In the menu, it was just a reuben, but on the 'Specials' board it was a 'giant reuben,' and I must say that the latter designation won out in the flesh. This was like the mammoth Reuben that we all thought had been extinct since the Ice Age.
It was served on a real plate that had been coated with waxed paper, perhaps to protect the plate from the resultant gore of plunging a steak knife to the hilt into the heart of the sandwich. The sandwich exuded...nay, wallowed in...sauerkraut. The kraut covered the sandwich, threaded its way through the bread, and spilled out to drape about the sandwich in graceful folds.
The sandwich did not come with thousand island dressing, and it cried out for the moisture and tang. Sadly, the proffered packets of T. Marzetti's dressing didn't do the trick. It wasn't sweet enough, and seemed to add a peppery, metallic note to the sandwich.
I can only describe the meat as "a wad of corned beef." It was plentiful but not necessarily evenly spread out, resulting in lumps here and there of more corned beef than cabbage.
When I finished the sandwich, I had at least a cup of sauerkraut lingering on my plate. I ignored it and gave my full attention to the splendid onion rings.
Overall, the food was very good (if very kraut-heavy). The setting, though, was cramped. I was awfully glad that I was married to the guy sitting next to me, since I had to sit almost in his lap the entire time. As it was, I had to play kneesies with his coworker a couple of times. Now, yes, you could think that this would lend the setting an air of jollity and cameraderie. Be that as it may, I'm awfully fond of not playing kneesies.
Also, the last thing any less-than-trim gal wants to see staring at her in the powder room is a portrait of Marilyn "You'll-Never-Look-Like-Me, Fattie" Monroe.