Sandwiches

So,
wow
Um, its like midnight+23 min right now and I was going to begin writing this post, but the full magnitude and depth of the subject matter just hit me full on, leaving my mind staggering in a wild slide show of hollow memories that have until just now been safely locked behind a sturdy door of denial and coping mechanisms.
Well, best to just let it all out, and then neatly pack it all away again.

So,
I might have mentioned that I am vegan before, but I'll mention it again. I became vegan when I was around 4 years old. This was probably the beginning of the whole subject matter. Oh man, well as you can probably guess, I am making this up as I go, and as I do, I keep remembering more and more haunting memories. I'll bear with it though. So, being vegan means that when I eventually made my way into the educational institution of elementary school. This meant that myself, a vegan, was separated from my natural environment of cupboards and fridges shelves full of eatable food. No big deal- I brought a lunch from home. Lots of kids did. It was completely normal. I won't complain too much about having the same lunch 270 days a year for 8 years- lots of kids had that experience. I mean everyone must have gotten sick of having candy, chips, and soda for lunch every day. I know I would. Thats why I was particularly happy with my regular fare: unsweetened soymilk and canned slugs, I mean, prunes, both stored in neon plastic capsules that could have kept King Tuts lunch fresh while he waited to be discovered. These delectable delights were served as appetizers (I use the word loosely) to the main entrée- a sandwich. Not just any sandwich- it is a masterpiece.   Applied in the thinest layer was the throat parching layer of unsweetened soy butter (It exists- my brother is allergic to  peanuts, so we all suffered. And no, i'm not being insensitive to his life threatening condition- he is only mildly allergic- my mothers discovery of almond butter was a spiritual moment for me) There is also a layer of jam, applied with the soy butter in such a way I often opened my sandwich to make sure it wasn't just two layers of bread. And the bread- well you can feel your life extending when you eat it- its made of sprouted wheat, which in my mind is essentially whole wheat bread that somebody let go to seed. To hide the flavor, its covered with an assortment of bird food which cascades onto your lap when you take a bite, and leave you with a better understanding of why birds prefer insects to your bird feeder.
With that said, I do appreciate the timeless effort my parents put into preparing a lunch for me everyday, with love and care to raise me healthy and happy. I would like to say when I started making my own lunches I made different sandwiches, but I didn't. (I did forgo the slugs and soy milk though)

And with that said, I must explain that sandwiches are possibly my favorite food (baring ice cream- that is, soy cream, of course) I think it is these experiences in my youth that led me to the profound appreciation of the art form that is a true sandwich. When made correctly, a sandwich is the obvious and natural evolution of all food. With soft artisan bread, with a proper crust to make it crunch, succulent meat substitute, rich cheese substitute, crunchy lettuce, the bite of dill pickles, the tang of mustard, the creamy flavor of fake mayo, and the tangy explosion of pepperoncinis. So many flavors, with fantastic textures, and infinite options. That is a sandwich.  Heaven.

Unfortunately for every amazing, perfect, fantastic sandwich, lovingly crafted and enjoyed slowly and with great appreciation, there are 200 horrific, pathetic, gut wrenching sandwiches, thrown together at the last minute, and gagged down when hunger over rides sanity.
I know them well.
I know when they are coming.
And I dread them.
I have avoided them for months now, but they are in my future.
I see them now.
May 20th, 2011.
The day my family is going to go camping.
I shiver.
It begins like this.
Parent 1: "What are we going to eat on the car ride down to the beach?"
Me: "I'll eat an energy bar"
Parent 2: "We don't have any, actauly."
Me: "Water. I'll eat water. I mean, I'll drink water."
Parent 1: "Nonsense, I'll throw together some sandwiches for the trip"

>> fast forward 2 hours: at rest stop 30 minutes from camp ground, after using bathroom due to drinking enough water to suppress a great white shark's appetite

Parent 1: "Golly, I'm a bit peckish. Where are those sandwiches? Grab them, for me please? We can eat before heading back out"

I crawl back to the car, which, over the last 1.15 hours has remained cool and refreshing due to the invention of air conditioning. The sandwiches are not in the car. they are in the trunk, which over the last 1.15 has been transformed into a humid oven, dripping with moisture evaporated off of fungus infected sleeping mats. I take in a breath, and worm may hand into the grocery bag squashed between a camp stove and a pair of boots, and drag out the sandwiches. By a stroke of genius, they have been stored in the plastic bag the bread came in. Peering in, I see that the bread has literally perspired, misting the clear plastic. I warily undo the little metal twist tie, and open the bag, getting my first look at my meal. The 4 or 5 sandwiches have become one single jelly sodden, crumbling mass. I extract the whole thing, and the sandwiches remind me of orange peels as I peel them apart, insofar as orange peel is inedible. With the hot sun beating down on me, and the toxic flavor of the bug repellent I just applied mixed with the already indistinguishable overtones of boiled jelly, decomposed soy pulp, and paste-ala-bread. Hunger breaks down my sanity, and I gag it down, hearing my self ask for a luke warm juice box, please.