Sandwich Therapy

At UHLC, there was a Subway that I ate at lots of times. (If this were spoken word, I would loop "ate at" and put it into the background as a hook. Get back!) I got really burned out on the food. Everyone is quick to blame it on being a bad location, but in all fairness, it was like any other Subway. I actually got burned out on the food itself: Sandwiches.

Strangely, the runner up restaurant, Popeye's Chicken, actually has a lasting place in my heart as a sentimental favorite. Probably also a place in my heart requiring statins, but nevermind...

Dakota, tragically, really likes Subway and I never want to go. But the Subway problem goes deeper. I find that I have acquired an antipathy to cold meat sandwiches. I mean, I can still eat a hot Panini sandwich melt, or one of the cold mayonnaise sandwiches (egg, chicken, tuna), or grilled cheese, or cheese and pickle, and marmite soldiers are still ok too... But the mainstay of sandwiches: a delicious stack of three types of meat on a hearty bread or hero loaded up with veggies cheeses and spreads, simply no longer appeals to me.

What made this really hit home was this crazy dream that I had last night. A mysterious old woman asked me to fly to London and prepare proper a sandwich (one without butter on the bread, and the correct sequence: slice of bread, lettuce, meat, tomato in the MIDDLE, cheese, more meat, lettuce, even coat of mayo or mustard, bread, push down with a clean hand until the lettuce crackles, cut into triangles, and served with a water-bath chilled crudite of julienned carrot sticks, cucumber, pitted black olives, celery with the strings pulled off, and asparagus spears) and deliver it to the niece of the old woman. Naturally, the whole thing was an elaborate ruse devised to draw me into the heart of an internecine conflict between irreconcilable factions of a secret society (witch-fighting spies who can phase matter and cut and cook food with their minds) where the object of the struggle was to control a mystical winged giraffe/camel/cow (very very very hungry pet with many stomach) creature.

Anyhow, while evading agents from within the secret society, I was put into harm's way and had to battle witches and their familiars by fixing them sandwiches, but none of the sandwiches in my dream looked yummy to me.

Today, I went to the deli and got a panini. Nothing on the menu looked good.

I think I need to really dedicate some time to rediscovering what I like about sandwiches: different breads, cold cuts, vegetables, spreads.

I still only like Helmann's mayonnaise and get violently ill when I think of Miracle Whip... So that part of this journey is over.

Also the "TV knife" that Eugene got me, is still just as sharp as the day I first used it. It's amazingly versatile. Light, thin, made of surgical steel.  It slices, it dices.  Sturdy enough to saw through a lamb shank and yet tomato after tomato comes out beautifully. Once I set the whole thing on fire by accident, the handle got a bit morphed, but the utensil is still in great shape.  It proudly shares my knife block with my Henckles set.  I might need 5 more knives of different shapes and varieties were it not for this beauty.  And did I mention it never needs sharpening?  How much would you pay for a knife like this? I DONT KNOW IT WAS A GIFT!
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