The point of the exercise was to use two different points of view on a story:
I take a bite of my sandwich. Chicken, with some kind of unique tasting cheese, spinach and tomato on roasted ciabatta. It’s warm, and I have to blow on each bite, but it tastes phenomenal. It’s the cheese that makes the sandwich. Having not eaten all day, this is the perfect way to spend my 15 minute lunch break between classes.
The chicken in the sandwich was raised on a small farm, just outside of Palmer MA. The majority of the chicken pieces came from a small thoroughbred, free range bird named “Malroy.” A little on the rambunctious side but, but always quick to apologize, the other chickens in the farm were sad to see Malroy spend his final days on the farm, yet still happy it wasn’t any of them who was chosen that day. With one last cluck and a wing-wave, Malroy left his former farm home for a bright future in the Blue Wall kitchen.
In the kitchen, the cook prepared the chicken with unwashed hands, coughing and sneezing from the onset cold he had. He picked the small specs of mold and god-knows-what off the aged meat, and threw it onto the grill, watching as it boiled in it’s own grease. As it finished cooking, he lined up rolls to place the chicken onto. Dropping a piece onto the floor, he quickly dusted off the dirt and grime and placed it alongside the bug-eaten spinach and six day old tomato on the stale ciabatta role. Realizing he was out of cheese, the cook searched through the refrigerator, coming across a package so old he didn’t recognize the coloring of the packaging. “Eat by ’14” it said. It meant 1914.
“God, I just love these ciabatta sandwiches,” I tell Ryan, my roommate and the only person nice enough to endure eating with me. “They always taste so fresh.”
“Mmmm,” he responds, using the last bit of his roll to pick up every last piece of sandwich on his plate. “I’ve never remembered them putting this seasoning on it before, but it really enhances the eating experience.”