Yesterdayâs discussion about sandwiches got me thinking. Every once in a while, I get tired of pre-bought sandwiches and decide to start making them myself. And every time it starts off so well: I head off to Tesburys and buy a nice seeded loaf, a small selection of cold meats, cheese, lettuce, tomato, peppers and, if my head is screwed on, a faux âbutterâ that is spreadable so that I donât have to slice slabs of unsalted butter from the fridge to the thickness of cheese.
The first day starts with me getting up half an hour early to face the unfamiliar challenge. Inevitably, in my semi-comatose state I wind up forgetting the spreadable âbutterâ and consequently layering the bread with 1/4â³ slices of butter and cheese. But the first effort goes reasonably well for all that.
The second day goes slightly better as I leave the spreadable âbutterâ in a prominent position, ensuring a slightly thinner sandwich. However, in my semi-comatose state, I forget the mayo, so the sandwich is a bit bland. Never mind!
Day three, I decide, will be perfect! Instead of depending on my wit before the sun has even come up, I will make my sandwiches on the evening of day two. They will be absolutely perfect and popped into the fridge. So, on day three, Iâm off to Pret-a-manger as my perfectly-made sandwiches are still in the fridge.
On day four, I have cunningly taped a note to the door to remind myself of the sandwich I perfectly made on the evening of day three. Hurrah. At lunch time, I discover that this sandwich is soggy and the bread just falls apart, depositing mayonnaise and tomato all over my white shirt and tie.
On day five, I go to Pret. Enough is enough. The unfinished tomato and lettuce rot quietly in my fridge for several weeks. Which reminds me, I really need to clean out my fridge, but the last time I tried, the fur-clad contents of the vegetable tray growled at me. I wonder if the council offers a HazMat service?