> The goal might not be to exactly enjoy every sandwich. Some sandwiches are just straight up trash. Maybe the goal is to notice that you’re eating one.

That's obvious. Who doesn't notice that? I think if I were terminally ill I'd seek things I enjoy, and savor them, and avoid bad sandwiches. In good health, I'd ask what made that sandwich bad and think about how to improve it.

This hits me like a brick wall with my young children. Seeing them change so rapidly is a glimpse into how short life is and how often an experience unknowingly becomes the last of its kind.

There is so much to be gained by slowing down, focusing on what you can be grateful for, and not striving for more.

Top 10, unranked:

- Raging Bull or Brian Allen from Star Meats in Berkeley, CA

- Shaking Beef, Dinosaur Sandwiches in San Francisco / Daily City, CA

- Turkey Cranberry from the GBC in Berkeley, CA

- Lemongrass tofu from Lokal Sandwiches in Los Angeles, CA

- Pastrami on rye from Sarges Deli in NYC, NY

- Fried Chicken Sandwich from Bakesale Betty's in Berkeley, CA

- Dad's BLT or fried egg sandwiches

- Any sandwich from Mom paired with potato salad

- Wife's Cemita

- Turkey sandwich from "The Sandwich Shop", Dogpatch in San Francisco, CA

No such thing as a bad sandwich. People are pretending not to like things.

There relevance of this vague piece to HN really escapes me

This is one of my favorite quotes and I'm glad to see it discussed here.

My favorite interpretation is focusing on the beauty of how even such a mundane thing as a sandwich is a unique experience. Someone made it by-hand, the ingredients have their own backstory in arriving in the present moment, and the taste is greater than the sum of its parts because of all the competing and complementary flavors.

Sandwiches hide in plain sight and even when they aren't great they are unique and will underscore how good your next great one is.

I was seven years old in 1969 during the moon landing, with the whole extended family gathered around the enormous TV console. It was a very memorable event for me, but the thing I most remember is that mom made me and my friend a simple BLT with mayo. For some reason it was like a visitation from Jesus for both of us. We spent the next few years making them or begging for them relentlessly. We thought it was our own thing. Over the next fifty years I've tried to recapture that, but never entirely succeeded in having the same culinary apogee. Still trying.