It is generally agreed that the fetishization of bacon is a loathsome affectation. Bacon fever started sometime in the 1980s due to a massive lobbying and PR push by the National Pork Board. Today it lives on among those who cannot quite be described as “too-online” but who present themselves to the world in a similarly meme-driven way, plugging in an unconventional but not unusual trait and hoping that they might be able to pass off their fervor as sincere. Yes, bacon is good, but “bacon culture” is at this point met correctly with derision. Somehow “sandwich culture,” similar in almost every way, has yet escaped this fate. And that must change — immediately.
You all do not like sandwiches that much.
… And I know it!
Sandwiches. Sandwiches. “Sandwiches.” Once a writer friend was preparing to interview Scarlett Johansson and asked on Twitter if anyone had a question for her, so I responded with something like: Does she think the people who talk so much about loving “sandwiches” really give that much of a shit about sandwiches, or do they just like talking about “sandwiches” because they feel it lends their personality a fun and carefree sheen that is also a bit normie in an apparently charming way? Unfortunately this was translated in the interview as “what is your favorite sandwich.” This was her response:
“My favorite type of sandwich. Oh man, that’s difficult to answer. I live in New York, so I’m surrounded by different sandwiches all over the place. I would say my favorite type of sandwich is probably … maybe a tuna sandwich. [Laughs.] I have a simple life.”
Although my question was mangled beyond recognition by my dear friend, “maybe a tuna sandwich” is actually a respectable answer. My favorite sandwich? I don’t know, man. Maybe a fucking tuna sandwich. Who cares.
The beauty of a sandwich is that it is a simple food that is relatively cheap to prepare. This is why sandwiches exist. They are an easy meal an adult can prepare for themselves or obtain otherwise with relative ease — not something to covet or gush about in lustful terms.
To be clear, I do not “dislike” sandwiches, as some readers may now assume, and continue to assume even after reading this sentence, saying on Twitter, “Sandwiches are good like literlle what is this persons problem lol ? like .. @kellyconaboy this aint it. just say ur desperate for attention and jealous of sandwiches and go” (“literlle” is your typo, not mine). They’re a normal food; I like them as much as I like any normal food, which is a moderate amount that increases or decreases in a normal way depending on the particular sandwich’s merit. My favorite sandwich? Toasted peanut butter and jam.
But when apparent sandwich lovers talk about “loving sandwiches” — something that I think happens in no small part because “sandwiches” is a fun word to say — I’m not exactly sure what sort of sandwich they’re envisioning. (This is likely in part because what they’re envisioning is not a sandwich but instead themselves, talking about loving sandwiches in front of a group that is looking upon them and smiling, chuckling even, at their inherent charm.)
Is the sandwich they’re envisioning Liz Lemon’s sandwich from the “Sandwich Day” episode of 30 Rock? Is it the sandwich Joey has in that Friends episode about Joey’s sandwich (“smell particles,” you remember)? Is it the kind that you can only find in New Jersey, or Long Island, or some other place people obsess over when it becomes culturally advantageous to remind people they have a hometown?
I can’t say for sure. But I can say this for sure: you’re lying.
(About how much you love sandwiches.)