The pastrami sandwich here has a street address, a stall number, and no interest in coming to find you.
This Pennsylvania deli sits inside Reading Terminal Market, where every aisle attempts to rewrite your lunch plan. Reaching Arch Street only gets you through the first chapter.
You still need to enter the market, locate it, and ignore several convincing distractions along the way.
That last part may require more discipline than the navigation.
Pennsylvania gives you a historic market packed with counters competing for your attention.
The route is not difficult, but it rewards anyone who checks the map before following their nose. Pennsylvania lunch rarely comes with coordinates this specific.
Keep B6 in mind. Your appetite will suggest at least twelve unauthorized detours.
The Address Gets You To The Market, Not The Sandwich
Arch Street finishes its job at the front door.
Your navigation app can place you beside the building, but it cannot escort you through the market or protect you from an unexpected pretzel purchase.
The market has operated from its current building since 1893. Its large interior brings together prepared-food counters, produce stands, bakeries, specialty shops, and merchants selling ingredients you did not know your kitchen suddenly needed.
That variety makes the destination exciting, but it also explains why one specific stall can take a few minutes to locate. You are entering a working public market, not a narrow food hall with one straight walkway and twelve identical signs.
Drivers can use nearby garages, although checking the market’s current parking arrangements before leaving saves unnecessary circling. Philadelphia traffic has already assigned itself enough personality without adding a parking scavenger hunt.
Once you enter, stop thinking like a pedestrian following an address. Start thinking like a diner searching for one particular counter in a building where lunch keeps making competing offers.
The city gets you to 1136 Arch Street, Reading Terminal Market, B6, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19107. B6 takes over from there.
B6 Turns The Market Map Into Lunch Equipment
A stall number may be the most useful appetizer you receive all day. Hershel’s occupies B6, near the market’s central area.
The market’s directory and floor map are worth checking before your visit. You do not need to memorize every merchant. You only need enough orientation to avoid circling the same aisle while insisting you recognize that bakery from five minutes ago.
Keep watching for row markers and vendor signs. Hershel’s old-school lettering becomes easier to spot once you reach the correct part of the market, and the sight of meat being carved provides better confirmation than any blinking map dot.
The search also introduces you to the building. You pass merchants that have served generations of Philadelphians, counters sending hot food into the aisles, and displays capable of turning one planned sandwich into an entire afternoon of eating.
That does not mean you should abandon the mission. Hershel’s pastrami has waited through more than two decades of market distractions without developing patience for your indecision.
A Family Story Gave The Counter Its Name
This deli name belongs to a person, not a marketing meeting.
Stephen Safern opened Hershel’s East Side Deli with business partner Andrew Wash in 2000. The name honors Safern’s uncle Hershel, a Polish-born chef who spent more than four decades working at Katz’s Delicatessen in New York City.
That background gives the Philadelphia counter a direct connection to traditional Jewish deli cooking.
Uncle Hershel’s career shaped the family’s understanding of deli food. Safern carried that influence into Reading Terminal Market. He built a counter where Eastern European comfort dishes sit beside thick sandwiches carved in full view.
You do not need the family story to enjoy lunch, but knowing it changes the name above the counter. Hershel’s stops sounding like a fictional mascot and starts reading like a tribute with a carving knife behind it.
More than two decades later, the counter has become part of the market’s own history. Tourists arrive after searching for pastrami, while regulars approach with the confidence of people who have already decided before entering the building.
The family connection never needs to interrupt your meal with a speech. It appears through the food, the preparation, and the decision to keep old deli traditions working in a modern Philadelphia market.
Many restaurants borrow nostalgia. Hershel’s inherited the real thing and put it on rye.
The Pastrami Refuses To Share Top Billing
This sandwich does not arrive. It makes an entrance.
Hershel’s cures its pastrami in-house and carves it to order at the counter. Thick slices pile onto bread while you watch, creating the kind of sandwich that immediately turns one napkin into reckless optimism.
The meat carries seasoning through each slice without depending on a tower of decorative toppings. Mustard and rye keep the structure traditional, leaving the pastrami responsible for most of the argument.
Its connection to New York deli culture comes naturally through Uncle Hershel’s long career. The Philadelphia version still has its own identity, shaped by the market, the counter team, and the customers who have adopted it as a local favorite.
Corned beef and brisket offer serious competition. The Reuben brings sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and grilled rye into the discussion, while the corned beef special gives you another reason to hesitate when your turn arrives.
That hesitation can become dangerous with a line behind you. Study the menu before reaching the counter, especially when hunger has already reduced your decision-making skills to pointing at whatever the previous customer received.
Watching the carving helps. You see the portion build, notice the steam, and understand why eating this sandwich neatly was never a realistic goal.
The first bite usually settles the debate. The second reminds you that your shirt remains within mustard range.
Hershel’s pastrami does not need a sales pitch. It has already stacked the evidence between two slices of bread.
The Knife Keeps Lunch Moving
Your sandwich begins with a blade and ends with both hands occupied.
Carving the meat in front of you turns preparation into part of the experience. The counter team works through whole cuts, building each order after it is placed rather than retrieving an identical sandwich from a refrigerated row.
The process never needs theatrical lighting. The knife, cutting board, and rising stack provide enough entertainment while you wait.
You can also see what you are getting before the sandwich is wrapped. The meat does not hide beneath shredded lettuce, fried garnishes, or a decorative skewer tall enough to interfere with nearby airspace.
Counter seating keeps you close to the action when a stool is available. Additional seating around the market gives you more options, though busy periods can turn finding a chair into the second navigation challenge of lunch.
At Hershel’s, the knife handles the carving. You handle the consequences.
The Sides Refuse To Stay In The Background
Hershel’s serves more than oversized sandwiches, and the supporting menu can easily become the reason for your next visit. Matzo ball soup offers a warmer route through lunch, while potato knishes bring a compact answer to anyone who underestimated their appetite.
Latkes arrive ready to challenge the idea that potatoes require complicated treatment. A crisp exterior and soft center do the work, especially when you order them beside a sandwich that has already occupied most of the tray.
Bagels with lox give you a different direction entirely. They suit an earlier visit or anyone unwilling to begin the day with a pastrami sandwich large enough to affect walking speed.
Dessert keeps the counter from ending on mustard. Cheesecake offers a dense final course when the sandwich has somehow failed to use every available inch of appetite.
The menu works because the dishes belong together. Nothing appears simply to inflate the number of choices or chase a passing food trend.
Pastrami may own the marquee. The knish is waiting near the exit with a very convincing sequel.
Finding The Counter Makes Lunch Taste Like A Victory
The hardest part is not getting inside. It is staying loyal to the original plan.
Reading Terminal Market surrounds Hershel’s with more than 80 merchants, each capable of delaying your arrival through sight, smell, or a sample offered at exactly the wrong moment.
That competition makes B6 more satisfying to reach. You have navigated the market, ignored several strong alternatives, and arrived at a counter where the carving knife confirms that your focus finally produced results.
The market deserves exploration after lunch. Once the sandwich has handled the main assignment, you can return to the bakery, examine specialty shops, or collect something for later without risking a complete change of entrée.
You may make one wrong turn. You may buy a pretzel you never planned to order. You may also leave wondering why every lunch counter does not come with this much personality.