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Simply saying the word “sandwich”
conjures up all kinds of images that make me feel soothed and bored at the same
time. Sandwiches are home. Sandwiches
are America. Sandwiches are compact mini-meals
that come in their own living to-go container.
They’re easy, look compelling, smell inviting and feel gnawingly familiar. Two
grainy blocks of baked flour lie missionary style embracing one another as
tufts of turkey and tips of lettuce leaves peek out. A touch of tomato dampens the doughy mound. That
acrid but soothing smell of yeast and mustard causes the salivary amylase to
flow and the lips to part in anticipation.
