DOTLAN EveMaps

A sandwich is a product defined by the process it is produced. The defining process is layering, or stratification, if you will. (If you will make me a sandwich that is.)

Much like an archaeologist going through the Himalayas with a camel-hair brush, one can uncover the strata, or layers, and therefore reverse engineering the probable method the layers were put there -- by the sands of time, an ancient ocean now evaporated, a massive meteor attack, volcanic eruption from the Earth's bowels, or by the hand if an angry and vengeful God.

Or, more relevantly, a being with the agency to use a knife or fork for spreading yellow mustard, or placing a slab of bogna, on a piece of bread borne fullgrown from a plastic bag.

But, because one cannot be entirely sure of the method, "sandwiches" qua sandwiches are notoriously susceptible to being misinterpreted. The mere act of observance may change the observer.

So, strictly speaking, Pop Tarts are stuffed like ravioli. Or are they layered and sides crimped? Are tacos layered or stuffed? How about lettuce wraps at that "Chinese" food place with the big horse outside it over at the mall?

While scholars may debate this, your person here (n.b. there is no flair for "gassbag") is a strict constuctionist. The layering, viz., stratification must be in seriatim. One layer *then another layer.

So "stuffed" items, with a "filling," are not, strictly speaking, stratified. But scholars less orthodox than I may disagree, although I deem them unworthy of academic respect in this regard.

It matters not the number of substrate moieties upon which the layering is done, nor the composition of said substrate. Bread, lettuce, fried chicken, potato chips. Double decker, triple decker, a plurality if deckers, turtles all the way down. Layered with a viscous spread like honey. (Bonus- honey is the second sweetest thing in the world. The first sweetest is YOU.) Or peanut butter or Vegemite or mayo or chopped liver. Perhaps a solid strata, like ham. Or a friable strata, like tuna salad. The list is endless, figuratively, although perhaps literally as anything can be a comestible if you try hard enough.

The critical feature is that there is something laid upon said substrate that does not intermix with the substrate. So a layer cake with frosting spread in between is not a sandwich, because the frosting/cake layers are integral. That is, one cannot (practically) remove one moiety from another without destroying the whole. (There are those willing to lick off the frosting to remove it there by leaving pure substrate, nevertheless they will leave fur or whiskers from time to time there changing the nature of the melange.)

One may conger a maternal figure lovingly making such sandwich, whereas, in truth, it may be the black heart of a soul- less machine. One may eat a sandwich to remember, or to forget.

One particular vexing case study is a friend of mine who complains of making sandwiches while on Ambien. She wakes up in the morning with jello, chicken and bread -- gone, except partially eaten in what appears to be a sandwich. If one makes a sandwich and no one sees was it actually a sandwich? A question for the ages or until she just gives up and stops keeping food in her house.

Ok. I have now digested my Easter brunch. That is all.