We are showing solidarity with some of our communities today. Dierdre had been threatening a treat to honor our Irish if she got the Galley cleared out. That had occurred late yesterday as the Monster Storm blew north across the Potomac. Keith helped, with the supposition that it would yield a decent plate of something after all the serpants had been driven from the island counter with the green top.

Dee was off in the HR nook off the south end of the Conference room and there was a shriek of happiness when she found something in a file-folder on the counter. “I have solved the problem!,” she said with a triumphant note. “It is a copy of the Chairamn’s luncheon bill down at The Chow House Steak Place. Now, all I need is my phone!”

Her behavior did not raise much interest at the time, but things got clearer when two large cardboard boxes arrived in the mail van. She had Splash and Rocket each carry one over to the elevator and through the Conference Room to the Galley. They were plain cardboard, but the tapes holding them closed had the bright logo of someplace named “Zingermans.”

Placed on the serpent-free Galley island, Dee brushed the boys out the hatchway to the room with the big glass windows. “I just invested $175 bucks for each box- that is $350 for the best lunch you Lugs have ever had. Now go, and get Keith in here to help assemble the best damn sandwich you have had this Spring!”

She turned as Keith entered with a tray and a long serrated bread knife. He raised it toward the light fixture above the island. “What’s first?” he asked with a gin. Deirdre laughed and told him to assault the boxes an start assembling things by type.

“First is the ‘why.’ It is a heritage day, since the Chairman’s grandfather Mike Foley was the last hundred percenter in the family.” She waved a black framed picture in front of the fridge:

“That was Mike in France, 1918. The Chairman’s Mom was a fifty-share and he is a quarter and intends to stay that way. That is why I called Zingerman’s to get their legendary treat!”

The bags of cooling material in the boxes were thrown in the general direction of the sink. Fat loaves of hearth-baed bread appeared accompanied by neatly-wrapped long packages of Sy Ginsberg’s corned beef and pastrami. Tubs of coleslaw, bright under the lights with hints of orange and purple. Kraut in a neat jar, German style. And two thick packets of thin-sliced aged Swiss Emmentaler cheese. She pulled a card from one of the boxes, now empty and tipped on its side.

“Now, even you can do this, Keith. Take a look and let’s go!” She propped the card against the Mason Jar of Kraut:

She turned to the tactical stove and cranked the oven to 350-degrees. “There is some history to this that I ought to cover. The Chairman went to college at Michigan in Ann Arbor. That is where the Farmer’s Market downtown from his frat house served up local food products and where Zingermans was founded in 1982. It was intended to be an authentic New York-style Deli, and that is where the Chairman had the best damn Reuben sandwich in his life.”

The big cutting board came out and the loaves were expertly sliced, slid into the oven as the sliced meat came in five minutes behind for gentle warming. The big iron skillet was heating for the finshing touch as the bread and cheese were heaped with aromatic slices of beef and kraut or slaw, slathered with the delightful Thousand Island-style tangy sweet dressing and presented with a bag if Zingerman’s Dill-Icious Chips.

“It is the perfect Saint Paddy’s Day surprise!” said Section Leader Miles, sling his tablet across the table as he entered. “The Chairman said he would be over in a minute. Those two big boxes are each supposed to have four large luncheon plates, so we have enough for eight folks. That should cover the entire production day, and there may be some left-overs. So, let’s have sandwiches and A Guinness or two.:

He turned south from his customary position at the head of the long table, his fingers tracing the tops of the tall Rotonda condo buildings across the asphalt of the disused parking lot across the access road. “The storm of yesterday has passed and it looks like a pleasant afternoon.” He twitched his nose under his reading glasses. “And this Saint Patrick’s Day luncheon is likely to be as grand as they come. So, let’s spray for a just peace in this troubled world. And make mine with slaw!”

Splash was looking at his tablet and looked down through the window at the Whole Foods entrance down on Mr. Tysons Corner below. “And I may have something to show you tomorrow about that!” He clicked a brown bottle wih Rocket and the gang began the feast.

Copyright 2026 Vic Socotra
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