sandwich week is really doing a number on me-
it's like there's a fire raging wild and wind-whipped inside my brain,
and that fire is made out of bread on top and bottom.
it's burning up all the other ideas in my head,
and replacing the with nothing but buns and loaves and stuff between 'em.
i can't resist the inferno of new hottness that is sandwiches, neighbors.
i love 'em.
i'm eatin' a whole lot of 'em.
that's no joke,
and that makes me pretty psyched.
i got home in a hurry,
and i got crackin' on a big deluxxxe dinnertime sandinista
to overthrow my hunger and terrorize my tastebuds.
i had a graffiti eggplant, so i used a graffiti eggplant.
why is it graffiti?
it's light purple and white variegated,
a midstep hybrid from the thin-skinned white egglike varieties,
and those deep purple thickies that you see ubiquitously in the western world.
graffiti is dope,
and eggplant is delicious,
and if i can have both at once?
i'm doing it.
check the teleport:
one-side-olive-oiled crusty from scratch oatmeal sourdough slices
to make sure i wasn't missing out on the burly surety of
foundational sandwich strength.
smart to start with good bread,
it makes better people,
and MUCH better sandwiches.
the eggplant was sliced into 1/4" rounds-
skins-on because they're delicate enough to stay,
and salted, to remove any bitter b!tchsap from the centers.
a quick rinse and a dredge in flaxmeal-and-ground-chia-activated soymilk,
before a dunk in a cornmeal/arrowroot/parsley/oregano/basil/GPOP/nootch
coating, complete with semi-smashed cornflakes for added crunch.
fried eggplant is a guilty italian throwback for me.
i wouldn't say i feel the close kinship of my antecedent heritage.
beyond a mandatory sauce-count in my hemoglobin,
which, i believe, is a sort of tomato-based anemia,
and in turn is a testament to my addiction to pizza,
moreso than any mama-mia sicilian lineage allegiance,
i can't say i feel especially connected to italy.
on the ones,
the land of my father's fathers,
with the allure of lounging under the tuscan sun?
that sh!t holds little to no appeal for me,
those magical melanzana slices, with crusty, oily, salty,
sexxxy fried-herb boomfire?
prego, prego, molto, molto, amore, my man.
lots of oil on medium-high heat, in a well-warmed-in-advanced skillet
has got those goodies going crazy, and quickly.
nothing smells like it, and nothing quite compares to it.
i don't even normally F* with eggplants that heavy,
but, when i do?
i really doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
that's what's up.
now that we know the eggplant is expert.
how do we take the rest of it to eleven?
by adding much MORE.
burgundy heirloom baby tomatoes?
and sliced fried garlic sprankles?
YES, YES, and also YES.
too much is the right amount.
if there aren't stacks on stacks on stacks,
you've just got to go in there add more stacks.
it's as simple as that:
look at those stacks.
that's how it should be.
a cute little rainbow salad,
with olive oil and white wine vinegar gave me a bit of a clean cool-off.
that sandwich was shiny, man.
that's all that good stuff, glistening under the artificial daylight.
cold, crunchy cukes are good for offsetting that much hot and slipperiness.
it's so good!
braised in a blast of hot water, in a radicchio-remnant-residual-laced pan?
it's good stuff, man.
green things are what i need more of.
i can make that happen, for sure.
i've been consistently reppin' these bunzos, bros.
these are from the other other day,
but c'mon, kid-
they're nicey-nice, right?
there's just something more rewarding about making it yourself.
for too long, i relied on the convenience of premade and insipid breads
and i catered to the less-discerning palates of lazies and crazies.
i want the hottness.
i want the big action.
i want it all, all the time,
bigger, better, and MORE.
the only way that's gonna happen is if i do it myself.
i'm calling for an official embargo on budget box-mix vegans.
we're already the unsanctioned ambassadors for weirdo food nerdism,
so we can't be out here representing ugly food.
nobody is gonna get converted to a compassionate, considerate, curative,
smart person diet if it looks like lumps of sh!t and beige blops.
i want sexxxy food,
and i know how to do it.
what's the point of being only halfway expert?
rules is rules, man.
more expertism, more often.
that's the plan,
and i'm working it step by step by step,
and while we're out of step with the world,
we're one step ahead,
and definitely on the right path;
never quiet, never soft.....