My love affair with New York started early. At 18 I landed in a Harlem hostel for a few weeks while I was backpacking around the world and, unbeknown to me at the time, acquiring a fascination and love for food on my travels that would shape the rest of my life.
New York was big and bold, with people everywhere in a city that felt like it never slept. I could not believe the amount of restaurants and fast food eateries that were constantly full and seemingly endless. I'd go from window to window scouting out the menus to see what I could afford: not much, as it would turn out.
I ended up at Eisenburg's: a late night deli with a homely feel and some very tired looking cooks. They had dark lines under their eyes and fresh burns all over their forearms - had I known at the time that I was staring at my future I may have given up before I started.

But what I ate that night at Eisenburg's were two of the simplest and best dishes of my life: a pastrami reuben sandwich and a New York cheesecake. They were simple dishes that had been refined to complexity and perfection.