I was seven years old in 1969 during the moon landing, with the whole extended family gathered around the enormous TV console. It was a very memorable event for me, but the thing I most remember is that mom made me and my friend a simple BLT with mayo. For some reason it was like a visitation from Jesus for both of us. We spent the next few years making them or begging for them relentlessly. We thought it was our own thing. Over the next fifty years I've tried to recapture that, but never entirely succeeded in reaching the same culinary apogee. Still trying. Every BLT comes with free a flashback to that hot July day. And a remembrance of that best of friends who we lost twelve years ago.
I have a similar thing here, albeit not tied to as vivid a memory of a day or of people-- just a memory of food.
I've been chasing a "white whale" bacon / egg / cheddar on grilled Texas toast sandwich I made 20-ish years ago that I've never been able to replicate. I didn't keep track of the particular bacon or cheddar I used, and I don't recall if the eggs were the farm co-op eggs we used to get or plain old grocery eggs. I should have taken notes but didn't.
It's probably a silly thing to do, but I keep fairly meticulous notes about food I make now (including weighing-out ingredients on a kitchen scale). I don't want to have another experience like my mythical sandwich.
My wife has a good point about my quest: I can't replicate my hunger level that day. That got me paying attention to how hunger effects food enjoyment. I now make a point of planning my eating ahead of special meals to maximize enjoyment. It's shocking, to me, how much a little hunger makes food better.
> It's probably a silly thing to do, but I keep fairly meticulous notes about food I make now (including weighing-out ingredients on a kitchen scale). I don't want to have another experience like my mythical sandwich.
Perhaps you do want those experiences, actually. Would your memory of this sandwich be as sweet if you were able to replicate whenever you want? How much of the seasoning here comes from its rarity?
In college I did an apple fast twice. Only eat apples and drink water for 3 days. You have to be careful doing this because you can end up very dehydrated. Whatever you eat after the 3rd day is the best meal of your life even though it's typically very simple. I would usually have something like a soup or very basic sandwich, it was still usually the most tasty thing I had ever eaten.
That reminds me of a day almost 30 years ago where I spent my last money and had a big pizza gyros. I went from starving to completely
satiated. It was absolutely
glorius. I’m still a big fan of pizza Gyros thanks to this special memorable occasion.
Show some young children the Apollo 11 movie. (Literally "Apollo 11.")
I was just going to show them the launch, but they all demanded to stay up late, told me to stop fast forwarding, and then had to sit and watch it again with each set of grandparents.
Another thing you can do is make sure critical parts of the Artemis streams (takeoff, approach to the moon, and landing) are on when you have children around. I texted the links to everyone I know.
I recently returned to a favorite cafe after a long time away. The amazing food I had many years ago seemed now to be just fine but not memorable.
I think the difference was the context. It was a date with a relationship that was going well. There was a lot of excitement. Now that relationship deteriorated and there is no excitement, and the food isn't as good. Maybe our memories are conflating the two things.
Brands matter. See if you can match the brands that your mother used; especially the mayonnaise. Bacon will be harder to match.
In 1969, my family would have made its own mayonnaise, so try that, too.
If I want a flashback to my childhood, it's peanut butter and jelly. But it has to be Skippy peanut butter on Wonder bread with Smuckers jelly, and freezing cold whole milk. Anything deviation doesn't trigger the same brain cells.
This hits me like a brick wall with my young children. Seeing them change so rapidly is a glimpse into how short life is and how often an experience unknowingly becomes the last of its kind.
There is so much to be gained by slowing down, focusing on what you can be grateful for, and not striving for more.
This passage from Trading Bases by Joe Peta chokes me up everytime.
> There's an expression on Wall Street, often attributed to Warren Buffett, which goes, "They don't ring a bell at the top." There's tremendous wisdom in that adage, because while in retrospect it's easy to pinpoint the day that the market (or even a specific stock) reached an all-time high that looks unlikely to ever be attained again in the foreseeable future, at the moment it happened it was impossible to recognize. That's because, unlike market bottoms, which usually have a crescendo feeling to them accompanied by investor panic, a market top generally passes without fanfare, indistinguishable from the series of tops that preceded it.
