The Black Sheep, Amherst MA: a special dispatch by guest correspondent Abe Adams

The Black Sheep does not offer a “reuben,” rather, a disguised variant. I noticed this before ordering, but to confirm that it was de facto appropriate material for the purposes of this review, I asked for a reuben, and indeed, they directed me to “Nick’s #1 Pick”. Now let me describe this unpleasant sandwich.

First I should say I can’t count against them that they ran out of corned beef halfway through constructing the thing (which took, all told, less than two minutes) and so substituted pastrami. And I cannot attest to its temperature, though it was cold when I ate it, which may have been because, just after asking the old man beside me to photograph me with it, I was taken for an eccentric by a video documentarian, who interviewed me for several minutes (I can only remember a few of the inane things I said to her: “yes, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a fine breakfast; I don’t understand the prejudice, everyone is happy to eat the pieces independently and call it toast…”). During that time it may have cooled. We will give them that.

But nothing excuses its miserable architecture. A wad of thick ominous whiteness between two wetly curved pieces of inadequately toasted bread, the sandwich, if I am to call it that, began to hemorrhage the instant I unplugged its little wooden stanchion. The wet little thing resembled a circus tent in rain.

I began to eat it. I do not know which meat’s side, as the tastes of those small portions were lost in a sea of unbelievably creamy coleslaw. (Not sauerkraut. Is this a reuben? Is there any reason for me to be writing about it? I don’t know.) I opened the thing up to inspect it, and I guess the top stratum of cream was the Russian dressing promised by the menu. It may have been nothing more than auxiliary mayonnaise, as whatever tastes there were in that sandwich were not distinguishable, though my pallet may have briefly glimpsed swiss cheese on its way out to sea.

The bread: it did not look or smell like rye, but it had little flecks in it that may have been caraway seeds. It really seems like a trifle. That day I ate a big bowl of coleslaw. So much escaped material escaped that I had to finish it all off with a fork.

I threw away my several sodden napkins and paper plate smeared with pinkish cream, and left, forever, feeling a heaviness within. I did not write the other reviews on this blog, so I’ll forgo a relative grade for “Nick’s #1 Pick,” but, obviously, I don’t recommend it.