My First Reuben March 5, 2010

It was actually pretty darn good, and I didn't have to drink too much alcohol to work up the nerve to eat it. Just one Black Russian that I sipped along with the sandwich. When I convince myself that I need to try to conquer some long-held food phobia, alcohol is my weaponry of choice. I usually have to drink an entire bottle of beer before the food arrives. On my fortieth birthday, I tried to tackle the crawfish menace. Before the platter was placed in front of me, I'd already downed a shot of Jack Daniel's. When the creepy crustaceans were plopped down in front of me, antennae still shaking, I grabbed the bottle of Lynchburg's finest and said, "Put this on my tab, Al. It's my birthday."

The sandwich was not as intimidating. The meat was a little salty, but I guess that goes with the territory when you're in Corned Beef Country. It's really just a reddish, stringy salt lick. There are worse things than salt. Sauerkraut being one of them. It is the primary reason I've never eaten a reuben. Translucent food reminds me of jellyfish, so a reuben creates an image of a jellyfish sitting atop a stringy salt lick, trying to digest it. I had asked the waitress to have the cook "de-emphasize" the kraut, which, mercifully he did, and it was not on top of the meat, but mixed in with it. So it looked like the salt lick was digesting the jellyfish.

I didn't get much of the Thousand Island dressing flavor, for which I am also grateful. When I think of a thousand islands, I think of the Philippines, which has given the world karaoke bars. For this alone, the archipelago should have been made a member of George Bush's Axis of Evil. I recently read that several Tagalog-singing Sinatras have been beaten up or killed after doing "My Way." What would Francis Albert have done? He would have ordered the sandwich, with extra dressing, sung his song-in perfect Tagalog, sipped his Jack Daniel's and taken on all comers. But Jilly Rizzo knew Frank, and Mike Potts, you are no Frank Sinatra.

Well, I'd better sign off. The combination of the sandwich and the adult beverage have set my boat a-sail for the Seven Hundred Islands of Sleep. I'll float down the bayou teeming with crawfish, and out into the open water, where jellyfish will open jars of jelly with their long, strong tentacles, and sea cows will contentedly lick their salt.

Thanks for humoring me.