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From the outside, Cecil's looks like a simple neighborhood bodega, only there for you in a pinch if you run out of milk or need to grab a granola bar.
But once you enter Cecil's, and peer past the deli counter and shelved of pickles, the back opens up to a beautiful red and chrome eatery with two kinds of mustard on each table.
From the first time you eat here, it's clear that this is a place with heart. There's the fellas out front, slicing the cold cuts, the servers keeping the Dr. Brown's Cream Soda topped off, the kitchen staff working tirelessly over hot griddles and Aaron, whose grandparents started Cecil's in 1949, running all parts of the operation.
On the night we visit, there's a rowdy group of ladies from the Red Hat Society, two men speaking feverishly in an eastern European language, a couple sharing a milk shake and a few families. Spread out among the tables are latkes, potato knishes, lox and cream cheese, cups of borscht, matzo ball soup, and every variation of sauerkraut, pastrami and rye under the sun.
Cecil's is legendary when it comes to arranging and rearranging sauerkraut, pastrami and rye into dozens of tasty sandwiches. They've been in the business for nearly 60 years, so they ought to know that there really is a science and art to it all.
In those 60 years (nearly), Cecil's has established itself as a friendly, accessible and moderate Jewish eatery in the Highland neighborhood. Aaron says that most of the customers who come into Cecil's are not actually Jewish, and and that by the books (and that book being the Torah) they aren't as strict as some Twin Cities Jews might want them to be. You see, they're open on Friday night and Saturday mornings (when Jewish people celebrate the Sabbath with rest.) But Aaron explains that Cecil's is in the business of making money, and serving it's neighborhood, who , ironically, is mostly Catholic.
What all of this means is that Cecil's is a place for everyone, or at least anyone who has a hankerin' for chopped liver, club sandwiches on French toast and some of the best Reubens in the Metro.
One of the most charming things about Cecil's is that if you're up for it, you can get a lesson or two (or three) about Judaism. There is a story to be told behind almost every dish (about how it came to be at Cecil's or how it came to be for Jews across time.) Take for example the club sandwich on French toast. Aaron's grandmother wanted a club on the menu, but Jews are not allowed to eat bacon, so she tweaked the sandwich with its own Cecil's twist. Or the Hamantaschen, a triangle-shaped pastry which reminds people of the story of Esther, and is served year-round at Cecil's (when most places would only serve it during the holiday Purim.)
These stories are the tidbits you'll take away from Cecil's, as well as a doggy bag, because their menu items are stacked! And believe us, once you go to Cecil's, you'll be looking for reasons to be in the Highland neighborhood ever after.
