Reuben

D's parents took our dress clothes with them in their car, since they were driving to the wedding, and we were flying and packing light and tight. We'd gotten a garment sleeve to make this easier. We left them in that bag for the return trip. As I hung them up, I knew it would get forgotten, and considered leaving it across one of the beds. But I decided this might be a bit insulting, and trusted that they would look. Not only was my instinct right, but D's mum left her dress as well. Not sure if it was put in the bag as well, or hung up beside and forgotten. But D's groom/brother retrieved the items and sent them on. We drove out to their place this morning to get them.

My one, very slight, regret, is that I did not hold onto the blouse I wore, for the rest of the trip. It's very cool and comfortable, and a touch dressier than my solid T-shirts. Now that the event is over, I think it will get a lot of use. I feel rather elegant in it. Well, for me.

D making himself a sandwich of roast beef, turkey, provolone, sauerkraut on a roll, solemnly informs me that it is not a Reuben. I reply, "But it is Rubenesque." He assents. He is quite the purest on what is, and what is not, a Reuben. To wit: Corned beef, sauerkraut, rye bread, thousand island dressing (Russian dressing or mustard acceptable variants.) It can be a good sandwich, but without these elements, it should not be called a Reuben. I'm just glad I've got him eating the Claussen sauerkraut, which doesn't stink awful to me, like every other brand he's ever gotten. Personally, I can't touch the stuff. Nor rye bread, and I'm not a big fan of corned beef either.

I have been known to make him a real Reuben, including toasting the bread.