When it comes to discussions of food and dictators, few people can match the distinction of Al Yeganeh, former owner of Al’s Soup Kitchen International. Despite the name of his establishment, Al was hardly in the business of feeding the poor. Rather, his clientele consisted of those willing to shell out up to $25 for a cup of the best soup in Manhattan. If the name is still not ringing a bell, you may know him better as the “Soup Nazi” immortalized on Seinfeld.

Many people don’t realize it, but the “Soup Nazi” was actually based on a real person at a soup stand on 55th Street in New York. And while Mr. Yeganeh took great offense to being referred to as a Nazi, the portrayal of him and his soups on the show was highly accurate. I first visited his restaurant around 1999 (the term restaurant is used rather loosely as it refers to a retail establishment in which the counter extends all the way to the sidewalk such that customers are never actually inside). I thought I was prepared, having studied that day’s menu before getting in line and having my money in hand. But after placing my order and tendering payment, Mr. Yeganeh asked me if I had read the sign. I looked to the side to see a piece of paper with a single sentence printed in about six languages: “After ordering, please step to the [highlighted, underlined] EXTREME left.” In case there were any doubts as to what this meant, convenient yellow footprints had been painted onto the sidewalk to direct traffic from the place to order to the place to wait. Knowing that another second of hesitation could result in my soup privileges being revoked, I quickly complied with the instructions and received my order.

The real question, however, is whether the soup is really that good. The answer is yes. Period. It was once said on Seinfeld that you have to eat this soup sitting down, and, indeed, if you tried eating it standing up, your knees would buckle. The selections varied day to day, but whether it was turkey chili, seafood, bisque, mulligatawny or Newman’s favorite, Jambalaya, everything was absolutely first rate.

On subsequent visits, I learned from my mistakes and developed a reputation as a model customer, a difficult feat at such an establishment. Frequently, when I went at the end of the day, Al would admit that the quality of the remaining soup had suffered compared to a few hours earlier, and he accordingly offered an extra cup of something else free of charge. And, of course, his idea of a soup that had passed its peak quality was still better than anything served elsewhere.

But alas, like all totalitarian regimes, be they delicious or genocidal, Al’s run on 55th Street had to come to an end. One year, I went down on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to get my customary serving of turkey chili for the next day to find the windows covered in newspaper. Rumors about the fate of everyone’s beloved soup circulated for over a year before the sad announcement that he would never reopen.

But hope for Al’s followers remains. National franchising rights were sold to “The Original Soup Man” which started with locations in Manhattan and is slowly expanding west. While these franchises can never capture the experience of being served by Al and the soup is not quite of the same quality, it is still undeniably good. A line of prepared gourmet soups is also being rolled out at retailers across the country. And, finally, for the chefs among us, a number of recipes are available online, though their authenticity is not entirely clear.

So while no customer will ever again receive an authentic outburst of “No soup for you!” the amazing soups of Al Yeganeh are not completely out of reach — the legacy of arguably the greatest dictator in culinary history lives on.