Tag Archives: sauerkraut

America’s 10 Grossest Ice Cream Flavors

“If Benjamin were an ice cream flavor, he’d be pralines and dick.”

~Garth Algar

ice cream

Every summer American childhood memory revolves around delicious treats that cool you down while giving you a hell of a sugar rush.  “You scream, I scream, we all scream for…” we all would shout in our formative years to have it interrupted by our father’s saying, “Shut up with your damn singing and get your father another fucking beer.  Oh Jesus, you’re crying again?  Man the fuck up, here, take this five dollar bill and get something from the ice cream truck, maybe that’ll get you out of my goddamn hair for one fucking minute.”  Ah, memories.

Here’s a fun test for you Americans at reading at home (or at work ) (or while pooping, whatever, we don’t judge).  Go to ten strangers and ask if they like ice cream.  You will probably get six people saying, “Um, yeah?” three people saying, “Who the fuck are you” and one person who goes, “No I do not like ice cream.”  Well congratulations, you’ve found the parasite, the host is dead, there’s nothing for you to do but to set him on fire and contain the pathogen.  So, 9 out of 9 Americans love ice cream, meaning that ice cream is infallible, much like pizza or Oreos.

Oh what’s that?  You clicked the above links and saw that it lead to gross examples of those aforementioned delicious treats?  Oh, you didn’t click on them because that seemed time consuming and you’re just skimming through this anyway?  Shut up, just, okay?  Just pretend you did.  Anyway, we’re going to talk about Americans that fuck up ice cream.

America’s 10 Grossest Ice Cream Flavors

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The American History Of The Reuben Sandwich

“There’s no reason why this should be as good as it is…well, no, you’re right, corned beef.  Right, that, that helps a lot.”

~Reuben Scientists  (shut up, they exist)

 reuben sandwich

When we undertook the foolhardy-in-retrospect project of listing every regional submarine-style sandwich in America, we were greeted by a lot of feedback.  Mainly, “What about the sandwiches that aren’t shaped like dicks?  What about those sandwiches.”  Of course, if we had expanded our criteria to include all sandwiches in America, we’d all be dead, having emotionally snapped and rented a bus to drive our whole staff into the ocean somewhere between writing up the dagwood sandwich and the Limburger sandwich.  Our families wouldn’t have even shown up at the funerals, so worried that the corpses would spring back to life to tell them to spend twenty minutes complaining that the Jibarito isn’t nearly well-known enough to warrant its own Wikipedia page.  Ultimately, the decision to limit the sandwiches in our regional sandwiches articles was the right one, both for the marriages of our staff as well as for our rapidly depleted alcohol supply, but it did leave us feeling a little hollow.  What was the point in tearing out our hair to scrap together a few sentences on how people who call sandwiches “sarneys” are terrible people who should pay for what they have done, if we don’t get to reward ourselves by looking at pictures of delicious non-elongated sandwiches.  Sandwiches that we love, that we crave, that make our lives better.

Sandwiches like the Reuben.

The Reuben is either your favorite sandwich, or the sandwich you always forget about until you see someone order a Reuben and say, “Goddamn, it’s been a while since I’ve had a Reuben, I’ll take one too, now that you mention it.”  Everyone appreciates it, even though most of us probably think that the Reuben has foreign, possibly European, origins.  It’s not an unfair assumption.  After all, this is a toasted rye bread sandwich that’s filled with ingredients that are considered Jewish or Irish (corned beef), Swiss (cheese), Russian (dressing), or German (sauerkraut).  Of course, the very multicultural aspect of the Reuben itself should be a clear indicator that it has American origins, though the simple fact that it’s delicious and savory and way more unhealthy than even your worst assumptions (yes, yes, all the saturated fats, all of them into the churning maw) should be enough of a clue as far as its Americanness goes.  And we’re going to let you in on the American history of this cultural hodgepodge of cured meat, fermented cabbage, and mayonnaise haphazardly mixed with ketchup.  Not because the Reuben is the sandwich you need, but because it’s the sandwich you deserve.

The American History Of The Reuben Sandwich

 reuben

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