In life as in sandwiches, sometimes things don’t reveal themselves to you immediately. The universe rewards patience. People take time to warm up, to trust. And perhaps, so do sandwiches.
I stopped at All About the Bread between therapy and a screening of Room. Somehow my sandwich escaped being soaked in tears, which is a SandwichQuest miracle all on its own. I ordered a turkey club, since it involved turkey and avocado. Quests need a control group; this isn’t anarchy. Mostly though, I was excited about the implication of good bread, and the logo led me to believe that I was going to an off-brand Jimmy John’s. Very promising.
When I looked at the bread, I was disappointed. I expected it to be softer. Not Subway-yoga-mat spongey, but softer. The flavors in the sandwich felt muted – the turkey and guacamole were there, but they weren’t there. The bread was…dare I say hard and flavorless? I expected better from a place that claimed to be “all about” the bread. But the things you love? Sometimes they disappoint you. Yes, even sandwiches. I wasn’t that hungry, so I put the second half of the sandwich in the fridge and went to drain all my tears into a Buncha Crunch box and contemplate the meaning of freedom.
The next day, I sat down to eat the second half of the sandwich because, well, it was there. And if you can even BELIEVE it, the leftovers were incredible! I’m not sure what it was – maybe the tomato had soaked into the bread just enough, or the turkey was softer and more flavorful – but all the flavors had come together. With a little time and space, the sandwich was free to become what it was. And it was excellent.
(This story has a postscript, which is that I was immediately shamed by my friend Will, who recommended All About the Bread, for not ordering the meatball sandwich. And so a second trip was made. Again, the sandwich was good (better than the turkey), but the leftover second half of the sandwich was absolutely transcendent. Finally, having the appetite of a baby bird pays off.)
Spiritual Wholeness Quotient: On par with spending a long time searching for something, only to find that you’ve had that thing inside you all along.