My culinary creativity is often limited when it comes to lunch foods. I start anticipating the hassle and cost involved with purchasing, packing and storing various foods and so I usually end up buying the same things for the sake of convenience. Or maybe I'm just afraid to take a risk. I have all of these ideas for scrumptious lunches--such as shrimp & avocado tacos, strawberry and walnut spinach salad, grilled steak fajitas with peppers and onions, and exquisite healthy snacks--but I often find myself traversing the same paths at the local Market Basket. I buy a bunch of whole wheat wraps (with flax seeds for extra nutrients), some goat cheese, hummus, Purdue chicken strips and spinach, and then usually also some cheap yogurt and fruit. I vary the kinds of fruits and the flavors of the hummus, chicken, and yogurt that I buy, but I rarely deviate from the wrap/snack combination. I know this meal: it fits in my tupperware; it provides a good amount of energy; and it requires little to no thought at the overcrowded grocery store. I can also usually zip onto the 12-items-or-less line, saving myself minutes upon minutes of unnecessary stress or waiting.
This lunch works for me: it gives me what I need and doesn't cause me any trouble. But then there are those days when everything you ever thought about lunch changes. Like when you are walking over to the office fridge as your stomach anticipates a certain amount of satiation (or lack thereof) and then your co-worker walks in with the Santa Monica sandwich from Espresso Royale. "Temptations don't phase me," I thought to myself; "I know that my lunch is nutritional, economical, and convenient." I open the fridge and the view through my clear plastic containers of mediocrity has never seemed more unappealing or discomforting. Nevertheless, I stand by my decision to embrace my low-maintenance ways. Until the Santa Monica sandwich was unwrapped and unleashed, that is.
I started casually talking to my co-worker as I nibbled on my semi-ripened plum.
"So, umm..what ya got there?"
"The Santa Monica sandwich from Espresso Royale across the street," Kyle replied through bites of his freshly toasted everything bagel.
"Oh, haha," I commented nervously, since my olfactory and ocular senses predicted that my entire lunch schema was about to be destroyed. "Yea, those sandwiches are like seven bucks, right?"
"Yea, but it's so worth it," he replied casually and confidently. "This sandwich has a layer of guacamole, a layer of smoked salmon, a juicy slice of beefsteak tomato, your choice of any cheese, and freshly cracked peppercorn."
I have never held anything more insignificant in my hands than my tupperware at that moment. I excused myself from Kyle to fill up my water bottle down the hall so that I wouldn't rashly run across the street and spend $7.22 in a fit of passion. But then I returned to my desk and replaced my water bottle with my wallet. I crossed against the light (twice) and then fixated on the lunch menu as I waited in line. Oh, how numerous the options are for a decent lunch! Pastas, salads, sandwiches; fresh ingredients from distant places; varieties in spices, breads, cheeses, vegetables. I don't know why the extensive menu was so novel to me, but 'twas indeed! (Sidenote: Did my use of 'twas make you laugh here?!)
The menu options enticed me on so many different levels--even psychologically, apparently. I couldn't quite grasp the sandwich title "Rhymes with Tuna" based on the description: toasted bagel, homemade tuna fish, Havarti cheese, alfalfa sprouts, and capers. "Is 'rhyme' a spice?" I wondered. No, that's thyme. Why would a sandwich be called "Rhymes with Tuna"? Which part of the sandwich rhymes with "tuna"? Is there a secret ingredient? An unlocked secret in the way it's made...which rhymes with "tuna"? I couldn't believe how many neural networks I was building just by venturing out across the street and changing my lunch routine. Sandwich discernment was the equivalent of three games of Sudoku and one crossword puzzle for my brain (approximately), and who knows the extent to which this process has affected my soul. I just hope "Rhymes with Tuna" is a slice of heaven rather than the work of the devil. "Kyle made me try it! I had no choice!" <--Me preparing for the latter (just in case).
Needless to say, I ordered that sandwich with (polite) pride and gusto, as if I were ordering my family's homemade brew at the local pub. "Rhymes with Tuna on a toasted whole wheat everything bagel, please; to go; K-a-t-h-e-r-i-n-e (never reveal your real name); thank you!" Five minutes and seven dollars and twenty two cents later, the sandwich was stacked, wrapped, and handed off to me on the other side of the counter. Two jay-walks later I returned to my office with a smile, a sandwich, and a new outlook on lunch and life.
My bagel bliss was an experience of truth, beauty, and goodness. If I never questioned Kyle about his lunch, I would have never been exposed to the savory sandwich. He unintentionally upended my concept and routine of "Monday-through-Friday around 1 p.m." and permanently bedazzled my idea of lunch. As a result, I may end up indulging more--spending more and eating more--but I will also have more enriching experiences. In the half hours that I choose to eat lunch at Espresso Royale I will feel more alive and spirited; life will have more potential and meaning.
At the same time, though, now my Purdue chicken wraps and carrot and almond snacks will seem plainer, less appetizing, and more often unsatisfactory because I will frequently be comparing them to whatever magical recipe it is that rhymes with tuna. If I make this a somewhat regular routine I will also have less money to indulge in other uplifting outlets--or perhaps I will just have to seek newer, less expensive outlets in order to keep a balanced budget. If I were to overanalyze my life decisions, I could begin to wonder if I value a sandwich more than a trip to the beach or a charitable donation, or if I care to research more about my food options so all of my choices reflect my commitment to certain values, and thus my closeness to whatever it is I believe is true, beautiful and good (e.g., justice, health, solidarity, love).
I think joy is one of the simplest, most wondrous emotions, but it can often be complicated and seemingly diminished by comparisons and ethical considerations. If I enjoy my sandwich exceptionally so today, will I enjoy my other sandwich less so tomorrow? Varying routines often helps enhance such experiences, but these efforts can also plateau. Additionally, it's easier to enjoy your sandwich sans cost-benefits analysis, but such considerations are important in the long-term and for the community. My Purdue chicken is cheap and convenient, but I'm not sure how those chickens and the Purdue workers were treated, and they are all fellow community members. It's not joyful to think about these things, but it's important to consider the joy of others--and the long-term and indirect effects of our own experiences and decisions.
But then there's me and my sandwich, man. The perfectly toasted whole wheat everything bagel; the juicy tomato; the unique blend of carrots, red onions, and tuna fish seasoned with capers. The Havarti cheese. The "Rhymes with Tuna"/Espresso Royale lunchtime experience. Pure joy.
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I meant to just write this post about my sandwich because it was extra delicious, but my stories always take weird twists. Out of time for this post, but comments are welcome!
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