I am a man with many obsessions. Unfortunately, in most cases they are merely half-arsed obsessions, mild over attentiveness that is generally seen as being between slightly worrying and worthy of medical attention. However, one of them that tips just over into the “he’s actually putting some effort into that, best leave him alone” is sandwiches.
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My ultimate comfort sandwich is a white bap with a chicken kiev in it. I don't really know why the creation of an oily, garlicy, slightly scalding mess is comforting, but it works for me.
I grew up on sandwich spread sandwiches in my packed lunch every other day (cheese and pickle the alternative) and to this day I have no earthly idea what it was made of or what the lumpy bits in it were. I know I could look it up, but I think I'd rather not know.
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