Woodacre Country Market & Deli

Why in world would anyone order a corned beef sandwich in the last third of a 42 mile bike ride? His brain was not getting enough glucose and it was the very first thing on the menu? Let's go with that. A sandwich from a deli can range from a Polish hammer to the GI tract to a sublime experience. We're not exaggerating about sublime. Jim remembers the best sandwich he even had: a Black Forest Special -- Black Forest Ham, Swiss, lettuce, thick slices of tomato, crisp lettuce and Thousand Islands dressing on a loaf of garlic bread. This was at a road-side deli in New York in... 1991. There has not been its equal. Although the tarragon and spring onion chicken salad on a baguette from a deli in Arlington, VA where the olive oil drips down your arms runs a close second.

"Would you like dark or light rye?" Jim took that as a good sign, the choice of rye bread. In retrospect, it was not a good call if a Reuben sandwich is what one expects. And when the description includes sauerkraut, Swiss and Russian dressing, a Rueben sandwich with grilled bread is expected. Except Jim's brain was shutting down; he didn't even react when the counterman pulled his sandwich from the microwave. And why did he order dark rye? And why is it not grilled or at the very least toasted? And why is the meat so gristly that he must grab the meat behind each bite so that it all doesn't come out at once? And why did he finish this disgusting wreck of a sandwich? And why did he not clean his hands of the guck that covered them making biking even more difficult than it already was after 30 miles? And why is he about to vomit going back over White's Hill with a belly full of garbage?

There are no simple answers to this question. OK, maybe the simplest. Jim is losing it. Bye-bye sanity. But I still partially blame the Woodacre Country Market & Deli. For shame, o ye of the terrible sandwich!

Jim and Peta