Tuesday, March 10, 2009


What is it about a slice of meat between two pieces of french bread that makes even the most basic sandwich greater than the sum of its parts? Brazil is not overly friendly to the sandwich. My mother-in-law scoffed at my eating a piece of bread with my beans and rice the other day. Apparently, bread is strictly for breakfast in this house, mister. The fact that I drink black coffee qualifies me as a local legend. At least I've been immortalized. Getting back to sandwiches... sure, Brazil has the x-todo, which means x-everything... basically a hamburger with scrambled eggs, ham, niblet corn, potato straws, lettuce, cheese, and tomato. But other than that, the local culinary culture seems to ignore the many virtues of the sandwich, its sleek and compact design, its portability, etc. Today at lunch I rediscovered the sandwich. We had boneless fried chicken breast, and we had french bread, we had catsup. And for fifteen minutes of noshing, I was home. 

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