> You know when else they don't ring a bell? For parents, they don't ring a bell the last time you read Goodnight Moon. They don't do it the last time you watch Sleeping Beauty and they don't do it the last time you help your daughter put on the same article of clothing she's wanted to wear every day as a toddler. Instead, a couple years after the fact, you find the book on a shelf, the DVD in a box, and the tights with the pink ballerinas on them in the back of a drawer. You can't for the life of you remember the last time you read the book, danced to "Once Upon a Dream" with your daughter on your feet, or helped put those tights on. But you do know that now she reads to herself at bedtime, she dances, alone, to Taylor Swift, and the tights—well, the tights wouldn't even make it over her knees.
Our daughter turned thirteen this year. Counting the number of remaining family summer vacations, Christmases, etc, remaining really hit home for me this year.
Some of the days have been very, very long. The weeks, months, and years have been so short.
Likewise, I already have some regrets about not being as present with the first year of my second kid because of various other life distractions/stresses. Increasingly my biggest fear/worry/anxiety in life is that I just won’t be present for it - which is a self-fulfilling prophecy!
It's not impossible (and I'd substitute "evolved" for "designed").
Yes, wanting "More" [time, money, love, status] is pretty firmly ingrained as an advantageous trait. But you can override your instincts (e.g. declining a drink when thirsty, if you learn the glass of water contains poison). And it is possible to learn to want what you already have.
How?
Practice three things: Compassion, Attention, and Gratitude.
(Pick any two, and the third will follow almost automatically.)
That's the central thesis of an excellent book, "How to Want What You Have" by Dr Timothy Miller. It changed my life.
> The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. - Psalm 23:1-2
The interpretation of this I love most is the visual of a sheep, satisfied enough that they lay down instead of grazing or drinking. This posture is mentioned repeatedly in the Bible.
I imagine most religions and philosophies have similar.
Not if you have a transformed and renewed mind. Once you taste the fruit of life, drink the water, eat the bread, drink the blood - nothing else will suffice.
This is a hard teaching and not all can accept it. Those that do will find peace, life, meaning, and rest.
I guess you can convince to want something totally different like bliss, moksha or whatever but the basic instinct to want is still there . Not sure why that particular form is more desirable. I know some personally and they constantly struggle with wanting that not being able to achieve.
I’ve been getting into photography recently. I enjoy capturing the beauty of light in everyday moments - you’d think I’d run out of things but after years in the same place, breathtaking moments are a daily occurrence (if I am looking).
On one of my walks, I had the realization that if I were blind and suddenly re-gained my vision, I would be overwhelmed with joy and gratitude to be able to see these things. And yet it is not natural for the sighted to feel overwhelmed with joy and gratitude every time they open their eyes.
I try to practice gratitude daily; at first it was difficult to come up with things, but my perspective has since broadened. I am deeply grateful that I can see the way light filters through haze in late September. I can hear beautiful music (an unlimited supply, of anything I want, at any time!). I can run (to think, I used to consider this a burden!). I could go on listing things for hours.
You can experience joy in the good things in your life before the loss. Enjoy every sandwich - even the soggy ones.
I'm not vegetarian, but Grand Central Bakery in Seattle/Portland had a Maitake sandwich that I loved enough to reproduce at home:
"Crisp-roasted maitake mushrooms with garlicky labneh, fresh local raab, warm Middle Eastern Spices and Mama Lil's spicy pickled peppers on a toasted Ciabatta roll."
The raab and the mushrooms (sliced into sheets) were seared crisp. I substituted harissa mixed with mayo or greek yogurt for the sauce.
Oooh, I love this. A few years ago, I started keeping track of my favorite coffeeshops. They're not "the best ever" by some objective metric; I'm not Zagat. But they're special to me!
I assume your metrics are great coffee and excellent ambiance.
The best coffee I've ever had was from The Library Specialty Coffee in Toronto. The location though is so minimal and uninviting that I couldn't rank it very highly as a coffeeshop.
Where I live (Austin) some of the best coffee I've had is from a trailer, so that obviously wouldn't rank either.
I'm not sure I've been to any coffeeshops I would rank very highly... Sadly, the best is probably the Starbucks near where I live. The people who work there are extraordinarily nice and the place is very clean, quiet, and comfortable. Too bad the coffee isn't better.
I never thought about it before, but I guess the place is more important to me than the drink when determining where I want to go for a cup of coffee.
IMHO this is Beginner Level, basic enjoyment, at the cost of cardiovascular health, due to those saturated fats that the man in the sandwich shop never tells you about.
