How to eat a sandwich

First, tell yourself that you are eating a sandwich because you want a sandwich. It’s not because of a lack of imagination or poor grocery planning.

Arrange two slices of brioche. Sourdough will do in a pinch. If you don’t have either, take a moment to assess the kind of life you live.

Choose which slice will be on top and which will be on bottom. Don’t really apologize.

Line up your condiments and sandwich fillings on the counter. It’s called establishment and is French for . . . Something. (People who write sandwich guides are monolingual.)

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When it comes to condiments, there are different schools of thought. Specifically, Mayo University and Arizona State. Don’t want to attend Mayo U.? Then it’s time to keg aioli with the Sigma Deltas.

The fillings of the sandwich are up to you. Ham and cheese? Bacon, lettuce and tomato? Tempeh?! Don’t be held back by orthodoxy. Some of the greatest innovations in the field have been fueled by a spirit of “what if? and/or high levels of THC. That said, I caution against “The Elvis” (peanut butter, bacon and banana). It’s a damn sandwich. Even a single bite will condemn you to perish bloated in the toilet.

Also avoid the grilled cheese sandwich. It’s unfair to the lactose intolerant and those whose dads served it to them on a summer afternoon, then gave them an unusually long hug and said they were going out “to buy cigarettes and a penny.” -party sailor”.

It’s time to build the sandwich. Distribute the ingredients evenly so that each bite is representative of each topping and condiment. (Don’t assume there will be time to eat it all. Life is chaos.) Aim for a bread to filling ratio of 2:2.5. With less filling, the bread intimidates the sandwich; more, and you stray into Katz territory.

Your sandwich is finished! Pause to honor your work. Where there were once ingredients, there is now an edible. From scratch, sandwich.

Lift the sandwich with both hands. Or one-handed, if you’re the type of person who can pull off a leather jacket. Maintain a soft grip so as not to stress the sandwich. If you chose a quadrilateral bun, your little fingers should hold the back, acting as a seat for your sandwich to sit on.

Don’t take a bite right away. Warm up the taste receptors in the mouth with five to ten mouth stretching exercises. If you’re lonely (or just exceptionally confident), exclaim, “It’s sandwich time!” »

The first bite should be of medium size. Don’t go crazy. If you have prepared well, you should taste all the ingredients at the same time. If you taste pennies – damn it’s not good. Could be a whole host of problems. Ditch the sandwich and call a doctor.

It is completely normal to think that the sandwich is “missing something”. It’s not. You simply record the gap between dream and reality, the chasm inside each of us that exists to remind us of our fallibility. Don’t worry if your sandwich triggers a wave of boredom. (If this happens, never blame the sandwich.)

In the case of a really tasty sandwich, you might think, “Hey, I’m pretty good at this!” I should create a substack. Congratulations, you just ruined your sandwich. Throw it away and start over.

Your sandwich treat will attract attention, as will your “Time for sandwich!” ritual. Be prepared for more to appear and ask for a small bite. Don’t be selfish. Sharing is caring, provided they perform their oral stretching exercises first.

What happens next is quite predictable. The intruders, whose “little bites” have opened up new horizons for them, will ask you to their a sandwich, even if all the condiments and toppings are seated just there. This is your burden. Remember: a good sandwich maker is a magnanimous sandwich maker.

Pro Tip: When serving others, never call the sandwich recipe “a family secret.” They’ll wonder what else your ancestors are hiding, and revelations of historical sins don’t sit well with sandwiches.

Once you’re done eating, it’s time to update your sandwich diary. Aficionados maintain theirs for decades; some newspapers become family heirlooms. I recommend keeping a separate volume from your Dream Journals and your Shit Lists.

Rank today’s entree among all the sandwiches in your life so far. Is this one in your top five hundred? Your top fifty? If it’s a top ten, call your loved ones. They will end up liking it.

As for the best sandwich ever, that’s inherently subjective. For yours truly, it was a Reuben the day after I met my future wife. This sandwich was beyond delicious. It spoke to me. It was both a talisman and a confidant.

Reader, I ate it. ♦