On Sammiches Part Deux

Yesterday I wrote passionately (nay, poetically) on the issue of sammiches. I would like to add a little epilogue to my post, in praise once more of the sammich.

Picture this if you will.

After writing my last post, I went home and cooked a fantastic curry, worked on some uni things, played some percussion and then had a glass or two of fine wine.

Then I decided to make my lunch. Thus violating one of my firmest rules: never make a salad for the next day's lunch when you're a few sheets to the wind. I had to implement this law after a few very depressing lunchtimes. Nothing quite sucks all the fun out of your lunchbreak like the discovery that your chickpea/kalamata olive/red capsicum/marshmallow/cucumber salad really is nothing more than soggy cold things in a box. But I digress. My plan was to make a boiled egg salad, with rocket, cucumber, dill mayonnaise, maybe some chopped capsicum and gherkins. Tasty! While my egg simmered, rummagings into the fridgermerator revealed an eclectic yet disparate selection of ingredients: a single passionfruit cupcake, past its prime; a large jar of minced garlic; half a purple onion; a pumpkin; several Lindt chocolate bunnies, whose neck bells tinkled merrily as I pushed them aside in search of cucumber.

My salad was doomed. All I had was rocket, egg, tomato and purple onion. We didn't even have any mayonnaise. The next morning, I had the presence of mind to check my salad before packing it to take to work: while nowhere near as grim as some of my previous late night salad specimens have been, it certainly lacked inspiration and, well, zazz. And then I remembered the delight of the sammich.

Behold.

Wait, wait, wait; this picture doesn't do it justice. You can't tell that I spread the bread on one slice with overripe avocado, and on the other with cream cheese mixed with minced dill. You can't tell that I gently mashed the boiled egg onto the cream cheese, topped it with finely chopped purple onion and tomato, then piled high with rocket. Then wrapped it all up and ported it to work.

This picture sums up the poetry, the sheer divinity, of the sammich I had today, may it rest in peace.

On Sammiches

I have, of late, been considering the sammich. I think I may have misjudged the humble sandwich (or sammich), in a backlash from years of eating them by obligation.

While I was in school/high school/university, I had a sammich for lunch every single day (except on those hallowed days where I bought my lunch). I'm sure of it, because I simply can't imagine what alternatives there would have been.

University was the worst: I made myself a peanut butter sandwich for lunch nearly every day, because it was a lunch that was cheap, could stand being banged about in my bag as I went from class to class, and didn't have to be refrigerated or kept upright to prevent leakage. After a blood test revealed I had astronomic cholesterol levels for a 20-year-old, I cut out the peanut butter and had things like mashed potato and grated carrot sandwiches. Not so great.

So, after graduating, I avoided sammiches as much as possible. They always seemed like a rushed lunch; one you had because you didn't have time for anything else. Or didn't have time for a "proper" lunch, whatever that is.

Recently, I've been reconsidering my knowledge of the sammich. Sure, I can safely state, with the support of empirical experience, that I don't enjoy peanut butter sammiches that have been kept in a backpack for six hours and forcibly marched around a uni campus; but that doesn't seem like a good reason to rule out all sammiches. Especially now I work in an office with fridges, where I can stash all the fresh ingredients until it's time to make the sammich from scratch. There's even sammich toasters to use.

Consider the following:

• a crusty baguette, spread with wholegrain mustard and mayonnaise, then layered with baby spinach, tomato, roast capsicum, sliced roast pumpkin and caramelised onions;
• a pumpkin-and-linseed bread roll, split in two, toasted, and then filled with brie, rocket, thinly-sliced purple onion and a touch of tomato relish;
• two slices of wholemeal bread around pesto, mozzarella, tomato and roast capsicum, all grilled and sizzley;
• thickly-sliced, lightly-toasted raisin and fruit bread, with sliced figs, chopped walnuts and blue cheese, toasted lightly to soften.

Oh dear, now I'm all hot and bothered. Look at that list, just look at it! And I'm sure you can think of at least a dozen more sammiches that would satisfy every cell in your being. I would like to announce a reclaiming of the sammich! Embrace your breaded brethren!