It seems like a cliche, but can I just say that I never thought it could be like this?
I ordered you on a whim, I admit, because I'd seen others enjoy you. And I'll admit, there'd been many, many sandwiches to pass through my life: club sandwiches, cuban sandwiches, peanut butter sandwiches.
I had, in times past, even eaten margarine on graham crackers and called that a sandwich.
For a while, I'd considered sandwich toppings to be the cutting edge of sandwich consumption; that all that could be done with sandwich fillings, the meat of the sandwich, was to coordinate what kind of bread it was on, and what vegetables, sauces, and cheeses it was paired with.
Little did I know that a sandwich of nothing but meat on a soft roll could be so much.
Then I ordered you, sandwich. You, the Burnt Ends Sandwich from Blue Ribbon Barbecue in Arlington.
Just one bite and I closed my eyes and I was sitting in front of every campfire I'd ever seen. The smoke, the meat, the soft roll- it was like childhood and summertime- but I'd never had barbecue as a child.
Until I was twenty-three years old all I knew of brisket was boiled corned beef on Saint Patrick's Day. How can a sandwich make me feel nostalgia when it evokes nothing I've ever experienced before?
The cole slaw wasn't so bad, either.
P.S. Sorry about digesting you and everything, but you understand.