Saturday, March 22, 2014

Reuben, She’s Been Thinking.




When you’re two years old, a long winter has taken up a sizable percentage of your time on the planet; and my two-year-old grandson was ecstatic about the coming of spring.  On the phone to Annette, he exclaimed, “Nannie, the grass is here!  Indeed it is, and it was time for us to break out of hibernation and go to Mattapoisett for sauerkraut. 

I’d asked The Foodie Pilgrim if he was going to be near the famous Morse’s Sauerkraut, but the grass has not yet emerged in Waldoboro, Maine, and the Pilgrim had no immediate plans to venture that far up Route 1. Still his knowledge of the food resources of New England is encyclopedic, and he told me I could score creditable sauerkraut at How on Earth in Mattapoisett. 

It was a pleasant trip. The snow had melted except in sheltered places and grimy piles in parking lots.  Many of the ponds had open areas where water sparkled for the first time in months.  A sharp wind was blowing in from Buzzard’s Bay when we pulled into the How on Earth parking area.  Hurrying inside, we found a good selection of fine New England foodstuffs, and from the refrigerator case we picked up a jar of Real Pickles Organic Sauerkraut.

It’s naturally fermented by a small, worker-owned cooperative using cabbage from family farms in Massachusetts and Vermont. As we made our way home through the thawing countryside, we had our start toward the Reuben sandwiches we hungered for. 

St. Patrick’s Day had been duly celebrated, and as is our custom, we corned our own beef.  It’s not difficult to do.  You need a large zippered plastic bag, salt and spices, a couple of culinary bricks to weigh down a chunk of brisket in your refrigerator, and the persistence to turn the meat daily and massage it with the rub.  Julia Child has a good recipe in The Way to Cook.

I stopped into The Hearth Bakery in Plymouth for a loaf of pumpernickel bread, and then rounded up ingredients for homemade Russian dressing.  I was out of the house just before the meal was to occur, and when I returned I found Annette had riffed on the Reubens. 

We should have a kitchen data recorder that saves the details, not of disasters, but of creative inspirations that visit her when she opens the refrigerator door. It’s sad that recipes of these strokes of genius are lost to humanity, but although I won’t get exactly the same experience ever again, I’m comforted in the knowledge that she can keep coming up with surprises that are just as good. 

 She rejected the Cains pickle relish I’d picked up that day as being too sweet. We’ll save the jar for hot dogs this summer.  For the dressing she chopped some of my martini olives, some parsley, and onions.  Still avoiding sweetness, she rejected Heinz and chose an exotic brand of hot and spicy ketchup she found in the door of the fridge.  She mixed these into a mayonnaise base, adding added a shake or two of Worcestershire sauce, and a squirt of horseradish cream from the plastic container. Having avoided the sugar, she didn’t need the lemon juice Martha Stewart called for in the recipe I’d downloaded that afternoon. 

The leftover corned beef was a little dry from its time in the fridge so she sliced it as thinly as she could, sprinkled it with water from the tips of her fingers, wrapped it in aluminum foil, and steamed it in the oven.  It melted in our mouths. Reuben sandwiches are made with Swiss cheese, and she used some Raclette, which is the famous melting cheese of Switzerland, although ours was made in France. She added the sauerkraut, buttered the bread, spread dressing on each slice, and grilled the sandwiches. 


They were slightly unorthodox but absolutely heavenly.  I may not have the exact recipe, but the memory will linger for a long time.

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