just rambling…

Ah the sandwich.

Quite the delicacy if you ask me. There is nothing more poetic, contemplative, and flavorful as this well thought-out, hand-crafted, muti-layered exhibit of culinary architecture.

It is versatile, simplistic, complex, small, large, robust, thin, exotic, decadent, and humble. Every culture has a sandwich, or their version thereof. Whether it be empanadas, hoagies, grinders, subs, clubs, melts, pizzas, stuffed pitas, gyros, wraps, salads, sarnis, pasties, burritos, tacos, sushi, open-faced, sloppy, with crust, witout crust, double-decker, fried, grilled, pannini, hors-dourved, ice-creamed, or the exalted PB&J of my youth, you better believe there was some poor bloke trying to figure out a way to eat with one hand and still play poker.

It has crossed cultures, centuries, styles, continental divides, and fast-food hacks to warrant its own square in the FDA original pyramid scheme.

The all time best sandwich of course… the dagwood, so named for its creator Dagwood Bumstead, the original slack master and breadwinner of the Blondie cartoons. His were mythic. Pieces of art that defied gravity and spilled from the sunday comics onto this weary travelers tiki printed lunch plate more than once. It didn’t matter what was in the referigerator as long as it could be stacked upon a princess size load of mattressed toppings. It was so popular in fact that it would later be ripped off as the running gag of a member of a certain drug-induced, mystery-solving youth club and his canine companion — I think you know who I mean.

So here’s to the sandwich.

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