To up your sandwich enjoyment game, what you want is a bread making machine, ideally by Panasonic, with plenty of flour in the cupboards and a well-rehearsed routine of putting the bread on.
Here you get delayed gratification since it takes three minutes to load the machine and four hours for it to bake a loaf. You get proper bakery smells, which is a bonus, and the freshest bread in town (the second you unload the machine).
Freshness is a hack with any bread you buy. It is usually harmless additives that keep it 'fresh', but there is no need for the 'harmless additives' when you have a Panasonic machine. You won't find yourself adding weird chemicals, but you could find yourself adding, nuts, seeds, berries and other fruit to your bakes, to suit your whims or preferences of your guests.
Sometimes some people notice your fresh bread and insist on telling you how much better their sourdough is (that they made once in lockdown) or how that their local bakery makes far nicer bread than your pathetic little Panasonic machine. So you get an extra 'last laugh' from having to endure these ad-hoc lectures on sourdough that is just not in the same league as your favourite bread made effortless by your lovely machine.
You might miss out on interactions with that sandwich store (they rob you slowly, hence the staff will know your name and preferences, if a regular), however, people outside the sourdough cult are always impressed by home made bread, even if you insist it was effortlessly made.
Making your own bread connects you to our history of making bread, plus you get a much healthier product, arguably real bread, unlike that nonsense that is commercially sold as 'bread'.
Eating a sandwich now, haven't bought one for maybe five years.
the sandwich shop in dogpatch has been closed for years. their building was remodeled for startups (kind of a meh patchwork of steel panels, some corten and some not), and they tried to move over a couple blocks, but the pandemic got them.
If you watch none of the rest of the music, at least watch him play Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner at the end; kind of an amazing song, especially given when Zevon wrote it.
This is one of my favorite quotes and I'm glad to see it discussed here.
My favorite interpretation is focusing on the beauty of how even such a mundane thing as a sandwich is a unique experience. Someone made it by-hand, the ingredients have their own backstory in arriving in the present moment, and the taste is greater than the sum of its parts because of all the competing and complementary flavors.
Sandwiches hide in plain sight and even when they aren't great they are unique and will underscore how good your next great one is.
"The winters are cold... but I can't complain. My socks have holes... but again, do I complain? I do not. The oldest needs braces... the youngest once sneezed for three days straight... but who could complain? They're gifts."
"Children?"
"All of it. The cold, the holes."
For all of the complaining we can do about our hardships, it's a gift to even be able to complain. When someone says, "Life is good", they're right even if you feel like things are shitty -- because life itself, being here and alive, to be able to feel and to think, is a wonderful gift.
I think you're getting at the heart of the sentiment behind the original quote better than the blog post.
The blog seems to be treating it as aspirational -- a goal. A puzzle to be understood and applied to make our lives richer. It's more of a perspective shift.
When you really get it, you won't think you're supposed to like bad sandwiches -- you'll realize what a gift any sandwich is. What a gift it is to sit in any crummy airport eating a soggy sandwich. You won't have to try to like it, you'll cry with gratitude at how lucky you are to even be there.
> I find myself forgetting the point. The goal might not be to exactly enjoy every sandwich. Some sandwiches are just straight up trash. Maybe the goal is to notice that you’re eating one.
Taking Mr. Zevon's advice to "enjoy every sandwich" literally is amazing. I think he'd appreciate the absurdity of the post.
Ever since I did the "The Science of Well-Being" coursera course way back when, and got into mindfulness, I always try to saviour my daily sandwich! And also mix it up a bit (cutting it differently, using new ingredients). Both of these are tiny things in isolation but if you do stuff like this throughout the day it makes a measurable difference to happiness.
There has been a visible shift in the replies on this web site since about April of this year.
If you know what to look for, you realize there are far fewer humans bothering to post than before. It's like the proverbial scales falling from your eyes once you see it.
Every ten minutes of worry becomes ten seconds of relief. Every tasteful delight is followed by three moments of gastric distress. Every fifteen second laugh is built on half an hour of stress/worry/trauma/hurt.
Enjoy every hedonic pleasure. But the balance sheet doesn’t look good even if you always do. It’s either all just a raw deal or we need to look beyond the low- and high-minded enjoyments.
> The goal might not be to exactly enjoy every sandwich. Some sandwiches are just straight up trash. Maybe the goal is to notice that you’re eating one.
That's obvious. Who doesn't notice that? I think if I were terminally ill I'd seek things I enjoy, and savor them, and avoid bad sandwiches. In good health, I'd ask what made that sandwich bad and think about how to improve it.
