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Who likes sandwiches? I like sandwiches. What type of sandwiches do you like?
I like lunch meat sandwich, peanut butter and jelly and grilled cheese sandwiches the best. Though I haven't had grilled cheese for a while, I still eat lunch meat and peanut butter and jelly regularly 8D
Talk about sandwiches.
I like lots of sandwiches. My favorite sandwiches are pepperoni and salami sandwiches with marbled cheddar and mayo. Much mayo. I also like ham sandwiches. Like peanut butter jam sandwiches. I love peanut butter banana :bigsmile:. I like grilled cheese. I don't mind tuna salad sandwiches. I like tomato sandwiches. I really like chicken salad sandwiches. I have this recipe for stuffed tomatoes that are ridiculously delicious, and I use the leftover filling for sandwiches and it is great. I like BLT sandwiches, especially toasted. I like toasted tomato sandwiches. Cucumber tea sandwiches. Meatball and cheese sandwiches. There's probably many more but that's what I can think of right now.
I love peanut butter sandwiches!
Also ham or turkey with lettuce, red onions, pickles, balsamic vinegar and mayo on a soft bread like focaccia. Also fond of egg salad sandwiches although I don't have them too often.
I loooove a good philly cheese steak sandwich with provolone, onion, bell pepper, banana peppers, jalepenos & mayo.. omg.
I also love chicken salad sandwiches on a croissant or a good whole wheat bread.
Grilled cheeses with baby swiss, sharp cheddar, and bacon
And last but not least, Mexican Tortas- The easy version my ex makes has mayo, then refried beans, queso fresco, avocado, ham or turkey, an egg over medium, and bolillo bread (it's kinda shaped like a flat football).. The way -I- make it when I'm feeling ambitious is with all the same non-meat items, just replace the ham with grilled sliced skirt steak (medium rare) and add Mexican chorizo.
I like a lot of sandwiches, and ate two of them today. I had a grilled cheese sandwich and a peanut butter & jam sandwich. I did not have "jelly" on my sandwich because I don't understand why jelly exists in a world with jam.
I love sandwiches! Cheese salad, Cheese ploughmans, egg mayo, cheese and onion, quorn (fake chicken) salad, cheese and coleslaw, Cheese, quorn and coleslaw, chargrilled Mediterranean vegetables and hummus and falafel, hummus and lettuce.
I could quite happily live on sandwiches
Best and most versatile food item. My favourite. I will take all sandwiches in me thank you.
I like sandwiches I make myself or come from a GOOD sandwich shop.
Nasty pre-made sandwiches in boxes are smurfing awful though. I also really intensely dislike mayo which rules out most of these sandwiches, even if they were good.
Me and my girlfriend always buy a huge loaf of unsliced Tiger Bread. I then proceed to cut the two thickest slices of bread and then pile in ham and cheese. Seriously, this thing is huge. A bear would probably choke to death on it.
I love sandwiches too! My favorite sandwich to buy is actually next door to my work. Marinated, grilled chicken breast with pesto, feta cheese and roasted red peppers on focaccia and yum yum yummy. At home I usual just makes sandwiches with deli lunchmeats and provolone or PBJ. I use a variety of jelly though. Crunchy peanut butter with apple jelly? Hmmm.
Ham/beef with tomato and cucumber! Yum! Alternatively hardboiled egg slices and cucumber isn't bad either.
My go-to is a lightly toasted mayo, lettuce, tomato, onion, and havarti cheese sandwich. Simple, yet effective. If I'm feeling particularly adventurous I'll add ketchup to the mayo. I don't care what anyone says, mayo+ketchup is the best condiment combination there is.
Give me a turkey club with ranch, honey mustard, and no smurfing lettuce and you can get a yes out of me if you ask me to marry you while my mouth is full of my delicious sandwich.
*prepares sandwich*Quote:
Originally Posted by Shorty
When you were little, you read a book over and over, called something like The Giant Jam Sandwich, and although the end product was rendered inedible, you couldn't help but marvel at the thought of all those townspeople baking a giant loaf of bread just to make a giant sandwich that no one would even eat. You still think about this sometimes, an entire town of people taking on this logistical nightmare without a single argument, and you smile.
