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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.