Both cases are compatible with "noticing that you are eating a sandwich". The issue usually is that its much more difficult to "notice it" if you are thinking about how to improve it. Its like the classic parable of the camel, the needle eye and the rich. But its not impossible.
> The issue usually is that its much more difficult to "notice it" if you are thinking about how to improve it.
Quite the contrary. It's the difference between active eating and passive eating. It is the active eater who appreciates what he is eating at the deepest level, being capable of recreating and modifying his food. It is the same with every endeavor.
I agree, but I may be talking about another level of "noticing". More about observing the act and being conscious about what is happening. Thats easier it you are not rationalizing it. If you are an expert on a topic to the point where it becomes second nature, then you probably again have it easier to enter into that state, which can be a door to great creativity. But you can also get lost in all of the details that take you away from the moment.
I remember a notable triangular sandwich packed in a cardboard box and sold on the motorway in France. I ate it while my jet lagged toddler cried and cried and we tried to get to Provence before nightfall.
There is something truly rotten about service station sandwiches in France. I once had a croque monsieur that was so execrable it made the paper bag appetising by comparison.
Yes there is. There are a lot people have no idea what makes a good sandwich. They will happily put turkey, Miracle Whip, and two Kraft singles on 11-grain honey wheat Wonderbread and go about their day fully convinced that they made something delicious and healthy.
The fact that >50% of Italian sub shops default to not putting onions on their torpedoes is a testament to how far we've fallen as a culture.
These aren't preferences so much as they are facts. I am very much not messing around. You can tell how serious I am by how I equated the decline of western civilization to a lack of sandwich vegetables.
I don't know, Sandwiches of History has some real stinkers every now and then, such as the Cheese and Banana Sandwich, the Clam and Cheese Sandwich, or the Peanut-Butter Sandwich.
> So many tasty things people miss out on due to peer pressure and being afraid to give "strange" food a try.
I agree with the sentiment, but there's probably also a cultural thing. I love root beer, for instance, but from what I understand, many (most?) Europeans who've tried it think it's disgusting and tastes like medicine.
I've been chasing a "white whale" bacon / egg / cheddar on grilled Texas toast sandwich I made 20-ish years ago that I've never been able to replicate. I didn't keep track of the particular bacon or cheddar I used, and I don't recall if the eggs were the farm co-op eggs we used to get or plain old grocery eggs. I should have taken notes but didn't.
It's probably a silly thing to do, but I keep fairly meticulous notes about food I make now (including weighing-out ingredients on a kitchen scale). I don't want to have another experience like my mythical sandwich.
My wife has a good point about my quest: I can't replicate my hunger level that day. That got me paying attention to how hunger effects food enjoyment. I now make a point of planning my eating ahead of special meals to maximize enjoyment. It's shocking, to me, how much a little hunger makes food better.
Perhaps you do want those experiences, actually. Would your memory of this sandwich be as sweet if you were able to replicate whenever you want? How much of the seasoning here comes from its rarity?
Food matters.
I was just going to show them the launch, but they all demanded to stay up late, told me to stop fast forwarding, and then had to sit and watch it again with each set of grandparents.
Another thing you can do is make sure critical parts of the Artemis streams (takeoff, approach to the moon, and landing) are on when you have children around. I texted the links to everyone I know.
I think the difference was the context. It was a date with a relationship that was going well. There was a lot of excitement. Now that relationship deteriorated and there is no excitement, and the food isn't as good. Maybe our memories are conflating the two things.
Brands matter. See if you can match the brands that your mother used; especially the mayonnaise. Bacon will be harder to match.
In 1969, my family would have made its own mayonnaise, so try that, too.
If I want a flashback to my childhood, it's peanut butter and jelly. But it has to be Skippy peanut butter on Wonder bread with Smuckers jelly, and freezing cold whole milk. Anything deviation doesn't trigger the same brain cells.
There is so much to be gained by slowing down, focusing on what you can be grateful for, and not striving for more.
> There's an expression on Wall Street, often attributed to Warren Buffett, which goes, "They don't ring a bell at the top." There's tremendous wisdom in that adage, because while in retrospect it's easy to pinpoint the day that the market (or even a specific stock) reached an all-time high that looks unlikely to ever be attained again in the foreseeable future, at the moment it happened it was impossible to recognize. That's because, unlike market bottoms, which usually have a crescendo feeling to them accompanied by investor panic, a market top generally passes without fanfare, indistinguishable from the series of tops that preceded it.
