Once upon a time there was a shop called Charcuterie, it had dusty, sparsely stocked shelves of imported speciality products; it also made some of the best damn sandwiches in NYC. You could grab a beer and eat your sandwich with a cold beer at one of the oak tables in the back and watch the people pass by on Flatbush Avenue. Then, one day, they closed, but they promised to open back up in a bigger, better space across the street. Two years later, Mitchell's opened up. Pete and company excitedly went when it first opened but were shocked to learn that instead of sandwich spot with more space, it was a jazz club/sports bar/hookah bar/night club/restaurant as well as a deli. It's kind of like the mafia, they were really good at extortion and rackets, but the allure of big money in the drug trade was too much--and it led to their downfall. Somehow, someway, Mitchell's has managed to stay in business despite the fact Pete never sees anyone in any area other than the deli--but, they still make some of the best damn sandwiches in NYC. Pete got the Godfather--stacks of Italian meats, provolone, mozzarella, sweet peppers, black olive tapenade, lettuce, tomato, and balsamic vinegar on homemade baked bread--it was so big, Pete could barely get his mouth around it. The two brothers that run the place have a certain resemblance to Marlon Brando and they are consistently trying to make you offers that you can't refuse, i.e. you have to have the cheesecake, you need to try the spare ribs, etc. Pete recommends picking up a sandwich and having it with a beer at either Freddy's or O'Connor's.