You Can't Always Blame It On Ziploc

Why yes, there ARE 3 kinds of
meat and 2 kinds of cheese on it

But they DID help.

I have always loved sandwiches -- fresh ingredients pressed tenderly together and, before they can even begin to get to know each other, AAAAAHOM NOM NOM. The strategies of cheeses, meats, and mustards that culminate in the best nomming experiences is a delicious experiment in trial and -- well, not actual error, so just more trials. Forever and blissful ever.

If Ziploc can be held accountable for any part of my bizzarely passionate sandwich behavior, it is actually a positive one - they got me back on brown breads.

My mother, in a genius attempt to instill healthy eating habits upon me from the youngest possible age, used to give baby Kana slabs of nut-choked bread one could build low income housing with. As a person with working taste buds, I would resist to the best of my ability, and celebrated adult autonomy by eating the fluffiest, nutrient-emptiest of store-bought breads. Her legacy lived on, however; when I need comfort foods in times of illness and hardship, I turn to wholegrain breads as one might otherwise turn to the bottle.

Don't know if that's actually what you'd call healthy behavior, but at least the sentence involved whole grains.

Not even the gods themselves can
get me to eat onion or tomatoes, though

But Ziploc has done what my mother couldn't do with her paving slabs whole grain breads -- turned me into not only a willing brown-bread eater, but an enthusiastic one. Because now I LOVE OATNUT! What my mother lacked was merely a multi-billion-dollar marketing team, plus a professional graphic-design contract. Because who can resist this, huh?? I sure can't.


I have proudly proclaimed myself a Sandwich Goddess -- my point of pride comes from the fact that none of my parishioners friends dispute it. I am a master. I have strategies -- the use of at least two kinds of meat, one or two kinds of cheese, toasting the bread before putting the rest of the sandwich together for all-over toasting, so that the 1 to 3 kinds of condiments don't sog up the bread, not to mention the cheese-to-meat layering strategy for maximum taste and texture -- is it any wonder my rule has remained unopposed?

(By the way, vegetables can go hang. They just wilt in the heat of toasterwiches. Cold sandwiches may have butter lettuce on them, as Nature obviously intended for their leaves to fit perfectly on sliced bread, but that's it. Go to Subway if you think you should "Eat Fresh." If you're at my house, you're going to eat DELICIOUS.)

Yes, the milk glass is a jar. Because they have
tight-sealing lids, that's why. I'm nobody's fool!

I also loves me some peanut butter and jelly. As long as the PB AND the J are about as thick as the bread. And the glass of milk is at least as tall as my face. I hold that no sandwich should be eaten without the need for a napkin. Deliciousness oozes. It's just fact.

In fact, when I saw this lame little travel-game called Peanut Butter & Jelly in a cute little faux lunch box, I had Honey-Bunny buy it for me -- a paltry $5.36, might I add -- after which I took it home, briskly emptied out its contents into the kitchen trash, and used it as my special sandwich conveyance the very next day. Overpriced? You bet. Awesome? Also that.

And you might note; I have EXACTLY the Ziploc picture's kind of bread. Because marketing effin' WORKS.