A discovery of inner beauty
One piece of rye bread. One slice of American cheese. One slice roast beef. Chunks of red pepper and red onion; torn, not cut.. Done.
This was the sandwich on which I just feasted. Slapped together, haphazard, maybe. But nonetheless delicious and everything I search for in a sandwich. I drove home from watching Monday Night Football and then some quiet discussion with my chums thinking about something to quench my desire for something delicious, filling without being heavy, yet allowing some room for cake. Because you always have to leave room for cake.
This sandwich I discovered is not a paragon of pure construction. It is not artful, nor does it contain all the sauces and zests one normally searches for in a sandwich. But I say to you it was DELICIOUS, and I would not hesitate to eat another. You see, it won’t make me take a big dump tomorrow morning, though it is something I treasure. But still it was very tasty, and proves you don’t need some pretty name on a sandwich for it to count as a winner.
Improvements I could have made, maybe swipe some hummus, some of that scallion flavored, on the bread. That could have been simply astonishing. Size-wise, nothing. It was the perfect size. And the veggies on it, maybe some lettuce, because why not.
So where has this discovery led me? It taught, I think, that there is not always a beauty aspect to a delicious sandwich. After all, some delicious pulled pork could be simply a pile of meat on top of two measly slices of bread, but it still counts. And it’s bangin’. Also, I didn’t use any tools to make this sandwich, just my hands to tear the onion and pepper up. I guess machines were used to maek the bread and cut the meat and cheese, but shut up. I could have used that chicken carcass that was sitting on the counter, bits of meat still stuck to it. But I didn’t, I used the leftovers.
