The Best Sandwiches are Made With Love

I'm not going to apologize that it has taken me a few weeks to post another sandwich. and im definitely not going to apologize that after this post the last two posts will be about sandwiches outside of New York City. And im definitely not going to apologize that this post isn't about a sandwich place at all... its about a sandwich i ate at my house. My mom made it for me, and those are the best sandwiches of all.

Who here knows what Matriphagy is? if you knew anything about latin, which im assuming you don't cause that language is long dead, you would know that the Matri=mother and the phagy=eat. Yep, thats right, matriphagy means mother eat. let me tell you about a cool insect: the Japanese Foliage Spider. The mother foliage spider lays its eggs, then chills there waiting for the babies to hatch. Once the babies hatch she shows how cool of a mom she is and lets her kids eat her. In some studies once the eggs were laid the mama spiders were taken out of the cage and the babies were left to fend for themselves. The babies hatched and they turned out to be little nerd spiders, with no social skills. Mom's are important.

Luckily i didn't need to eat my mom to be cool. But sometimes she does make cool things for me to eat. My mom graduated from college a couple of weeks ago and my dad flew me home from New York as a surprise and an answer to my mom's prayers (you're welcome mom). I had a ball. And i had an awesome sandwich.

Mom: Pastrami on Dutch Crunch
F.A.L.C.O.N. Rating
10/10 Falcons

If you follow this blog carefully i recommend you find something better to do with your time and i really have nothing to say to you. However, if you read this blog from time to time and mix in a few other activities between blog reads then i recognize your value as a human being and would like to impart one bit of advice to you. In the ash austen post i did about a month ago i mentioned that something special has to happen to a sandwich that goes beyond just ingredients that makes it a good sandwich... kind of like a sandwich synergy... the sum is greater than the value of the individual parts or whatever that crazy talk is all about. i think i heard it on a movie once. anyways, the best thing to add to a sandwich isn't honey mustard, it is love.

Victor Hugo once said about love, "The first symptom of love in a young man is shyness; the first symptom in a woman, it's boldness." and the first symptom in a sandwich, bosanova. A sandwich saran wrapped in love is like any thing covered in fairy dust. The value of the thing inside the fairy dust doesn't even get addresses, im touching that fairy dust regardless. a poop wrapped in fairy dust? yeah, i'd touch that and fly all over this world not even caring that i just touched some poop. a love sandwich is much the same way.

so, lets get down to the ingredients. The sandwich had a healthy helping of deli cut pastrami. That king of meats was then crowned with wedges of the freshest californian avocados like green smiles on the faces of ethipian kids who just got rootbeer floats. Then, leafs of romain lettuce that hold their value better than million dolla billz. The tomatoes, like red moons, anouncing the fruit apocolypse that is about to take place in my mouth. Onions... like zues's rings thrown down to the mortals in the ultimate act of one-up-manship to show up Prometheous and his fancy thing called fire. Somewhere in the sandwich their is space for chedda sharper than triumph the insult comic dog. Light on the mayo. All these little treasure fit for a king are then magically organized and placed in the ducth crunch manila envelope soon to be filed away in the filing cabinet of my stomach and the "fond-memories" section of my brain bank.

But what is so special about getting into my stomach and brain? Banans get into my stomach and mathmagic stuff gets in my brain sometimes. What makes this sandwich so special. It is love that forms the trifecta. Stomach, mind, and heart. If you don't feel the sandwich in your heart then the best you can hope for is a good sandwich. Once the sandwich burns in your chest like patriotism then you know your mom made it for you. then you know that you mom didn't necessarily let you eat her, but she will let you eat her sandwich.

Philla Buster Delphia, Jay Zandwich Style

So, i started writing this blog while listening to cat stevens, it was a little too sappy and weird, so i started over and decided my writing soundtrack needed a little more edge. Let's see what Jay Z inspires me to write.

