No Meatballs

I am anticipating an uptick in traffic to my humble little compost heap today because of my “Me Fund” essay on The Billfold. Hi, Billfolders! This seems a great time to introduce some of the material I’ll be posting here in the coming weeks. As I noted in the Me Fund piece, I’m taking a writing class right now. I’m going to be posting all of my assignments here for the sake of accountability and habit. Below is the first, which was for our “autobiographical” essay assignment.

“I’m not sold on ‘biting’ as a practice.” It was a clumsy, incomplete thought prompted by a beautiful, towering sandwich, but really. The point of a sandwich is to pick it up and bite it, and as anyone who has been to a restaurant in the last five years will confirm, biteable sandwiches are an all-but lost art outside of the home kitchen.

I can admit and even appreciate that the presentation was great: stacked neatly on one side of the white rectangular plate, all of its colorful elements were on display. It was a lovely sight, but you’d need the jaws of a Burmese python just to get it in your mouth, and its contents would squish out the other side under the slightest pressure. Sometimes I’m up for the challenge and the resulting mess, but that day, thanks to chapped winter skin and the needless aggression of my flossing routine, I had a cut on the corner of my mouth where my lips join. It cracked and bled every time I opened my mouth too wide. I wasn’t going to make my face bleed just to honor that farce of a sandwich. I shouldn’t have had to, anyway. Continue reading