Sandwich News

We had guests recently, and it turned out that we had some tasty pastrami left over, and I wanted to do something out of the ordinary (for me, that is) with it. So I decided on making Reuben sandwiches. For no good reason at all we never do Reubens so I bought some sauerkraut and thought I was okay. But I learned that there was more to it than I imagined, including the fact that Reubens are not made with pastrami but corned beef.

Here is what the recipe called for:

• rye bread
• Russian dressing
• Swiss cheese
• corned beef
• sauerkraut

Here is what I had on hand and made into our sandwiches:

• rye bread
• mayonnaise
• pepper jack cheese
• pastrami
• sauerkraut

Not even close, was I? I was almost ashamed to put them on the table and I explained to Robin how it all happened and I hoped she wouldn’t think less of me and they were probably going to taste ridiculous and could we go out to eat if the sandwiches were inedible?

But … they were totally delicious. Not wishing to confuse the issue any further, I decided to give them their own name. Now, Reuben is a name taken from the Old Testament, and means “Behold, a son.” So I thought I’d turn to that august resource in my quest.

I picked Samuel. It was also Old Testament in origin and one of its meanings is “God has heard.” As in prayer. As in what I did when I realized that I was short several key ingredients.

So, my friends, if you drop by any time soon unannounced you might be served something like a Samuel. Let me know a day ahead and I’ll round up the right ingredients and make you a proper Reuben.

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At the Thursday morning AA meeting this week, there were only six of us, all over sixty years old. It was a particularly enlightening get-together, starting with a reading from the book Daily Reflections. The last line of the reading went as follows:

… I practice a discipline in letting go of selfish attachments, caring for my fellows and preparing for the day when I will be required to let go of all earthly attachments.

The line struck me as soooo Buddhist, and I mentioned my feeling to the group. As we went around the tables each of us picked up on the theme of living a life with an eye cast toward its end, and it was interesting to hear from each member as they made their contributions. If there had been a younger member in the room that morning, they might have been repelled or bored to death by such musings, I don’t know. But to the six of us present talking of life and death was as natural as breathing.

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I do try to keep you all abreast of significant happenings in the world of cheese. I really do. But this year’s world competition sneaked up on me and dang, it was all over before I knew about it. This year a Swiss Gruyere won, but I’m not racing down to my local grocery store to look for it, because the production is small and the chances of a sample making its way to Paradise are the same as Kristi Noem being named Animal Friend of the Year by the ASPCA.

But there was a link in the article that caught my eye, suggesting something was the most dangerous cheese in the world. I mistakenly read the article, and now I am trying to find something to read that erases what I learned from my memory completely. All I will say is this – no freaking way would I knowingly have a bite. My suggestion would be to not follow the link I have provided and definitely not read the article.

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I would never have guessed that one day I would be playing that song while listening with new ears and appreciation. Because now we have our own version of Los Desaparecidos taking place here in America, what with the criminal gang ICE wandering our cities wearing masks and pulling people off the street without any pretense of following the law.

There will be a reckoning for these mobsters one day, their members’ names are being taken, in spite of the masks. But in the meantime brave citizens across this country are doing what they can to make ICE’s predations as difficult for them as they can.

What a challenge it is to live in what only can be called a rogue country and be governed by people you wouldn’t offer shelter to from a blizzard. There will be an end to this, I know, but Lord does it ever add a bitter taste to each day. When this rancid lump of spray-tanned avoirdupois is finally out of office and off the front pages perhaps we will have learned some lessons we need to learn to prevent another such dark time.

I say perhaps because if there is a lesson that I have taken to heart in my time on earth is that we know … the knowledge exists … of how humanity can live together in peace. We know how to feed one another, shelter one another, support one another, respect one another. We could do it. The problem has always been that we allow selfish considerations to keep us mired in mistrust and conflict.

A line from the King James version of the Bible offers a way of looking at the otherwise incomprehensible mess that is planet Earth, at least for me.

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

Indeed.

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Olson lived with his wife in a modest home in Ely MN. Out back of the house was a small shack where he did much of his writing. On January 13, 1982 he had been working in the shack but decided to do a little snowshoeing and died out there of a heart attack.

(The print in the photo is rather small, so I will repeat it: “A new adventure is coming up and I’m sure it will be a good one.”)

Soooo, friends, did he have a premonition of his death? Or do people … some people anyway … read more into these few words than Olson meant? If you came over to visit this winter, we could make hot cocoas and argue about it until we tired and took to our beds. If we found that we really liked each other, we could argue about it the next night as well. I think that two successive nights would about do it.

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