So, this past weekend i had a life changing vacation. have you ever thought how crazy it would be if you choked to death on a diamond the size of a soft ball? thats kind of what happened to me this weekend. imagine, something so awesome as having a diamond that size, and then it ruins your life... to death... crazy. this weekend the croquet diamond was a vacation to philly and the choking to death was my outlook on life: thats a metaphore!

i spent the memorials daze weekend with my buddy chad and some huneeeez from the advertising program at chads humble pennsylvanian home. it was fantastic. fantastic in the more literal use of the word, not just cool but tolkien style magical. too fantastic maybe. all the good will i had built up for the city of new york was quickly obliterated by the smell of trees, grass, and not sewage/night garbage piles. sorry chad, your goodwill was a detriment to your crusade to get me to live in the big apple. now i wont be content with anything other than a lot of green in my pocket and a lot of green in my lawns.

We took a bus there. it took about two hours or so cause the traffic was so bad. the ride itself was semi-uneventful, which was perfect cause i was able to nap a bit and sleep through New Jersey (sorry Nevada, i still consider you the armpit of the united states even now after going through jersey) which was needed.

I can't go into too much detail about the trip, as inigo montoya once said "let me 'splain, no that take too long, let me sum up...". so, here we go, try to keep up. this is what happened in phillthy (as i like to call it. and that's ironic cause i actually really liked the city. english lesson right theres, you're welcome) was this: USA beats some Turks and i was there, fireflies and i was there, shish kabobs and i was there, wilderness preserves and i was there, frog hunts and slipping into mud bogs and i was there, girl almost poops her pants (Computer Graphics, you know who you are) cause she was so scared of night deer and i was there, 1000 degrees celcious dominated by a sweet hammock nap and i was there, natures and trees and stuff and i was there, etc. and i was there.

so, look forward to the movie cause some day im sure mr. abrams will pick this vacation up and make it into either an awesome scifi movie throw back or a lame monster movie that gets people thowing up.

So, philly (and i keep acting like a fool and calling it philly cause i have no clue how to spell philidelfya and im too lazy to write it out wrong and spell check it) was awesome, and it provided a young sandwich man the opportunity to participate in something bigger than even him, even bigger than adam richman and much bigger than boys II men (philly natives by the way, not adam though, just the men boys). what could be bigger than these folks? a culinary rivalry more complex than onions, deeper in tradition than bread roles, meatier than meat, and thicker than cheez wiz... thats right-- CHEESE STEAKS!

Pat's King Of Steaks: Cheese Steak
F.A.L.C.O.N. Rating
8/10 Falcons

There is something deliciously simple about a cheese steak. I mean you have things like: jello, pudding, tucanos cheese balls, almond roca, and trident layers: delicious food with all kinds of smart science behind it. then, you have a jeremiah johnson type food (no science needed, just plain crazy good) like the philly cheese steak that says "dear people, im just some bread, some meat and some onions. and to make this even easier for you i wont even slice my cheese! Forgeda bout it!" dont know if the "forgeda bout it" is really philly-ish, but i threw it in there anyways. my AD, Ben, says its more yorkie than philthy, but i dont care (wow, Jay Z is really brining out the edge. i do what i want now). anyways, the cheese steak= battle axe of foods: chops wood and gets the job done right.

Pat's was an important choice. for those of you entrenched in sandwich lore, like myself, you know that there are really only two cheese steak places on (cue sigourney weaver) planet earth. Pat's and Geno's. The cool thing is in deciding which one to visit proximity is a non issue, they are right across the street from eachother. so, in deciding which side to join i asked chad (philly native, childhood friend of boys II men) which one we should go to. emphatically he said pat's. so we went to pat's.

How was the sandwich? lets just say i kill pat's cheese steaks like aids! It was delicious. the only strike against it was that i feel they may have put too many onions in there. my breathe is still trying to recover from a massive bite i took and came away with nothing but layered complexity. i had no clue ogres could do such damage to your breathe. Computer Graphics tried to kiss me but i was like "hold on. is my breathe as bad as yours?". it was.

Initially i was a little skeptical of the cheese wiz, but let me tell you: the dorothy's got nothin on this wiz. i think the cheese made the sandwich. i mean, look at that picture. look at the cheese. thats fizzy lifty drink sandwich style, folks!

I did give geno's a try. chad splurged and ate his pat's then walked across the street and got a geno's. he was gentlmanly enough to give me a bite. pretty good. not nearly as gnarly. provolone instead of wiz and tidiness instead of controlled chaos. i think we made the right choice.