Reuben

– Ebel’s Tavern –

$11|May 2022

Thanks to DNA testing, I can tell you very broadly where I come from: Central and Eastern Europe. Press a little harder, there’s a patrilineal line from Kovel, a small city in northwest Ukraine (ex-Poland, formerly Russia, at one point probably Lithuania as well), and another from the Austro-Hungarian empire. My mom’s side? It’s a black hole.

Rumors abound: Odesa. Vilnius. Somewhere else? Which is it? My mother is turning 89, cousins abound, no one has a verifiable clue. I wouldn’t exactly call it an identity crisis, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.

The Reuben feels my pain. It may very well be American by birth, but its origin story is a mystery. Many stake a claim, no one has proof. I’m betting, however, that at the very least, our genetic codes come from that same unknowable place on the other side of the Atlantic. Corned beef, sauerkraut, melted swiss, rye bread, and Thousand Island dressing (or Russian). Whoever griddled them together the first time, possibly 100 years ago, had a specific sensibility. They knew, intuitively, that these ingredients would go together splendidly. And they knew the sandwich had to be hot. I can’t even imagine eating it cold.

That doesn’t exempt the Reuben from new iterations, however, in the same way that I am different from my father, and my son is different from me. Until it closed, the quintessential New York City Reuben could be found at the Hotel Edison near Times Square (apologies to Katz’s, et. al.) Colossal. The cheese oozed and hardened your arteries on sight. You could barely finish one and still immediately want another.

In the tiny town of Carthage, Tennessee, Ebel’s Tavern has a slightly different proposition, should you find yourself craving a Reuben as you approach Nashville an hour east. (You should crave it.)

First, Ebel’s swaps out the Swiss for Provolone. Blasphemy, I suppose, in certain circles. Not sure I agree. While Swiss has a marked taste and Provolone is as bland as it gets, there is a definite textural difference, melted or not (order the #7 sub at Jersey Mike’s with and without the Provolone, and you’ll know exactly what I mean. Provolone is smoother. It’s the kind of ingredient you only appreciate when you realize it’s missing, and that is not a crime). At Ebel’s, the dressing becomes a remoulade.

But more significantly than these switches, Ebel’s dices the corned beef, as if the leftovers in the kitchen might be multitasked for use in a hash. I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s the only place I’ve ever seen or had the sandwich where the corned beef wasn’t sliced thin and presented horizontally across the bread. The shape-shifting allows the sauerkraut to plant a flag. Put another way, Ebel’s Reuben doesn’t so much occupy your mouth — it just pops in there, piece by piece, almost like popcorn, and makes itself at home. A little less gravitas, a lot more fun.