The Cow And I

Reuben?

Against my better judgment, I visited the office cafeteria again today. I had sworn off the place since my rancid double-rubber burger last week. But I had eaten so ravenously last night that no leftovers were, in fact, left over.

I was imagining a Reuben sandwich. I'd seen it on the menu. I ordered it, asked the cashier to double up the meat. A good, hearty American sandwich, corned beef with sauerkraut, russian dressing, melted swiss cheese on rye, grilled or butter-fried. This is what I imagined I would soon be gulping down at my desk:

Ah, so good.

The rough contrasts of tangy kraut with a bit of pickled sweetness of the dressing, a beefy center, the subtle swiss. Ohh, I couldn't wait.

The origin of the Reuben Sandwich is, like many inventions, shrouded in half-truths and embellishments. The scenario takes place sometime between 1920 and 1935 in Omaha, Nebraska, where, during a weekly poker game and in a tradition reminiscent of the Earl of Sandwich, the players prepared their own refreshments. Little did they know that their cardplaying would spawn a deli tradition.

One of the regulars, Reuben Kay, a wholesale grocer, liked to combine corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut on rye bread. He was said to win quite handily at the table when in the company of his delicious sandwich. He soon passed the secret to his son, Bernard Kay, a restaurant manager at a hotel in Omaha.

Bernard in turn, while in flagrante delicto with his grill girl, a Miss Fern Snider, was said to have blurted out the secrets to his father's invention in a fit of passion. In 1956 Miss Snider won first place in the National Kraut Packers Association sandwich contest with - you guessed it - the Reuben. She had prepared the sandwich with well-drained and chilled sauerkraut, Emmenthaler Swiss cheese, thinly sliced corned beef and homemade Russian dressing on fresh pumpernickel bread, served cold, or grilled quickly with butter so that the sandwich was hot outside and cold within. A true American tradition.

I too would hope to be inspired by my soon-to-be-delivered, perhaps even award-winning piece of Nebraska history.

My number came up. I briskly strode to the counter. I grabbed the plate in anticipation. I looked with hope and expectation.

I saw... this:

This neon yellow, goo-encased abomination in no way resembled the sandwich of deli fame. This was no Reuben, this was a dripping Daliesque nightmare!

But it was beef (6.5 oz, 479.7 total). So I ate it.

Posted by eric at March 3, 2004 12:51 PM