> You know when else they don't ring a bell? For parents, they don't ring a bell the last time you read Goodnight Moon. They don't do it the last time you watch Sleeping Beauty and they don't do it the last time you help your daughter put on the same article of clothing she's wanted to wear every day as a toddler. Instead, a couple years after the fact, you find the book on a shelf, the DVD in a box, and the tights with the pink ballerinas on them in the back of a drawer. You can't for the life of you remember the last time you read the book, danced to "Once Upon a Dream" with your daughter on your feet, or helped put those tights on. But you do know that now she reads to herself at bedtime, she dances, alone, to Taylor Swift, and the tights—well, the tights wouldn't even make it over her knees.
Some of the days have been very, very long. The weeks, months, and years have been so short.
we were desiged to want more it impossible to override that design.
Yes, wanting "More" [time, money, love, status] is pretty firmly ingrained as an advantageous trait. But you can override your instincts (e.g. declining a drink when thirsty, if you learn the glass of water contains poison). And it is possible to learn to want what you already have.
How? Practice three things: Compassion, Attention, and Gratitude. (Pick any two, and the third will follow almost automatically.)
That's the central thesis of an excellent book, "How to Want What You Have" by Dr Timothy Miller. It changed my life.
The interpretation of this I love most is the visual of a sheep, satisfied enough that they lay down instead of grazing or drinking. This posture is mentioned repeatedly in the Bible.
I imagine most religions and philosophies have similar.
This is a hard teaching and not all can accept it. Those that do will find peace, life, meaning, and rest.
says who?
On one of my walks, I had the realization that if I were blind and suddenly re-gained my vision, I would be overwhelmed with joy and gratitude to be able to see these things. And yet it is not natural for the sighted to feel overwhelmed with joy and gratitude every time they open their eyes.
I try to practice gratitude daily; at first it was difficult to come up with things, but my perspective has since broadened. I am deeply grateful that I can see the way light filters through haze in late September. I can hear beautiful music (an unlimited supply, of anything I want, at any time!). I can run (to think, I used to consider this a burden!). I could go on listing things for hours.
You can experience joy in the good things in your life before the loss. Enjoy every sandwich - even the soggy ones.
- Raging Bull or Brian Allen from Star Meats in Berkeley, CA
- Shaking Beef, Dinosaur Sandwiches in San Francisco / Daily City, CA
- Turkey Cranberry from the GBC in Berkeley, CA
- Lemongrass tofu from Lokal Sandwiches in Los Angeles, CA
- Pastrami on rye from Sarges Deli in NYC, NY
- Fried Chicken Sandwich from Bakesale Betty's in Berkeley, CA
- Dad's BLT or fried egg sandwiches
- Any sandwich from Mom paired with potato salad
- Wife's Cemita
- Turkey sandwich from "The Sandwich Shop", Dogpatch in San Francisco, CA
"Crisp-roasted maitake mushrooms with garlicky labneh, fresh local raab, warm Middle Eastern Spices and Mama Lil's spicy pickled peppers on a toasted Ciabatta roll."
The raab and the mushrooms (sliced into sheets) were seared crisp. I substituted harissa mixed with mayo or greek yogurt for the sauce.
- Tradition Coffee Roasters, Kailua, HI
- Offset Coffee, LA, CA
- Igam Coffee, Brooklyn, NY
- City League, Brooklyn, NY
- Ozo Coffee, Boulder, CO
- Odyssey Coffee, Ocean Grove, NJ
The best coffee I've ever had was from The Library Specialty Coffee in Toronto. The location though is so minimal and uninviting that I couldn't rank it very highly as a coffeeshop.
Where I live (Austin) some of the best coffee I've had is from a trailer, so that obviously wouldn't rank either.
I'm not sure I've been to any coffeeshops I would rank very highly... Sadly, the best is probably the Starbucks near where I live. The people who work there are extraordinarily nice and the place is very clean, quiet, and comfortable. Too bad the coffee isn't better.
I never thought about it before, but I guess the place is more important to me than the drink when determining where I want to go for a cup of coffee.
in addition to anything your parents make, sometimes the best sandwich is the one my wife makes for my kids and they don't finish.
