Roxy’s Diner in Fremont claims to be a New York Jewish-style diner that’s “real eastcoast on the westcoast.” So I went in recently for a hot pastrami sandwich on rye. It comes with mustard, a choice of sides, and a pickle. The meat, not exactly piled high, was okay, while the bread was soft and falling apart. Still, it satisfied this New Yorker’s cravings.

So what does Roxy Diner’s hot pastrami sandwich teach us about sex?

It’s all about incorporating food into your sex life.

Pastrami sandwich (Roxy Diner’s URL, by the way) is what ruins one of George “The Fornicating Gourmet” Costanza’s relationships during the “The Blood” episode in the final season of Seinfeld. (”I got greedy,” he says, adding, “Flew too close to the sun on the wings of pastrami.”) Distracted by food, he wants to incorporate it into his lovemaking, telling girlfriend Tara that he’s brought strawberries, chocolate sauce, pastrami on rye with mustard, and honey to the bedroom. When Tara questions the pastrami, he says it was featured in a scene in 9-1/2 Weeks–or maybe Ghostbusters.

Her disdain that he’s eating a sandwich stashed in a nightstand (and also trying to watch television) while having sex leads to this exchange at Monk’s Café:

Jerry: Didn’t go for it, huh?
George: No.
Jerry: So, she didn’t appreciate the erotic qualities of the salted cured meats?
George: She tolerated the strawberries and the chocolate sauce, but eh, it’s not a meal, you know? Food and sex, those are my two passions. It’s only natural to combine them.
Jerry: Natural? Sex is about love between a man and a woman, not a man and a sandwich.
George: Jerry, I’m not suggesting getting rid of the girl. She’s integral.
Jerry: Maybe instead of trying to satisfy two of your needs, how about satisfying one of somebody else’s?

Jerry ultimately scolds George for combining food and sex into one disgusting, uncontrollable urge.

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Actually, though, you can incorporate food into your sex life–if both you and your partner find it stimulating. (Or, if you’re going solo: think American Pie and Portnoy’s Complaint.) Some ideas:

• Enjoy the sensuality of a good meal, perhaps taking the food off the kitchen table and into the bedroom.
• Eat a mango, then use the mango skin for massage. (And note the convenience of other fruits and vegetables being phallic-shaped.)
• Blindfold each other and do tastings. This builds trust and erotic suspense.
• Mimic nyotaimori: sushi on the naked body.
• Ask where to pipe whipped cream for the other person to lick off. (George did have it right with chocolate sauce and honey.)
• Use Altoids for extra tingle during fellatio. (Or play with temperature, alternating hot and cold drinks in the mouth.)

These are just a few ideas. Consider them appetizers.

Remember: Oil in the genital area can break down latex if using protection, while sugar can bring about growth of yeast and bacteria. Towels, napkins, and extra sheets might come in handy with your culinary play. And, yes, you might want to keep a pastrami sandwich in your nightstand drawer to provide extra energy for second and third “courses.”

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on April 26, 2012.

Eppes Essen is apparently Yiddish for “eat something,” and that’s normally not a problem for me at a Jewish deli. I relish the thought of getting good “soul food” that I can’t find in Seattle, and with Eppes Essen touting its Readers Choice award as best in the New Jersey Monthly and the menu offering all the stardards, I was excited to give it a try. But the matzo ball soup was bland, the pickles off (can I get a good half-sour, please?), and my tongue sandwich nothing special. Nor was any of the other food I tasted, including a cold, limp potato pancake. Only after ordering did my brother mention that there’s a more popular deli in the area. Next time!

Next night, with family famished after the blah bat mitzvah food, we went out for late-night Chinese food at China Gourmet, which was convenient to our hotel. This dinner was fun for reminding me of my childhood Chinese meals with my family, ordering all their traditional favorites: barbecued spare ribs, egg foo young, fried rice, and the like. Not what I like to order, but familiar. And, again, nothing special. I snuck in an order of so-called “steamed dumpling in red oil” just to have something that sounded spicy. Nothing like the Szechuan food I’m spoined to have in Seattle, but I was hungry and found myself hoarding them.

A final night found us wanting a lighter meal after a late lunch, so my brother and I went to Yoshi-Sono – the local Japanese restaurant and sushi joint. I’d been there years ago, before I truly learned to love sushi and before my many trips to Japan. We sat at the counter, and when I said “kon ban wa” to the young sushi chef and he just stared at me with a silly look on his face, I had a hunch we were in trouble.

I like to order cautiously (a piece or two at a time) to assess quality. The fish didn’t look sparkingly fresh, so when my brother put in a fuller order, I told him I’d just have a few nigiri pieces. I barely got through those. The rice was mushy, and if a sushi restaurant can’t get that right, there’s little hope for the fish, which turned out to be limp and flavorless. I don’t regret that I didn’t have my camera for photos.

West Orange – a stone’s throw from the wonders of New York City – but a world away in being a culinary wasteland. Next time, I should at least go to Newark for some Portuguese food.