When it comes to lunch, I love sandwiches. My favorite sandwiches are usually ones like this odd looking eggplant sandwich quickly doodlewashed here. I like layers and layers of vegetables with a little cheese instead of any sort of meat. As a kid in American suburbia, however, every meal was planned around the meat you were going to serve. Most people regeferred to vegetables as “veggies” as though they were a cute little afterthought. If asked what I would like to eat, I would always select the meat based on the type of vegetables I knew would go with it. Steak would come with delicious mashed potatoes and green beans, and if I wanted fried potatoes I would simply choose a hamburger. If the menu was coming out of a slow cooker, which happened a lot, I wanted beef stew. I knew my dad would go first and pick through to get all the meat out, thus leaving me with a yummy “veggie” stew.
Now that I’m an adult and can generally make my own choices, I choose vegetables first. My love of the “side dish” has become a standard way of eating. Lunch for me is usually fairly light as having anything more makes me want to curl up in a ball under my desk and unplug my phone for a few hours. Around 3 o’clock I’m usually finding it hard to concentrate and wanting a little coffee boost as it is. I didn’t get mine today, so I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about right now. Lunch is such a brief encounter for me that it’s not inspiring much in the way of stories. The only time lunch was a thing of true importance was when I was a kid in school.
Back then, my lunch was packed into a metal lunchbox with graphics from some TV show emblazoned on the front, depending on what I was interested in at the time. Inside, there would usually just be an apple, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a bag of Fritos. The food wasn’t particularly notable, but to me it was always like having a little treasure box to open each day. I’ve often thought it would be cool to get one of those lunch boxes again and pack my own little lunch for work. But not having a mother to pack it for you sort of kills all of the magic. So, I usually just end going with some sort of random sandwich that has somehow mysteriously lost its meat filling.