Reuben, Reuben, I’ve Been Thinking

Other than “closure,” the most over-used word in the English language has to be “iconic.” Seems as though that word is constantly being confused with other concepts, such as “popular,” and “recognizable.” I try not to use it.

The fact is, however, that some things are iconic. They are the standards of their class; the one others are measured against. The Reuben certainly is one of them. There’s just something about combining those bold flavors that satisfies most of us---to the point that the name has been applied to other dishes and sandwiches in order to shirttail on that appeal.

I got to be thinking about this after a phone call this morning from a friend who’s having a party, and wanted details about the Reuben Exploration I often serve. This is a small plate presentation that offers three, four, or five variations on the Reuben theme. How many depends on what else is being served at the time.

The classic Reuben is about as perfect a sandwich as you can build. Start with two pieces of rye bread. On each lay a slice of Swiss cheese. Top the cheese with thinly sliced corned beef. Then pile some sauerkraut on one piece, top it with a dollop of thousand island dressing, and press the two halves together. Lightly butter both pieces of bread, and grill the sandwich until the bread browns and the cheese melts.

As with the hamburger (another iconic sandwich), origins of the Reuben are clouded in mystery, with many claimants to having been first.

The most popular account is that Reuben Kulakofsky, a grocer from Omaha, invented the sandwich to be served to his cronies at their weekly poker game held in the Blackstone Hotel. One of the players was the hotel owner, Charles Schimmel, and the sandwich gained fame---at least locally---when he put it on the Blackstone’s luncheon menu.

All this took place in the 1920-1935 period. Ironically, another great sandwich---Kentucky Hot Browns---first saw the light of day in the same period.

Much later, in the early 1950s, one of Schimmel’s employees would win a national contest with the Reuben, which really served to spread its fame.

Perhaps a better claim belongs to Arnold Reuben, owner of the once famous Reuben’s Delicatessen, in New York. He’s said to have created the “Reuben Special” around 1914. All the earliest print references seem to point to his sandwich, rather than Kulakofsky’s, including the very earliest, from a 1926 magazine article, that refers specifically to the Reuben Special. This seems to support Mr Reuben’s claim.

Doesn’t matter who invented it. The Reuben’s popularity just keeps growing. Not only in its original, classic form, but in many variations as well. And that’s where the problems creep in.

If you take the ingredients used in a Reuben, and use them in a different form, then the name “Reuben” can still apply---so long as you qualify it. For instance, my Reuben Exploration might include, in addition to a mini-version of the classic, Creamy Reuben Soup, Reuben Party Puffs, Reuben Croquettes, Reuben Dip, Reuben Beggar’s Purses, Reuben Fritters, or, even, Reuben Egg Rolls. In each case, there are no false expectations. If I say “Creamy Reuben Soup,” I’ll bet good money you immediately form a mental picture that is pretty close to what I’ll serve.

When a version goes far afield, however, and takes us away from the flavor profile of the original, I don’t think it right to use the name, even in a sandwich.

To be sure, there are variations that recognize this problem, such as the Rachael (aka Georgia Reuben), a sister sandwich that uses pastrami instead of corned beef, and substitutes cole slaw for the sauerkraut. And there’s the Red Baron, which starts with dark rye or, preferably,  pumpernickel and fills it with spiced red cabbage instead of kraut.

Arby’s is pushing its Super Reuben, which takes the classic and adds sliced turkey to it. To me, that starts to push the envelope. And what do we do with the Grouper Reuben, a Florida favorite that replaces the corned beef with a filet of grouper? Or the California variant, a Grilled Tuna Reuben, which consists of a grilled tuna steak and coleslaw or shredded cabbage for the filling? Really moving above and beyond was the Mahi Mahi Reuben I was served in the Outer Banks. This consisted of a batter-fried chunk of fish, pastrami, cole slaw, and cheese on a hoagie bun, and included mustard and mayo. I mean, really?  

How far do we push the envelope before we’ve created a new taste? I can accept---even though I don’t like the idea---of using Russian dressing instead of Thousand Island. But is a Blue Reuben, which uses blue cheese dressing, really a Reuben? Can we truly have a Vegetarian Reuben (that one, by the by, uses tempeh instead of meat)? If the filling ingredients are held steady, but we put them inside a pretzel bun, is it still a Reuben?

Don’t get me wrong. Each of those creations may be very tasty in its own right. Indeed, a pretzel bun version is high on my list to try. I just feel that, like the Rachael and Red Baron, that they should bear their own name.

I will, over the next few days, post recipes for some of the variations that go into my  Reuben Exploration. But I thought it would be nice to discuss the nature of this great sandwich first, and gather opinions as to how far we can stretch before we’ve left the actual Reuben far behind.