The perfect sandwich

Is the one on hand. In the situation that there are many potential sandwiches on hand, as is the case in the supermarket sandwich aisle, the high street sandwich shop, or the well endowed wedding buffet, there are a few most particular considerations: the perfect sandwich should be well vegetabled; crisp in leaf and soft in loaf; nostalgic, but not cloying. The intensity of flavour in said contraption should be such that as those particles make their way from an area of high concentration to an area of low concentration across that partially permeable membrane, they are falling vertically, such is the speed and ferocity with which they want to bring about equilibrium within you, the eater’s, mouth. That is to say, the best sandwich is intense, and therefore while above i made reference to the supermarket sandwich aisle, the high street sandwich shop, and the well endowed wedding buffet, in none of these three situations will you find the perfect sandwich. The perfect sandwich must be spontaneous. A sandwich left sitting is a sandwich worth spitting, as the old saying is wont to go. Perhaps the perfect sandwich need not be perfect in construction but in temporality, a polaroid in edible form. My life is framed in sandwiches. The waitrose prawn cocktail. the sweaty immature cheddar with piccalilli and sand. The white bread, ham, and margarine. I was young, my friend, and that sandwich was my world. I can still taste it now