know that her son does it as well.

3. Peppered my girlfriend with questions about our relationship status.

4. Made it clear that, based on my ability to hold a door, I was of the high character that one should look for in a life partner.

This was my girlfriend’s first foray into Flakowitz and I couldn’t think of a more apt way for this experience to begin. And we hadn’t even been served the appetizer cake yet.

But let’s back up. The last time I visited Boynton Beach, Florida, it was for a funeral. I’m now here for a wedding. Let it never be said that Florida is just for your aging Jewish relatives. The circle of life is strong here, though it still eats dinner before 5:30 p.m.

Aside from the places I’ve lived, I don’t think I’ve visited anywhere on Earth more than Boynton Beach. My grandparents moved here from Queens around 1990 when I was 12 and weekend trips and summer vacation stops became regular occurrences for the better part of my childhood. I knew the Sun Valley East 55+ community like the back of my hand. The clubhouse pool was my second home every time I stayed there. I dominated my cousins on the shuffleboard court. I devoured many a John Grisham novel while lounging under that Florida sun (even at a young age, I reveled in stories about the seedy underbelly of the Memphis legal community).

Bagels were a quintessential part of the Boynton Beach experience as well. I can’t imagine there was a morning at my grandparents’ home they weren’t present. And if not, we went out for breakfast at one of the many delis catering to the crowds of New Yorkers who flocked here.

Credit: Flakowitz

That included Flakowitz, a Boynton Beach institution that offered everything you’d expect and want from a Jewish delicatessen. Want to gorge yourself on a pastrami on rye? They’ve got you. Need a half-pound of chopped liver and some belly lox? No problem. Just want a black & white cookie and a knish to go? You got it. Craving some kasha varnishkes? You know what to do.

It embodied the prototypical Jewish deli experience in many other ways. Always crowded, especially on a weekend morning, you stood in line amongst other complaining Jews who wondered aloud what was taking so long. The servers were brusque but efficient. After your meal, you walked over to the bakery and took a ticket, eying up which cookies you wanted while waiting for your number to be called. And when your number was called, you ordered directly and fast, because you were surrounded by a dozen agitated retired Jews who had better things to do.*

*They did not, in fact, have better things to do.

“It’s not an easy crowd, I’m not going to lie to you. Maybe it’s a Northeastern thing,” Flakowitz co-owner Robert Pirozzi told the Sun-Sentinel in 2014. “They know what they want, they want it now and it better be great or you are going to hear about it. If you are looking for a nice, romantic, peaceful place, Flakowitz is not the way to go.”

Credit: Forest and Kim Starr

As I got older and my visits to Boynton Beach became less frequent, some of the details of my trips became fuzzy. I held onto many great memories with my grandparents, but the names of places we’d visited and the experiences we had there started to fade.

When it came to Flakowitz, however, one memory stuck with me more than anything: The appetizer cake.

When you sat down at your table, regardless of the time of day, someone would plop down a plate of marble cake while you perused the menu to figure out what you wanted.

To be clear, this is not some kind of multigrain health loaf or fruit-filled pastry meant as a light amuse-bouche. And it’s certainly not a bread basket. This is an honest-to-god brick of real-deal cake. No matter what and no matter when you arrive. Did you stroll in at 8:00 a.m. ready to attack the 90-degree day ahead? Here’s a giant slab of cake to get you going.

When I found out I’d be returning to Boynton Beach for the first time since my grandmother passed away, Flakowitz was the first thing I thought of. I couldn’t return to their home in Sun Valley East and gorge myself on the months-old jellybeans lurking in the candy drawer, but I knew I’d be able to enjoy some appetizer cake.

And, lo, there was appetizer cake.

And it was good.

You’re probably wondering about the bagels. Truth be told, they’re not showstoppers. But then again, you don’t come to Flakowitz for showstoppers. You come for consistency. You come for classics. You come to be amongst curmudgeons. You come for constants.

You come for the appetizer cake.

I don’t know the next time I’ll be in Boynton Beach. The tethers that always pulled me back no longer exist. If there’s anything I’ve learned in this life, however, this South Florida enclave will always pull me back. Like a small Maine town in a Stephen King story (albeit one populated by old Jews with strong opinions on the Mets), an unseen force never lets us go no matter where we are. Eventually, it will ensnare me again.

At least I know I’ll get some cake when it does.

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