Let’s say you’re feeling a bit peckish, and decide to make a sandwich.
Not just any sandwich. Not even a really good sandwich. No. you’re keen to cobble together the. best. sandwich. ever.
Now, of course, tastes vary, and at the risk of putting my vegetarian friends off their tempeh, I’m going to take this in the Reuben direction, just for the sake of analogy.
So then: you source the finest, most moist and delectable corned beef imaginable. You grabbed your ceramic crock and hit up your farmer’s market three days ago, so your supply of farm-fresh sauerkraut is in great shape. Swiss cheese? Check. High functioning mustard? Check. Dressing? Made from scratch.
Now your attention turns to bread. You *could* go with that lovely marble rye.
But instead, you walk down to the train tracks, and you search until you find a pair of hobo turds of comparable size, weight, and dessication.
Arrange all ingredients between them. Take a big bite, and chew hard.
How’s that season taste? A middle packed with the very best, and bookended by pure shit.