Between the Bread

Though I love the Nebraska Reuben story, it isn't the one told most often. That would be the tale of Arnold Reuben of New York, NY.

According to Joan Nathan, author of Jewish Cooking in America, Reuben opened his first deli in 1915 and, like many first-generation deli owners, he was a German immigrant. By 1920, he had a 24-hour restaurant on 82nd and Broadway, serving big sandwiches to actors and nighthawks.

The folklore behind the sandwich is as follows: an actress came into the restaurant and requested a big sandwich. In a story told in a letter from Arnold Reuben's daughter, her dad put together a sammie made from ham, turkey, Swiss cheese, cole slaw, and Russian dressing on rye:

He served it to the lady who said, "Gee, Reuben, this is the best sandwich I ever ate. You ought to call it an Annette Seelos Special." To which he replied, "Like hell I will. I'll call it a Reuben's Special."

He may have called it a Reuben, but it's not what we call a Reuben, so it would seem the Omaha invention story carries more weight. Arnold's son, Arnold Reuben Jr., attempted to remedy this later in life by telling yet another invention story. In 1993, he told the St. Petersburg Times that the sandwich was invented in the 1930s, when the chef made him a meal of corned beef, Swiss cheese, and sauerkraut on pumpernickel.

Revisionist history or true story? Either way, you've got to give credit to Arnold Jr. for understanding that when it comes to sandwich history, the best or loudest storytellers usually win. So which invention tale do you believe?

My hometown now has a joint called Cupalicious, which features a rather unappetizing website but very appetizing sandwiches. Perhaps the fact that it's located in a suburban office strip proves they mean business. Between the Bread readers Hal and Laurie (creator of the Sloppy Jayne) recently snapped photos of their Cupalicious feast.

The deli sandwich with fries ($7.25, above) and chicken salad sandwich ($4, below) look Carnegie-esque in size, but for seriously less cash. I want one, weird website be damned.

Have you recently eaten a sandwich worth sharing? Send in your sandwich photos to nancy@betweenthebreadblog.com, along with a description of what's on your sandwich.

Katz's Delicatessen on the Lower East Side arguably has the best pastrami in NYC, but Carnegie Deli has the biggest, without a doubt. Between the Bread reader Danielle recently ordered the $16 Reuben at the famous Midtown deli. All I can say is, OMG.

Write Danielle: "There is bread way down under the piles of pastrami. I added lots of mustard." It's possible to have too much meat, but you can never have too much mustard.

Have you recently eaten a sandwich worth sharing? Send in your sandwich photos to nancy@betweenthebreadblog.com, along with a description of what's on your sandwich.

Reading David Kessler's The End of Overeating, as I am now, makes me never want to eat food like KFC's Double Down again (though I probably will). Not only are our brains wired to want more sugar, fat, and salt (particularly in combination), but the food industry designs these foods to make them more addictive and literally melt in your mouth so they go down faster.

Take something as innocent as coleslaw: coating cabbage in a high-fat dressing means you don't have to chew it as much, so you get even more calories, more quickly. Many of the indulgent foods I love, sandwiches included, are neither healthy, natural, nor sustainable. This week the New York Times considers this conundrum via the Jewish deli and how it's changing with the times.

The story starts at Saul's Deli in Berkeley, where, as luck would have it, I'm going this weekend.The owners serve cage-free eggs and grass-fed beef and recently took salami off the menu because the deli staple wasn't responsible or sustainable. Before you roll your eyes and say "Oh, Berkeley!" hear me out. Here's more.

It's been a busy week, so I'm just catching up on this important bit of sandwich news: Pitchfork has discovered a Toronto sandwich shop called Sky Blue Sky Sandwich Company, where all the menu items are named after Wilco songs.

"How to Fight Loneliness" involves chicken, apple, and bacon (I'd take comfort in that) while "California Stars" is a chicken salad (what, no avocado?!). Novel, to be sure, but old-school Wilco fans might question the choice of Sky Blue Sky as the namesake album. Apparently, the owner settled on the Wilco theme by chance.

San Francisco has a sandwich shop called The Yellow Submarine, though I don't think the offerings are named for Beatles songs. If you had a rock-inspired sandwich shop, what band would you pick? I think I'd go with Pink Floyd, because a.) it would be funny and b.) you could have an egg sandwich called "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast."

Source: BlogTO