To up your sandwich enjoyment game, what you want is a bread making machine, ideally by Panasonic, with plenty of flour in the cupboards and a well-rehearsed routine of putting the bread on.
Here you get delayed gratification since it takes three minutes to load the machine and four hours for it to bake a loaf. You get proper bakery smells, which is a bonus, and the freshest bread in town (the second you unload the machine).
Freshness is a hack with any bread you buy. It is usually harmless additives that keep it 'fresh', but there is no need for the 'harmless additives' when you have a Panasonic machine. You won't find yourself adding weird chemicals, but you could find yourself adding, nuts, seeds, berries and other fruit to your bakes, to suit your whims or preferences of your guests.
Sometimes some people notice your fresh bread and insist on telling you how much better their sourdough is (that they made once in lockdown) or how that their local bakery makes far nicer bread than your pathetic little Panasonic machine. So you get an extra 'last laugh' from having to endure these ad-hoc lectures on sourdough that is just not in the same league as your favourite bread made effortless by your lovely machine.
You might miss out on interactions with that sandwich store (they rob you slowly, hence the staff will know your name and preferences, if a regular), however, people outside the sourdough cult are always impressed by home made bread, even if you insist it was effortlessly made.
Making your own bread connects you to our history of making bread, plus you get a much healthier product, arguably real bread, unlike that nonsense that is commercially sold as 'bread'.
Eating a sandwich now, haven't bought one for maybe five years.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=giTi8KWSZl4
My favorite interpretation is focusing on the beauty of how even such a mundane thing as a sandwich is a unique experience. Someone made it by-hand, the ingredients have their own backstory in arriving in the present moment, and the taste is greater than the sum of its parts because of all the competing and complementary flavors.
Sandwiches hide in plain sight and even when they aren't great they are unique and will underscore how good your next great one is.
"The winters are cold... but I can't complain. My socks have holes... but again, do I complain? I do not. The oldest needs braces... the youngest once sneezed for three days straight... but who could complain? They're gifts."
"Children?"
"All of it. The cold, the holes."
For all of the complaining we can do about our hardships, it's a gift to even be able to complain. When someone says, "Life is good", they're right even if you feel like things are shitty -- because life itself, being here and alive, to be able to feel and to think, is a wonderful gift.
The blog seems to be treating it as aspirational -- a goal. A puzzle to be understood and applied to make our lives richer. It's more of a perspective shift.
When you really get it, you won't think you're supposed to like bad sandwiches -- you'll realize what a gift any sandwich is. What a gift it is to sit in any crummy airport eating a soggy sandwich. You won't have to try to like it, you'll cry with gratitude at how lucky you are to even be there.
Taking Mr. Zevon's advice to "enjoy every sandwich" literally is amazing. I think he'd appreciate the absurdity of the post.
I also like to do this, only I say the words
Welcome to HN in 2026.
There has been a visible shift in the replies on this web site since about April of this year.
If you know what to look for, you realize there are far fewer humans bothering to post than before. It's like the proverbial scales falling from your eyes once you see it.
Enjoy every hedonic pleasure. But the balance sheet doesn’t look good even if you always do. It’s either all just a raw deal or we need to look beyond the low- and high-minded enjoyments.
I swear ever since Ozempic came out, there's been this huge marketing push from everyone and their dog for anything tangentially related.
Seems unintentionally ironic that most sandwiches are so unhealthy.
That's obvious. Who doesn't notice that? I think if I were terminally ill I'd seek things I enjoy, and savor them, and avoid bad sandwiches. In good health, I'd ask what made that sandwich bad and think about how to improve it.
Quite the contrary. It's the difference between active eating and passive eating. It is the active eater who appreciates what he is eating at the deepest level, being capable of recreating and modifying his food. It is the same with every endeavor.
There is such a thing as a bad sandwich.
The fact that >50% of Italian sub shops default to not putting onions on their torpedoes is a testament to how far we've fallen as a culture.
Cheese and Banana Sandwich: https://youtu.be/uUzO19tgwZc
Clam and Cheese Sandwich: https://youtu.be/31bZ-ReB51U
Peanut-Butter Sandwich: https://youtu.be/1Bmw1JpNY90
So many tasty things people miss out on due to peer pressure and being afraid to give "strange" food a try.
I agree with the sentiment, but there's probably also a cultural thing. I love root beer, for instance, but from what I understand, many (most?) Europeans who've tried it think it's disgusting and tastes like medicine.
Woosh.