For my Dad.

When I was young, my Dad used to make the best sandwiches.

He would pile them high with whatever he could scavenge in the fridge, and in all my life, I can’t think of a single time he wouldn’t share his famous scavenged-wiches. Double-decker, entire loaf long sandwiches always cut the way you want. Even if you didn’t like that particular dab of mustard, somehow it didn’t matter because Dad made it. When I was young, my Dad’s deli related selflessness unintentionally taught me that happiness was a bite of someone else’s sandwich made for themselves, but with full
intention of sharing with you.

And while I don’t buy bread anymore, I firmly believe love is multifaceted and diverse, and can be so much more than ham and cheese cut into squares. And much like homemade elementary school lunches, without taking chances on who you meet throughout your midnight cravings and midday grocery runs, sometimes you’re just left with two crusty butts that are probably stale.

Whoever you choose to share your table with, however much money is in your pocket, and whatever road you’re on, I firmly believe that life without substance, is simply just empty bread. And while sometimes life is about making sriracha-related mistakes, and discovering perfectly paired oddball concoctions like cheese whiz and pickles… Don’t forget to take chances, and selflessly share them over the sink.