I’m actually a busy little bee in the room today so there’s no time (NO TIME) to blog, but I thought I’d capture this sandwich because it’s so bizarre and catch-as-catch-can… and so ME. (Also: Longest. Sandwich Name. EVER!)
You can see that I threw a bunch of other snacks on a plate, because I was jumping right back into the fray. (And I eat way more than just one snack every afternoon. Let’s be REAL.)
Here’s a view of this crazy newfangled bread.
Every piece is the end piece. Isn’t the end piece everybody’s least favorite piece? And no crusts… I actually like crusts.
I thought these were called sandwich FLATS, but when I went back to double check, they’re called sandwich THINS. Isn’t that such a big bunch of marketing wizardry? Associating this low-cal bread with the word thin? I think FLAT is much more accurate, but it’s one letter away from “fat,” so… sorry, flat. One day you’re in, the next day you’re out.
Somewhere some “Mad Men”-style panel of women were questioned about their bread preferences until they all sobbed about their desire to get married. Or to be thin, I guess. Or to at least eat things with the promise of the word “thin” on the package.
But whatever, I ate the thins. They’re doing something right.
Tomorrow Phamish is coming back. I just might have to make up for this strange-ness with a REAL sandwich. (Or try their bun?) (Bun as in Vietnamese dish, not as in bread.)