MONTREAL - I never thought I’d make a pilgrimage for smoked meat. And not solely because of the plethora of jokes the very statement opens up either!

But when I moved to Montreal earlier this year, I was determined to go through the rite of passage that can only be served up at 3895 Saint-Laurent Boulevard.

That, of course, being a trip to Schwartz's Hebrew Delicatessen for their world famous smoked meat sandwich.

Many visits in my (long since past) formative party years never included a stop at the rather unassuming deli. Nor did references to it by friends, family and pop culture persuade me to go.

I always thought it would be over-rated, deli-counter, meat that I wouldn’t be too fond of. The fact that it was a Hebrew delicatessen also held me back for one distinct reason: I’m not Jewish. How could a non-practising Christian who leans towards atheism as much as anything else be allowed into a Hebrew delicatessen??

Oy vey, such worries!

Well, no more a Schwartz-free schmuck would I be! I was going to try this smoked meat and lay judgement once and for all.

Prepare thyself Schwartz.

Before I got the chance to order one of these fistfuls of meat with some bread and mustard loosely attached at the north and south poles, I had to get in to the place.

Schwartz’s is known as much for the line of people getting in, as it is for the sandwich itself, so if you’re in need of a fast lunch – don’t bank on this place.

Though, to be honest, this isn’t fast food and no one pretends it to be in spite of the “deli” title.

My virgin encounter with the smoked meat shrine was late afternoon on a weekday, how busy could it be?

Busy enough for a small line.

There were a half dozen people in front of me, all of whom seemed to know the rules and procedures of what was going on. Oddly reminiscent of a certain soup-related Seinfeld episode...

But I digress.

Next thing you know, I’m at the front of the line. A man in a white apron smiles and nods at me through the glass door, a gesture I take to mean, “Come on in customer!”

“Hey buddy, what are you doing?” he asks when I breach the deli-precipice for the first time.

“Oh crap, he’s on to my lack of Hebrewish-ness!” I think to myself.

“Uh, a table for four??” I bravely state (read: meekly utter).

“Wait outside, I’ll call you in. What’s your rush??” he says gesturing me back outside.

At least it’s a sunny afternoon. People line up at night, in the rain, in the snow, and during the NHL playoffs for this stuff. I got off easy!

Soon enough we’re inside, led in and sat down at a table of six, joining our two newest friends who are already halfway through their lunch.

You can order other things, but the reason you should go is for a smoked meat sandwich. You can choose how you’d like your sandwich, but few order the “lean” and most go for the “medium” as it’s known to be the most delicious.

Who am I to question this logic?

Medium with mustard it is, and a (giant) pickle and plate of fries on the side.

A few minutes after ordering, the Mecca of meat sandwiches is put in front of me. And if you’re anything like me your eyes immediately focus on the pieces of fat hanging out the ends of the bread, which are slowly sliding off the top of Mount Schwartz.

Even the bread seems to be running away, and I’m going to put this in my body??

Well, I’m here. Worst case, it’s no good, and I leave it and walk out with my head lowered in shame and defeat.

First bite... wait for it to sink in... swallow... and...

Mazel Tov! It’s delicious!

It melts in my mouth, tastes delicious, and they still haven’t caught on to my lack of Hebrew heritage! Win-win-win!

I’m officially a Montrealer! And you can be too, for less $10 for the entire sha-bang!

Leave what you know about healthy eating, stellar service, and leisurely, private dining at home, grab a Bixi bike and head to St-Laurent and enter flavour country.

May the Schwartz be with you!