Restaurant Review, Old New York Deli & Bakery Co.
4972 Verdugo
Way
Camarillo, CA
93012
“Have you ever seen a great horse pick a radish?” I asked dad at this
restaurant. “Find out which dough is
sour, then you’ll be a chicken,” Dad
remarked, referring to me as a horse and a chicken at the same time. I found that odd, since being at New York
Bagel didn’t automatically mean I was either a chicken or a horse. It can be said that this bakery was a coffeehouse
with multiple grains and sweet fries to add on to the barbeque ranch and turkey
burgers, although ginger and sesame had to go with the italian balsamic rather
than possibly jack cheese. In fact, almonds
with a light roast here were refreshed with Dr. Brown’s soda by me when owners
dined with their pet animals in a room shaded with decoration and prestige. “The ham is from those black forests in the
east of our state’s winds to the point of an important pug.” Of course, I got ahead of myself. Dad had always enjoyed bagels with the
scallion mark and recognized tea with a full leaf. All of Old New York Deli, coffee named after
a red eye… the workers put the nut on vanilla, switching between places by the
kitchen where onion was rolling away. It
was additional tomato for stripping the tortilla of its roast, eating a
breakfast burrito served with happiness on the side while confused over the
Popeye spinach. “I can peel these spices
like a banana.” I joked. “I take the bread made from hands and fruit
as fresh.” Dad was relaxing at a booth
of three chairs with his bagel chips, which turned out to be cooked well to the
char by the time we returned with soda bottles.
I also went up to the cashier with raged happiness and said, “I’ll take
a full deli sandwich.” The pepper
rings. A gamer was enthused from an
Apple computer while two ladies barked with gusto in Spanish. “Bagels with a schmear, food of an old city
far away.” I continued. “This is a cure for the bacon: add the shape
of a vegetable to beef, then stir. Two
pieces of bacon to a complete breakfast may be in burritos served with
happiness on the side, since the city’s dreams are ceremonial food to the
American privilege.” “Have you taken
your meds?” asked dad, enthused with the privilege of bringing home hot dog
snacks from shelves full of desserts. “Yes! I’ve also gotten sauce from a leader who’s
been passing away from the crowd to a fountain with delicious tea, cheese with
smoke, hand kaiser rolls, thick cuts of deli hash.” I also made compliments of the deli bakery to
my dad on scrambled pastrami to my silver dollar pancakes, eating the fast
dishes while fried eggs got to the breakfast nova in sure protection. We took a spicy walk, dad and me, to what the
bakery had called a mammoth with red lines: a full burrito, which was being distinguished
with astonishment on the part of my mom, Wendy.
“There’s Wendy’s in town, mom.”
We joked, and she knew her responsibility for a popular restaurant was
only namesake, and we enjoyed company while a dutiful manager personally
prepared actual onion rings for us. The
boss recognized that the Camarillo Dream, a drink I had ordered, had its own
namesake which added to the company between him and me on lettuce mixture,
although he’d rather work on hand challa to french toast instead of bargaining
to my mom for approved favor; his services for whole tortillas and hot
chocolate became, in my “warning eyes as silk”, the indoor moods above a clean
environment, the restaurant crew preparing more than their share of grilled rye
and leveling dusty packets of sugar onto the customization area. During a time of vacationing and thick cuts
of russian dressing, we were clearly all about happiness since Old New York
Deli & Bakery through professionalism exuded on mom’s coleslaw substitution
a couple of months ago, so I remember their rolls made from the scratch.
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