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. Every BLT comes with free a flashback to that hot July day. And a remembrance of that best of friends who we lost twelve years ago.
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.
It's not impossible (and I'd substitute "evolved" for "designed").
Yes, wanting "More" [time, money, love, status] is pretty firmly ingrained as an advantageous trait. But you can override your instincts (e.g. declining a drink when thirsty, if you learn the glass of water contains poison). And it is possible to learn to want what you already have.
How?
Practice three things: Compassion, Attention, and Gratitude.
(Pick any two, and the third will follow almost automatically.)
That's the central thesis of an excellent book, "How to Want What You Have" by Dr Timothy Miller. It changed my life.
I'm not vegetarian, but Grand Central Bakery in Seattle/Portland had a Maitake sandwich that I loved enough to reproduce at home:
"Crisp-roasted maitake mushrooms with garlicky labneh, fresh local raab, warm Middle Eastern Spices and Mama Lil's spicy pickled peppers on a toasted Ciabatta roll."
The raab and the mushrooms (sliced into sheets) were seared crisp. I substituted harissa mixed with mayo or greek yogurt for the sauce.
Oooh, I love this. A few years ago, I started keeping track of my favorite coffeeshops. They're not "the best ever" by some objective metric; I'm not Zagat. But they're special to 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 remember a notable triangular sandwich packed in a cardboard box and sold on the motorway in France. I ate it while my jet lagged toddler cried and cried and we tried to get to Provence before nightfall.
I don't know, Sandwiches of History has some real stinkers every now and then, such as the Cheese and Banana Sandwich, the Clam and Cheese Sandwich, or the Peanut-Butter Sandwich.
> 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.
Both cases are compatible with "noticing that you are eating a sandwich". The issue usually is that its much more difficult to "notice it" if you are thinking about how to improve it. Its like the classic parable of the camel, the needle eye and the rich. But its not impossible.
> The issue usually is that its much more difficult to "notice it" if you are thinking about how to improve it.
Quite the contrary. It's the difference between active eating and passive eating. It is the active eater who appreciates what he is eating at the deepest level, being capable of recreating and modifying it. It is the same with every endeavor.
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. Every BLT comes with free a flashback to that hot July day. And a remembrance of that best of friends who we lost twelve years ago.
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.
don't you just go back to your old habits once this realization has passed.
we were desiged to want more it impossible to override that design.
It's not impossible (and I'd substitute "evolved" for "designed").
Yes, wanting "More" [time, money, love, status] is pretty firmly ingrained as an advantageous trait. But you can override your instincts (e.g. declining a drink when thirsty, if you learn the glass of water contains poison). And it is possible to learn to want what you already have.
How? Practice three things: Compassion, Attention, and Gratitude. (Pick any two, and the third will follow almost automatically.)
That's the central thesis of an excellent book, "How to Want What You Have" by Dr Timothy Miller. It changed my life.
> we were desiged
says who?
No, it isn't. Think about monks and so on. Some people live properly modest lives, not hedonistic ones.
Here's the full interview referred in the article in case you're interested:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=giTi8KWSZl4
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
I'm not vegetarian, but Grand Central Bakery in Seattle/Portland had a Maitake sandwich that I loved enough to reproduce at home:
"Crisp-roasted maitake mushrooms with garlicky labneh, fresh local raab, warm Middle Eastern Spices and Mama Lil's spicy pickled peppers on a toasted Ciabatta roll."
The raab and the mushrooms (sliced into sheets) were seared crisp. I substituted harissa mixed with mayo or greek yogurt for the sauce.
Oooh, I love this. A few years ago, I started keeping track of my favorite coffeeshops. They're not "the best ever" by some objective metric; I'm not Zagat. But they're special to me!
- Tradition Coffee Roasters, Kailua, HI
- Offset Coffee, LA, CA
- Igam Coffee, Brooklyn, NY
- City League, Brooklyn, NY
- Ozo Coffee, Boulder, CO
- Odyssey Coffee, Ocean Grove, NJ
We all have favorites, but that's not the point WZ was making.
Forgot Arby's Beef 'n Cheddar but otherwise looks like a good list
great list.
in addition to anything your parents make, sometimes the best sandwich is the one my wife makes for my kids and they don't finish.
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.
No such thing as a bad sandwich. People are pretending not to like things.
I remember a notable triangular sandwich packed in a cardboard box and sold on the motorway in France. I ate it while my jet lagged toddler cried and cried and we tried to get to Provence before nightfall.
There is such a thing as a bad sandwich.
[delayed]
Never been to an airport I see
I don't know, Sandwiches of History has some real stinkers every now and then, such as the Cheese and Banana Sandwich, the Clam and Cheese Sandwich, or the Peanut-Butter Sandwich.
Cheese and Banana Sandwich: https://youtu.be/uUzO19tgwZc
Clam and Cheese Sandwich: https://youtu.be/31bZ-ReB51U
Peanut-Butter Sandwich: https://youtu.be/1Bmw1JpNY90
There’s definitely a scale, though. Some sandwiches are okay, some are magical.
> 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.
Both cases are compatible with "noticing that you are eating a sandwich". The issue usually is that its much more difficult to "notice it" if you are thinking about how to improve it. Its like the classic parable of the camel, the needle eye and the rich. But its not impossible.
> The issue usually is that its much more difficult to "notice it" if you are thinking about how to improve it.
Quite the contrary. It's the difference between active eating and passive eating. It is the active eater who appreciates what he is eating at the deepest level, being capable of recreating and modifying it. It is the same with every endeavor.
There relevance of this vague piece to HN really escapes me