The super popular Salt & Straw finally opened in NYC, but nobody needed pastrami ice cream on rye

Salt & Straw — a national chain of quirky ice cream shops based in Portland, Oregon, backed by Danny Meyer — launched its first Big Apple location at 360 Amsterdam Ave. last month in breathless environmental excitement.

But the weirdest desserts of the outfit should have stayed in Portland, a city with perhaps the most important culinary scene in the country.

Some salt and straw “classics” like double vanilla are good, even at $21.20 for two double-scoop waffle cones.

The vanilla is extremely creamy, but the flavor is one-dimensional compared to the airier vanilla, tinged with rum and Madagascar nutmeg at the Gelato Factory, a block away on Broadway.

Salt & Straw is a long, airy Upper West Side storefront, as icy as a frozen food aisle, adorned with a mural by Brooklyn-based artist Dan Funderburgh. Despite Eater.com’s warning to “prepare for long lines,” I saw no crowds on my three visits.

Salt & Straw specializes in the obscure repertoire of the ice cream world—a pretentious style typified by the infamous Fernet Branca ice cream sandwich at the old Pearl & Ash. It tasted worse than actual Italian digestive. Â

At least S&S creations are based on foods you like in the real world.

But there was no joy in the “pastrami on rye,” where butterscotch ice cream is topped with pastrami sourced from Carnegie Deli. The only distinct flavor I detected was mustard. The meat scraps “turn to dust,” my horrified colleague said.

At least another New York-themed flavor, “pistachio ricotta,” had no savory overload to overwhelm the indulgent sweetness (these things are supposed to be desserts, after all).

But it’s a trick: if I’m craving pistachio ricotta, I’ll find the real thing at an Italian bakery.

I loved the caramel ribbon sea salt on the “classic” list. This is what great ice cream once meant, an unquestionable delight in the interplay of sweet flavor and texture. Fleur de sel from Guatemala and hand-burnt dark caramel are partners in simple pleasure that cannot be compared to laboratory tricks.Â

Whatever flavor you order, give it time to melt for a few minutes. Varieties sold by the pint or by the spoon or cup were almost frozen, a condition that dilutes the good, the bad and the indescribable.

The venue hits the bottom of this month’s special Halloween lineup. The pumpkin Jack o’ Lantern is comparable to any Starbucks pumpkin latte.

But “Candytopia” lays a minefield of Kit Kat, Reese’s, Heath Bar and Snickers fragments beneath a salty buttery ice cream that would be great on its own. The candies, some hard enough to damage a tooth, surprisingly all tasted the same.

And beware the Creepy Crawlies by all means. I don’t know if the candied insect fragments under the Matcha ice cream were chocolate-covered crickets or fragile coffee mealworms—but the happily dead organisms felt like they were squirming on my tongue and throat.

I threw it all away before taking the time to investigate – and you probably will too.