Just Back: the best readers' travel writing 2013 A rain-soaked walk through Chinatown and Little Italy leads us to our next destination: the restaurant in which Meg Ryan faked an orgasm in When Harry Met Sally. We're here! I say, stuffing the damp map in my pocket. Salamis hang in the window like savoury Christmas baubles, above which a sign promises us the best sandwich in town. This isn't news to me. I've read the reviews. Their pastrami on rye is legendary. Sally Albright certainly seemed to like hers. Pushing open the glass doors, I fear we've wandered onto the wrong set. Crammed into a queue with other hungry, sodden diners, I feel less like the bubbly blonde from a rom-com and more like an extra waiting in a soup line from some film about the Great Depression. A burly attendant hands us each a ticket as we're corralled into an area facing the most confusing service counter I've ever seen. It stretches the length of the dining room and behind it an army of staff speedily carve meats and slap mustard onto sandwiches amid a chorus of yelling. Move down guys! The door attendant hollers at us. Having congregated with other confused diners, we hesitantly move along the counter. The runners up