‘It has everything. It’s got sweet, salty, savory, briny, crunchy,’ said chef Paul Urban, who co-owns downtown Omaha’s Block 16. ‘It’s the perfect sandwich.’
By Sarah Baker Hansen
Flatwater Free Press
The Reuben sandwich — Omaha’s own sandwich — is simple. Just five ingredients: bread, kraut, cheese, dressing and corned beef.
Countless Omaha restaurants serve 100 versions of it at Irish pubs, high-end spots and your average bar and grill.
It’s partly because it was invented here. And it’s partly because the Reuben has a complexity of flavor that still has appeal nearly a century after a young Omaha chef first made it.
“It has everything. It’s got sweet, salty, savory, briny, crunchy,” said chef Paul Urban, who co-owns downtown’s Block 16 and has served a Reuben regularly off and on for years. “The Reuben gets a pass with everybody. It’s the perfect sandwich.”
So, it only makes sense that during the week of St. Patrick’s Day and the launch of the annual Sarah Baker Hansen and Flatwater Free Press food bracket, we decided to embark on a mini-tour of Reubens around town.
After all, the bracket this year is meant to pick the best sandwich in all of Omaha and Lincoln. It feels like we should start with the hometown sandwich.
The lineup of Reubens I tried included two old faves of mine and two new-to-me versions I’d heard a lot about. And there was much variety among those four sandwiches despite their succinct list of ingredients.
The corner of 38th and Farnam is the most important spot to the lore of the Reuben, because it’s where the sandwich was invented. (I’m no longer trifling with those persistent and pesky claims that it was invented in New York City.)
Here’s the history, as I’ve written before: Reuben Kulakofsky was one of a group of men who played a late-night poker game at the Blackstone Hotel in the 1920s. Charles Schimmel, the hotel’s owner, was in the game, too. Each time they played, the men would reserve a few nickels and dimes from each hand and call down to the kitchen for a midnight snack.
Bernard Schimmel, one of Charles’ sons and a chef at the hotel, would bring a variety of meats and breads to the men, and they’d make their own sandwiches. Kulakofsky came up with a sandwich that everyone loved. The group called it the Reuben.
Charles Schimmel liked Reuben’s sandwich so much that he put it on the hotel menu. A listing from 1934 says “Reuben Sandwich, 40 cents.” (As far as we know, this is also the first-ever menu that features the sandwich, pre-dating claims that the sandwich originated at a New York restaurant.)
Bernard Schimmel wrote the recipe down the exact way he made it in the kitchen at the Blackstone. The Junior League of Omaha preserved his recipe and instructions and later published the recipe in one of its charitable cookbooks. That recipe is similar to what the Cottonwood Hotel – the renamed and reopened hotel where it was first made – uses today, though they have made some upgrades.
Inside the Orleans Room, one of Cottonwood’s two restaurants, executive chef Brandon Kalfut uses a typed version of the Reuben recipe, which the hotel still has. Tender beef brisket gets vacuum packed in brine for a month, then cooked for at least 12 hours. The pickled cabbage gets its own salt bath. The Russian dressing is made from scratch. The dark rye bread comes from Omaha’s Rotella’s Bakery.
The $16 sandwich employs just a hint of mustard — an inclusion that departs from the original recipe — that works to balance the heavy richness of the rest of the ingredients: shaved corned beef, tangy sauerkraut, Gruyere cheese (instead of the traditional Emmental) and creamy Thousand Island dressing, all grilled to a perfect sear on pumpernickel rye.
I had a hard time even detecting the mustard, and may not have known it was there had it not been listed on the menu. The cheese, like the original selection, is understated and melts wonderfully, sinking into the meat and onto the bread.
Across the street is the Crescent Moon, where for decades the kitchen has put out what many, including this writer, consider to be one of the city’s best Reubens. The corned beef inside a Reuben comes primarily in two styles: chunks or slices. The Moon is, and always has been, in the chunky camp.
I think the Moon Reuben, $13.99, is still quite good, though, over the years, I think it has gotten saucier than it used to be. In fact, I might call it a touch too saucy these days. In several bites of the sandwich, served on a thicker slice of marble rye, the kraut and dressing overwhelmed the briny tang of the corned beef. When you do get a chunk of corned beef, it’s good.
Across town at Sean O’Casey’s Pub, off 144th and West Center, the Reuben is a double-decker situation, with an extra grilled slice of marble rye in between layers of sliced corned beef and what feels like a higher ratio of melted Swiss cheese. The kraut and Thousand Island are more restrained in this version, which is $12.99, and the corned beef is plentiful.
Fun fact: Every Thursday, the kitchen puts out a corned beef, cabbage and potato dinner, in case you have that craving all year long.
The final Reuben we tried was at Paddy McGown’s, an Irish pub near 45th and Center Streets. For the pub version of the sandwich, this one is killer: Hot, melty and stacked with meat. I appreciate that here, the meat is the star of the show, and outweighed both kraut and cheese. I also have to recommend the bar’s version of a Reuben egg roll — a dish that first popped on my Omaha bar food radar a while ago, but one I’d not tried until writing this story. The filling has all the classic Reuben flavors stuffed inside a super crispy roll with a side of tangy Russian dressing for a dipper. Sounds weird. Tastes great.
Urban said St. Patrick’s Day marks the high point of Reuben season at Block 16, and that beloved Omaha joint puts time and effort into the sandwich to celebrate. The restaurant brines corned beef for 10 days, rests it for a day, then braises it in beer for about 12 hours at low temperature.
They slice it – no shredding here – then finish it on the flat top for a light sear. The goal is “melt in your mouth but not fall apart,” Urban says, preserving a slight bite while ensuring tenderness. The kitchen cooks cabbage with salt pork, braised pork, onion, garlic, vinegar, plus bacon for a smoky finish. Together, these techniques, he said, give the sandwich depth.
“It’s not healthy,” he said, “but that’s not really the point.”
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