My Girlfriend's Sandwich Experience

When I was, like, 17 or 18 I had a girlfriend. Among the things I remember is one tidbit that will last forever:

She made the best goddamn sandwiches!

Sometimes when I'm in a particularly sandwich-y mood, I get a major Jones for one of those sandwiches. Of course, the sandwich experience might be wrapped-up in some feelings of young love and mild southern California weather, but mostly it's those damn sandwiches. Exclusively.

Fresh, odoriferous, lightly toasted sourdough bread; facing pieces toasted on opposite sides for balance. Crisp romaine lettuce, rinsed in very cold water and spun dry. Tangy, spicy, pungent mustards. Thin, salty meats folded over once (never too much, never too little). And, Swiss. Never melted, but softened from the warm bread. Tomatoes? Never! Makes a sandwich mushy. No pickle. No chips. Orange juice or sparkling water. Served on cool china (never a paper plate or a paper towel).

Sliced in half the old school way, never diagonally.

Jesus, the shit we remember.

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Next up: Experiential oatmeal.