Yes!

How a mountain of pastrami, a suspiciously good cookie, and one very long line convinced me that Eric Greenspan might be onto something.

When Eric Greenspan opens a deli, expectations are high.

Not “hopefully this is good” high.

More like:

👉 “People will be discussing this pastrami in group texts by lunchtime” high.

Fortunately, Mish doesn’t just meet expectations.

It steamrolls right over them with a mountain of hand-carved pastrami.

Located at First and La Brea, Mish had only been open for one day when we visited.

One day.

Restaurants usually spend their first week forgetting side dishes, losing tickets, and quietly panicking in the kitchen.

Mish felt like it had been operating for years.

Which is honestly a little suspicious.

The moment I walked in, I got major Katz’s Delicatessen vibes.

Not a copy.

More like if Katz’s moved to Los Angeles, hired a designer, started drinking natural wine, and discovered flattering lighting.

It’s classic deli nostalgia with a distinctly LA glow-up.

And somehow it works.

The line was already long.

Very long.

The kind of line that normally makes me reconsider all my life choices.

But then something magical happened.

They started handing out samples.

Turkey.

Brisket.

Pastrami.

Suddenly everyone in line became significantly more patient.

For journalistic purposes, I sampled all three.

Multiple times.

I take my responsibilities seriously.

🍪 Before we even got to the sandwiches, we encountered the bakery case.

And honestly?

The bakery case deserves its own fan club.

We ordered the black-and-white cookies.

Massive.

Beautiful.

Topped with salted dark chocolate and Madagascar vanilla.

At some point one mysteriously disappeared before our sandwiches arrived.

No one has confessed.

No one will.

Some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved.

Then came the main event.

🥪 The Pastrami Reuben.

Hand-carved pastrami.

Swiss cheese.

Russian dressing.

Fennel kraut.

Schmaltz-grilled rye.

This wasn’t just a sandwich.

This was a temporary interruption of all conversation.

Everyone stopped talking.

Not because they were being polite.

Because they were busy.

One bite explained everything.

The pastrami is absolutely the real deal.

Tender.

Flavorful.

Perfectly carved.

The kind of sandwich that makes you start calculating how often you can reasonably drive across town.

The Tuna Melt also deserves recognition.

Loaded with lemon-dill tuna salad, New School American and Swiss cheese, all melted together on schmaltz-grilled rye.

At most restaurants, the Tuna Melt would be the star.

Unfortunately for the Tuna Melt, it was sharing the stage with the Reuben.

Silver medal.

Strong performance.

No shame.

What impressed me most wasn’t just the food.

It was how polished everything felt.

This was Day Two.

DAY TWO.

The line moved quickly.

The staff was friendly.

The sandwiches came out efficiently.

Nobody looked stressed.

Nobody looked confused.

Nobody appeared to be questioning their career choices.

That’s rare.

And it’s a testament not just to the food, but to the team behind it.

🥯 Maybe that’s what makes Mish feel special.

Lots of restaurants can make a great sandwich.

Far fewer can create an experience people immediately want to repeat.

The line is already forming.

The cookies are already disappearing.

The Reuben is already developing a cult following.

And Mish has barely opened its doors.

⭐ Final Verdict

Los Angeles has no shortage of great sandwiches.

But Mish feels different.

The food is exceptional.

The service is polished.

The bakery case is dangerous.

And the Pastrami Reuben alone is worth crossing town for.

Would I go back?

I was planning my next visit before I finished my sandwich.