I once met a man whose favourite was cheese. Just cheese. No butter, no mayo, no lettuce, no meat.
Safe to say it was a friendship that didn't blossom.
I don't have many skills in life truth be told. But I'm not playing vollyball for scotland (as some could be lead to believe) there is one area in with I excel.
I make a mean sandwich. Just the right amount of (evenly spread) condiment, a loose scattering of cheese (emmential preferably but I'm open to interpretation), a blissfull arrangement of succulent chorizo and a playful toss of salad.
The colours combine to create a visually striking meal, a tastebud sensation. There is something magical in taking two pieces of bread and making a masterpiece, your own piece of edible art.
Delicately placed into a plastic box the aroma invades my senses as I try to power through another lesson on blogging without throwing caution to the winds and reuniting with the perfect blend of condiment and filling.
Then suddenly...one o clock. It is time.
