(I wrote this on Facebook, but it has tangential baseball and rock'n'roll content, and it's pretty long, so I count it as blog entry-worthy! And the formatting? I can't do anything about that. Next time I'll write the post here, and copy it to social media, or something. Anyway: enjoy!)
(this is literally the first result for "sandwich" according to google)
I'm going to talk about the sandwich I ate earlier today, and the lesson I learned from it.
I woke up in the late a.m. as I do, and for whatever reason I felt absolutely zero hunger. This isn't abnormal for me, as some of my friends know - it's not that I feel nauseous or sick, I'm just not hungry when I wake up very often. I made coffee with the last of the beans in my house, then drank it while reading the news. 2 small mugs' worth. It was nice. (The Saints are going to become the Twins' Triple A team! I have thoughts, which my previous post discusses.)
So, out of coffee after an hour or so, I walked to my neighborhood coffeeshop for a depth charge and as I walked, I did begin to feel a slight hunger for something. But what?
Arriving at the coffeeshop, I walked in and said hi to the barista/worker, with whom I am acquaintance-friendly. She and I bantered a bit, as I looked at the menu and she finished up the order she was working on. And I saw several ok-looking options for sandwiches, but nothing really jumped out at me as Exactly What I Wanted.
It was time to order. I knew I needed to eat something. So I chose to order a salami, pepperjack, olive oil, lettuce, and giardinera pepper sandwich on focaccia, hold the mayo, extra oil. This is not an unusual type of sandwich for me to eat, by the way - it's very much in my sandwich comfort zone. The barista/employee made the sandwich and my depth charge, and I thanked them and left and walked home.
(pictured: the greatest potato chips on earth)
I poured myself a glass of milk, added a handful of Old Dutch Crunch kettle chips for a side, and sat down to eat my sandwich. I picked it up. I took the first bite. And you know what?
It was fucking GREAT. It didn't just hit the spot - it annihilated it, like when you're driving and you hit play on Pleased To Meet Me on a sunny afternoon on a country 2-lane with no traffic, volume cranked, windows down (see: Figure A). Like Giancarlo Stanton guessing and swinging perfectly on a 92 mph fastball with no movement, look out Mars because that ball is headed your way (see: Figure B).
Figure B
And here's the funny part - it was nowhere near the best sandwich I've ever had in my life, it just happened to be EXACTLY the right sandwich for EXACTLY the right moment! I enjoyed every bite, and was a little sad when there was no more sandwich left to eat. I was completely satisfied by this sandwich in a way that doesn't often happen with sandwiches, or other food that isn't taco truck-related.
There's a lesson here. In life, you don't always have to be the perfect sandwich. You just need to know when to be a very good sandwich. And that is all.
