I love the weekend, I look forward to it all week. On the weekend someone is home. He buys The Weekend Australian, and makes me lunch immediately before I eat it. Not to diss everyone’s generous efforts to keep me fed during the week, but I grow weary of the same-reheated-meal-every-single-day-and-by-Friday-it’s-sodden approach to lunch. A basic fresh sandwich is sublime. Today I had one made from a new brand of gluten-free loaf at Woolies. I’m obsessed with food – it makes or breaks my day. I read recipes and fantasise about ingredients. I dream about olives, quinces, camembert, pears, asparagus. To have culinary independence, to choose one’s own meals – it must be glorious.
I’m not the only piglet in the house: himself goes so far as to call his weekend lunch The Royal Sandwich. There’s nothing royal about it. It’s identical to the one he made me, pictured below, plain as can be, but on rye bread, the smell of which makes me sniff in the direction of the toaster like a dog. We have an agreement that I leave him in peace while he eats it and reads the sports pages - it’s his quiet time in a hectic week. I always forget, and read the interesting snippets on the front page aloud. I’m a great partner like that.
1 comments:
For the avoidance of doubt - I really like this picture. The sandwich must stay!
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