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.