Its origins are shrouded in mystery. Some say that aliens visited the ancient Egyptians and gifted them with this culinary delight. Others say that it was the last and greatest contribution of the people of Atlantis to their primitive neighbors. And yet others place its beginnings in Masonic rituals dating back millennia.No matter what theory you ascribe to, the moment that you sink your teeth into this divine concoction, it is clear: the Reuben Sandwich is the greatest food to slide into the belly of humanity.
It's a zen thing. The flavors oppose and balance each other -- but more than just swiss cheese vs. sauerkraut and corned beef vs. rye bread. No, the interrelation of the parts of the sandwich is more complex, more subtle. One could spend years meditating over the mysteries of the Reuben and still not fully comprehend it. Better, one could eat it.
Hail to the Reuben Sandwich, King of the Delicatessen!
By the way, the finest Reubens (I suppose, for I have never made a pilgrimage to NYC, where portents indicate better may be found) can be consumed at the greatest deli in Birmingham, where they make the sandwich on pumpernickel. It is roughly the size of a football and costs $13.
3 comments:
Umm, ummm, um. Now thems some good vittles.
I don't even really like a Reuben, but you make it sound so poetic I can hardly catch my breath!
That's true, Parbar. Sogginess is sacriledge for Reubens. That's one reason why I prefer non-toasted bread, and preferably pumpernickel, which resists sogging.
When I make Reubens at home, I rinse and drain the sauerkraut to remove the brine and water.
Parbar might be onto a theological point. I think that I'll save that in my 'future sermon' mental file.
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