2011 has been a real quest-y year for me. Mostly it's been about the quest of keeping my genetic predisposition for anxiety from clobbering me every time I turn around. Or, like, lassoing in my ADHD. But also I have been on a journey to find The Perfect Sandwich. And I haven't been passive about it, either. It's not like I'm sitting around waiting for The Perfect Sandwich to fall into my lap. I've been out on the street asking people where to get The Perfect Sandwich, and then visiting that place to see if they're right. (They're usually not. Subway, sir? Really? Punch yourself in the face.)
So earlier this week, I'm in a restaurant in Queens that only serves grilled cheese sandwiches and beer, and I ordered myself a grilled cheese with Gouda with black bean hummus, guava jam and pickled jalapeños. It was — I don't even know how to describe it. Wait, yes I do: It was a taste bud orgasm. And not like, "Thanks. That was nice. Hand me the channel changer, will you?" But more like, "Just give me a second; I think I might be paralyzed from AWESOMENESS." You know?
It was maybe the most delicious thing I have ever put in my mouth. I had to pep talk myself to finish it because halfway through, I nearly had a meltdown about how I didn't deserve something so perfect.
So anyway, my current favorite sandwich is this guy:
Because it is THE GREATEST SANDWICH IN THE WORLD.