THE NORTHWOODS REUBEN — PART 1

The Reuben is one of them.

A proper Reuben isn't complicated. In fact, it's built on just a handful of ingredients:

• Proper rye bread
• Perfectly cooked, paper-thin sliced corned beef
• Swiss cheese
• House-made Thousand Island dressing
• Sauerkraut

Simple.

Of course, as I've discovered over and over again in this test kitchen, simple rarely means easy.

THE BRISKET

The starting point was a beautiful 17-pound corned beef brisket.

Fortunately, someone else had already handled the brining process, so I didn't have to spend a week waiting for that to happen. But almost immediately, my research sent me in two different directions.

Most recipes insisted that I should soak the brisket in cold water for two hours before cooking to remove some of the salt from the brine.

Wait...what?

I've never done that before.

Naturally, there was only one solution.

Test both.

I cut the brisket in half. No trimming. One half soaked for two hours. The other went straight into the refrigerator to wait its turn.

DUTCH OVEN VS. ROASTING PAN

Then another variable appeared.

I've learned that brisket rewards patience. I cook mine at 250 degrees because I'd rather wait longer and get a better result.

But I also noticed something interesting.

Whenever I cook in a Dutch oven, the cooking time is less than half of what it takes in a foil-covered roasting pan.

I'm sure there's plenty of food science explaining exactly why. Someday I'll dive into that rabbit hole.

For today, it was simply another variable that needed testing.

THE WORLD'S SMALLEST SPICE PACKET

Then I opened the seasoning packet.

It was almost comical.

The spice packet included with a 17-pound brisket was exactly the same size as the one packaged with the little four-pound grocery store version.

That wasn't going to cut it.

I'm after bold flavor—not overwhelming flavor—but enough seasoning that every slice tastes like corned beef.

Fortunately, corned beef pickling spice is easy to make. I mixed up my own batch and added another eight tablespoons.

Eight tablespoons doesn't sound like much until you realize how potent those spices are. My goal wasn't to put future G&C customers into a coma. I just wanted every bite to have the flavor it deserved.

GETTING THE SEASONING TO STICK

Then came another question.

How do you actually get all of those spices to stay on the outside of the brisket?

The answer turned out to be wonderfully simple.

Dijon mustard.

A generous coating of Dijon gave the spices something to grab onto without affecting the finished flavor.

Mustard.

Seasoning.

Into the oven.

THE RESULTS

The Dutch oven finished first.

Four hours and twenty-one minutes produced a perfectly cooked three-pound section.

The foil-covered roasting pan took considerably longer.

Ten hours later, it produced a gorgeous five-pound, three-ounce piece of corned beef.

Both finished between 190 and 195 degrees internal.

Exactly where I wanted them.

After a proper rest, both went into the refrigerator to chill.

THE GREAT SLICE DEBATE

Then came another debate.

How thick should the meat be?

Sound familiar?

If you've followed my pickle experiments, you know I have an unhealthy obsession with millimeters.

So…

Three millimeters?

Too thick.

Two millimeters?

Better.

Still not quite right.

Then I noticed my slicer had an ultra-thin one-millimeter setting.

Why not?

Perfect.

Paper-thin slices that practically melted in your mouth while still delivering all the incredible texture and flavor that makes corned beef special.

The meat was finally done.

It had taken some time, but the process wasn't especially difficult.

As I've said many times before…

The meat is only one variable.

THE DRESSING

A great Reuben deserves a great Thousand Island dressing.

Store-bought dressing works perfectly well when I'm making lunch for myself.

That's not what I'm building here.

I wanted something thicker.

Chunkier.

Less sharp.

Something with body.

So I started experimenting.

Mayonnaise.

Ketchup.

Sweet pickle relish.

Finely diced yellow onion.

Fresh garlic.

A handful of seasonings.

Simple…

Except it wasn't.

Five different batches later, I finally landed where I wanted.

The breakthrough wasn't some exotic ingredient.

It was onions.

Increasing the amount of finely diced onion gave the dressing the fuller texture I'd been chasing, while a few dashes of Tabasco added just enough warmth without announcing itself.

Success.

The meat was finished.

The dressing was finished.

Now came the hard part.

WAIT...WHERE'S THE SAUERKRAUT?

If you've been paying attention, you probably noticed something missing.

There wasn't any sauerkraut.

Part of that is easy to explain.

I'm just not much of a sauerkraut guy.

But there was another reason.

Making truly great sauerkraut isn't something you decide to do on a Tuesday afternoon. Even under ideal conditions, the fermentation process takes at least three weeks before you have something worth putting on a sandwich.

That got me thinking—not as a home cook, but as a future restaurant owner.

Do I really need to make everything myself?

One of the ideas behind G&C Sandwich Company has always been to celebrate the people and businesses that make our community special. So maybe the right answer isn't for me to become an expert sauerkraut maker.

Maybe the right answer is to find the person in Oconomowoc who's already known for making incredible sauerkraut.

Imagine being able to tell customers that the sauerkraut on The Northwoods Reuben isn't ours—it's made by the local sauerkraut expert.

Someone who may have spent years quietly perfecting their craft but is only known within their own family or circle of friends.

I'd get to serve the best sauerkraut I can find.

They'd get a little well-deserved recognition.

And together, we'd make a better sandwich.

That sounds like a pretty good trade to me.

BUILDING THE SANDWICH

How do I recreate this sandwich in a way that's repeatable for G&C Sandwich Company?

I decided to gently warm an eight-ounce pile of sliced corned beef in a small amount of its cooking jus.

Once hot, I laid slices of Swiss cheese over the meat and let them soften.

Perfect.

Now it was time to assemble.

This is where everything fell apart.

Literally.

Thinking about grilled cheese, I buttered one side of each slice of rye, assembled the sandwich in a fresh pan, and started grilling.

The sandwich tasted fantastic.

The problem wasn't the flavor.

The problem was physics.

As the bread toasted, the sandwich wanted to slide apart in the pan.

By the time I finished browning the bread, I spent far too much time reconstructing the sandwich so it actually looked presentable.

Even worse, all that extra handling meant the bread never reached the level of crispness I wanted.

The result?

A sandwich that tasted wonderful…

...but wasn't right.

The bread wasn't crisp enough.

The interior became slightly soggy.

Presentation suffered.

For G&C standards…

That's a failure.

ON TO THE NEXT TEST

Fortunately, failure is the entire point of this kitchen.

The next experiment is already planned.

Instead of assembling first and grilling afterward, I'm going to toast the rye bread before building the sandwich. I have a feeling that will give me the crisp exterior I'm looking for while making the sandwich much easier to assemble.

I also have another major question waiting to be answered.

Remember that other half of the brisket?

The one I didn't soak before cooking?

It's still sitting in my refrigerator waiting for its turn.

I've only tested the soaked version so far, which means I still don't know whether those two hours in cold water actually improved the final product—or whether they were a complete waste of time.

There's only one way to find out.

That's the next experiment.

I promise I'll report back with the results.

After all, that's what this test kitchen is all about.

Keep testing.

Keep learning.

Keep improving.

Because someday, when someone orders The Northwoods Reuben at G&C Sandwich Company, I don't want them eating my first attempt.

I WANT THEM EATING THE HUNDREDTH.