Monday, August 15, 2016

Tastes Like Satire (RD)


            Whoever said “Don't buy your food where you buy your gas [because] you will not find anything good there,” (Michael Pollan) could not possibly have ever experienced the nirvana of consuming a convenience store roast beef sandwich. The entire process is riveting and awe-inducing. The saga begins the moment the “ding” of the door chime announces my presence to the convenience store clerk and ends with a sigh of sated contentment. A roast beef sandwich purchased from a gas station shop is perhaps the most immaculate sandwich ever conceived. The purchasing procedure, the preparation of the sandwich, and the consumption all add up to an absolutely sublime event.
            The grand roast beef sandwich pilgrimage begins as my left foot lands on the sticky tile of the gas station shop. The ambrosial aromas of cleaning agents caress my nostrils as I stroll toward the coolers in the back of the store. The enthusiastic attendant calls to me with her usual silvery greeting, “Welcome to Kwik Shop.” After I've walked through an isle filled with cheerfully colorful packaged goods, I reach my hand out to grasp the delightfully chilly cooler door handle. A light brush of arctic air induces goose bumps on my arms as it dances across my skin. Hungry butterflies erupt in my stomach when my eyes alight on their goal; the glorious roast beef and American cheese hoagie. I feel a wave of anticipation while trying to decipher a partially smeared expiration date after pulling one from the shelf. “Huzzah!” This one is good for another twelve hours! My ears delight at the sweet tinkling of the door chime as a customer enters the shop. The cooler door produces a delicious “thwump” as I make my way triumphantly to the front counter. Once in line, I am blessed with ten glorious minutes to savor the hunger and zeal building in my gut as an elderly woman stews over her lottery ticket purchases at the register. It is soon my turn at the register, so I pull a crumpled five dollar bill out of my wallet, hand it to the cashier, and scamper out of the convenience store. I practically fly home in my beat up almost-blue Grand Caravan. The sandwich calls to me from the passenger seat, “Lather me in mustard and devour me, Sidney,” (convenience store roast beef sandwich). Soon, mister sandwich. Soon.
            I cradle the sandwich as I leap down the creaky stairs into my kitchen once I've arrived home. The plastic wrapping protests in a series of loud crinkles as I tear through it. I ceremoniously place the freed roast beef hoagie on my favorite green Keroppi plate. I am once again greeted by a gust of cold air as I rifle through the fridge for mustard and lettuce. I pull the head of lettuce from the crisper and locate the mustard on the door shelf. Placing these items to the side, I return to my sandwich. I lay my hand on top of the deliciously dried up hoagie crust. I slowly peel it away to reveal a glorious sight; the perfect slice of cheese. The slice of American cheese has a soft creamy center and hard, smooth edges. The color palette of yellows and oranges is magnificent to behold. The luscious scent of aged roast beef and cheese fondles my nose as I properly rearrange them. Once the slick cheese and the crumbly roast beef are in their proper places, I grab the mustard that was set off to the side. After a good vigorous shaking, I flick the dry crust off the tip with my thumbnail. I unscrew the top and tip the barrel-shaped bottle upside down over the cheese. I masterfully create a depiction of an emperor penguin with the mustard. After my masterpiece “penguin in mustard” is complete, I snatch up the head of lettuce. I tear away the least wilted leaf, fold the damp leaf neatly, and carefully place it over the mustard penguin. My sandwich now garnished, I replace the crispy top half of the hoagie. I step back to admire the alluring sandwich. I consider how wonderful the medley of flavors and textures will be. The concept is absolutely mouthwatering. “It is time, mister sandwich,” I croon.
            I lean back into my plush red couch, Keroppi plate in hand. This is the moment, the culmination of the anticipation. I lightly grip the sandwich with my right hand while I support the moist, supple bottom half with my left. The sharp tangy scent of mustard wafts towards my nostrils as I guide the sandwich to my lips. My top teeth crunch through the top layer of sandwich while my bottom teeth slide through the moist bottom. A jumble of textures and tastes bombard my senses. There is the chewy salty edge of the cheese, closely followed by creamier richer cheese. The heavily marbled roast beef crumbles apart easily and spreads its tart meaty flavor to the furthest reaches of my palate. The crunchy top hoagie grazes the roof of my mouth while the moist bottom glues the conglomeration together.  The sharp bite of mustard permeates through the bread, meat, and cheese. The lettuce adds a snippet of fibrous texture to the overall consistency. I savor the small slivers of heavily peppered roast beef that have wedged themselves into small crevices throughout my mouth.  I force myself to save half of the sandwich so I may enjoy it again later, though. The roast beef hoagie is far too decadent to eat in one sitting because it is the most glorious combination of flavors and textures I have ever experienced. The moisture of the sandwich is balanced by the combination of crispy and mushy bread. The saturated center of the cheese adds creaminess while the rubbery edges enhance the texture. The powerful tartness of the mustard is truly the star of the roast beef sandwich because its strong presence ties all the milder flavors together. This roast beef sandwich was absolutely transcendent.

            I have to admit to the skepticism I felt the first time I purchased a convenience store roast beef sandwich. I was sure it would be flavorless and bland. There was no doubt that the sandwich would be uniform and unappealing. Oh how wrong I was. This roast beef sandwich contains complex flavors and textures normally only found within the confines of upscale restaurants. Even the process of obtaining and preparing the glorious sandwich is incredible. The actual consumption is pure bliss. There could be nothing more satisfying than a convenience store roast beef hoagie with cheese. Remember this roast beef sandwich the next time you find your stomach rumbling on a road trip. This sophisticated delicacy will surely sate your appetite.

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