Most people who watch Sesame Street or The Muppet Show are fond of The Count, but you preferred Mumford the Magician, who spouted the line, "Ala, peanut butter sandwiches, on AM/FM crackers!". You wanted to be a magician then, sticking coins to the underside of tables with soft slivers of soap, practicing your riffle-shuffle, waving a hollow piece of pipe in the air, pretending it was a wand. You already knew that magic didn't exist, but you still wanted to be astonishing, to delight people with a handful of frayed playing cards and ragged handkerchiefs.
Your class is having a shared lunch; each child is expected to bring an item to class to share, and it is an event you had been looking forward to. You think of what your school chums will bring - ripe pieces of chopped fruit, currant buns, cocktail sausages, even crispy Twisties coated in that telltale orange powder - and your mouth waters. You'd put off making preparations long enough, but you're running out of time - and besides, Mum's of no help, snoring on the couch, arm draped over an empty cask of wine. There's no way you can show up empty handed, so you try to ignore the way your head is getting too hot, how you just want to swing at things with angry fists, a useless refrain. You push your little plastic chair up against the freezer and extract a loaf of bread with urchin expertise. You adorn this freezer-burned palate with ragged wheels of carrot, bright yellow chutney, and too-wide hunks of cheese, half-hoping you'll be caught using the "grown up" knife. Your friend Claire said she was going to bring doughnuts with jam, and your cheeks burn with shame as you struggle to assemble the sandwiches, so far from the dainty tea party fare you'd imagined. You heap these sagging, uneven wads onto your sectioned Sesame Street plate and mournfully wind plastic wrap around it. They are a pitiful offering, and no one will eat them, but they are all you have.
You're on a school trip - you don't remember where, only that it has adjourned for an hour or so at a local KFC. Your classmates are queuing up to buy their chicken sandwiches and boxes of drumsticks without much of a thought, txting and jostling as they wait. You slide into a booth and drum on the red linoleum, too embarrassed to eat the apple and box of raisins you brought along with you, sick of juggling hunger and shame. You inspect the edges of your jersey, edging your thumbnail along the hemline, wondering if maybe Young Soo will let you play his GameBoy while you wait. Your thoughts are interrupted when Wulf slides into the booth opposite you, sliding his tray into the middle of the table. Reaching for the dispenser, you twirl two straws as drumsticks, fanfare for your new companion. "Here", Wulf says, handing you a sandwich, the hot handful of greasy paper burning into your palms. You ask him why - you hadn't much more than waved to him that day, let alone asked for a handout. He shrugs. "How could I not? You just...you just looked so sad". His eyes hold yours for a moment, you look away. Hunger overrides guilt, so you unwrap the sandwich, laughing. You didn't realize you even looked unhappy.
Just two pieces of bread. He'd wanted to keep the bread in the cupboard, but you'd insisted it be stored in the freezer. Two pieces of wholegrain bread, selected from the middle of the loaf. Not the crusts, you'd already given those away days ago, throwing the small chunks of them onto your roof, watching the crows swoop down to snatch them up. The crows kept you happy, at least while they were in your mind's eye. Peanut butter, the expensive kind, the kind you'd argued about because his parents always bought the cheap kind, the kind with sugar and chemicals in it, named after a dimwit kangaroo, and this had made you angry; you hadn't come all this way to emulate your parents. A passer-by in the supermarket had looked at you oddly, but you didn't care, you weren't about to settle. Jam, or as you called it, preserves, the last pressings of all that was good and sweet, of things that had ripened and that you wanted to last through the winter, all your winters. You fished out one of your three bread knives as you went about your task, and were glad that you'd married the sort of person who thought three bread knives and two bread plates was enough for a household. Not the sort of thing that would ever be featured on a cooking show, or a food blog, but the sort of thing that maybe he'd enjoy. You can afford multiple kinds of bread now, a multitude of different shining jams, there's no fear of waking someone up while applying butter to bread, no need to be on the lookout. Who knew that so much could be swept up in just one meal, just one diagonally cut serving of bread and pressure, the sort of meal best relegated to eight year olds? This is still all you have to give - not an even temper, or a sparkling career, or the pitter-patter of little moccasins, just your best guess, and fifteen steps to the couch, plate balanced on your outstretched palms.