On my way to Lake George, I stopped at Cameron’s Deli, which is about seven minutes from my house. I’d been inside two times since they built it a few years ago, but I’d never gotten a sandwich to call my own.
Once, I went to Cameron’s at about two in the morning. My fellow car passengers convinced our friend’s younger brother and designated driver to whip us through. Before they built Cameron’s, there was nowhere to go at two in the morning if you wanted a deli sandwich—a glaring deficiency of small town American life. My carmates seized the opportunity, offering to buy the young driver a sandwich if he took the detour. After he agreed, we spent the next 20 minutes making it clear that we would buy him a sandwich on a roll, and any request for a slightly larger sandwich would be selfish and frankly unacceptable. He ordered a chicken parm sandwich, which had no roll option, so he got the wedge. Smart.
I never had an incredible urge to eat anything at Cameron’s because I don’t usually crave sandwiches at 3 a.m., and during the day, I would just go to Arthur Avenue Deli, which is closer to my house. But then Arthur Avenue got new owners, and then different new owners, and the new-new owners made some sort of sign disparaging their high school customers, so I decided to get something at Cameron’s.
Cameron’s always seems to be packed. That includes our 2 a.m. trip, when I saw people I had not seen since high school. This time it was peak lunch hour. I got caught up in the massive menu for about 30 seconds, and recalibrated to my surroundings, a line of four people had formed behind me. I wasn’t sure if I had accidentally cut them, so I asked, but they didn’t know either and told me to order. I got a Cluck’en Russian.
A Cluck’en Russian is a chicken cutlet on a roll with Russian dressing, muenster cheese, and bacon. It is the same exact sandwich as Arthur Avenue’s Number 17.
To me, it seemed somewhat unusual that two delis would have the exact same specialty sandwich. Sure, all delis have bacon, egg, and cheeses and chicken parms, but this seems different. I’m not saying the Cluck’en Russian is a particularly innovative or unusual invention, but still.
Turns out, the name Cluck’en Russian was actually trademarked in 2006 by Cameron’s Deli. Also, fun fact: the lawyer who helped trademark it, David E. Rook, has two film credits to his name on IMDb. At that time, Cameron’s was only located only in Cross River, New York, a 27-minute drive from Arthur Avenue Deli (and Mr. Rook had only been in one film, Dorian Blues, in which he played a strip club patron).
My working theory is that a customer went there, ate the sandwich, and then requested it at Arthur Avenue. It is the ultimate act of cultural diffusion, the only term you need to know to pass the New York State Global History Regents Exam.
The Cluck’en Russian I had was not as good as the Number 17. The chicken cutlet was a little thicker, which wouldn’t have been a problem except it was pretty gristly. At first I thought the whole thing tasted like fish, but then I realized the Russian dressing resembled the spicy mayo they use at unlimited sushi places. So it was just the association. The muenster cheese was good. So was the bacon. It’s a well-designed sandwich. Unfortunately, the execution wasn’t 100 percent. Points will be docked.
This particular Cluck’en Russian: 6.5/10
My overall impression of the Number 17 after eating several dozen: 8.3/10
What I probably would have rated the Cluck’en Russian had the chicken been better: 7.7/10
What I probably would have rated the Cluck’en Russian had I contracted food poisoning: 1.7/10
