It’s a Robo. No, Rubio. A Rob-O?

I can’t believe I’m willingly writing a piece on workbenches. I swear I’d sworn off that stuff, forever this time.

But a few weeks ago, I rolled my eyes so hard I saw light through my asshole.

It was an Instagram post from a woodworker who was showing off his just-completed workbench. It had a thin top, trestle base, face vise with a horizontal chop, massive tail vise and a series of square dogs. Plus, a tool tray.

It was a nice piece of work.

“I just finished this Roubo workbench,” he wrote. “I can’t wait to start using it.”

Dude, you built a German workbench. I mean, it’s a 100-percent sauerkraut-slurping, currywurst-chugging, German-ass workbench. Not one part of the bench was French. As I swiped through his photos, I struggled to find anything that would whisper “croissant” about the bench.

In the end, I concluded it was one thing: The front edge of the benchtop was in the same plane as the front edge of the legs. But that detail is not a Roubo or French thing. It has just been good ben…