As I mentioned in a previous post, I haven’t been so good on the whole cooking front lately. As I was driving home this evening I was trying to formulate some sort of meal plan so I could avoid the drive-thru, restaurant or the singles-section at Safeway.
As I mentally combed through my edibles, the best thing I could come up with was a meatloaf and cheese sandwich. Which should have got me pondering about my lack of will to live, but mostly it made me think about a conversation that happened the other day.
We were out for Father’s Day dinner, the topic of sandwiches came up. My brother declared that you can make a sandwich out of anything. My, very pregnant, sister-in-law asked if a sandwich could be made out of spaghetti (that was my dish of the evening and apparently the most far-fetched idea she could come up with).
I said yes, having witnessed it at work, by Gorm, on a number of occasions. My brother, incredulously, added that of course you could, in fact, who hasn’t had a spaghetti sandwich. She silently gave him a look that either said “I haven’t and I can’t believe you have” or “I’ll kill you in your sleep tonight”.
Which got us talking about the best and worst non-traditional sandwiches ever made.
My Uncle John, being one of the youngest in a family of 11 brothers and sisters, with numerous nephews and nieces milling about trying to get a free meal, came up with a horrifying sandwich that would deter all those looking for a bite. After a few years of eating it, he came to like how it tasted and still enjoyed how he didn’t have to share the sandwich with anyone.
Sometimes he’d mix it up and incorporate cheese-whiz into the atrocity.
On the same side of the family, our cousin, Chris, had a strange affinity to cheese. Don’t get me wrong – cheese is great, but watching him devour his favourite sandwich was nauseating to say the least.
His stomach-turning sandwich consisted solely of the thickest slabs of cheddar cheese possible, drenched in an ungodly amount of yellow mustard, sandwiched between, well, two pieces of bread and microwaved to liquefy the cheese. Sometimes, he ditched the bread altogether and just set up shop on the couch with the Costco size brick of cheese and mustard bottle (sans microwave, because that would be gross).
Which brings us to the sandwich that my brother created that I completely erased from my memory banks. And not due to sheer disgust; it was actually a really great sandwich.
The Burrito Sandwich: take two pieces of bread, butter and salt & pepper both sides. Cut burrito in half so it fits on the bread. Put hot burrito between the bread and enjoy!
My sister-in-law was horrified, I reminisced about how good it was, while my brother tried repeatedly to convince her it was a tasty treat. The following conversation ensued: