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Grandad's signature sandwich

He was the type of man who could burn water, but this simple sandwich convinced my 6 year-old mind he was a culinary revolutionary.

By Mike HouldsworthPublished 4 years ago 4 min read
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Grandad's signature sandwich
Photo by Lucian Alexe on Unsplash

When I think of my grandad, I think of his thick, dark hair and his big, square glasses. I think of his voice as he'd say the word 'broccoli' with extra emphasis on the 'i', like 'broccoleye'. And I think of how that would drive me mad as I got older. Then I think of how he spilled tea on his shirt when he came to visit, and taught me how to solder circuits, and sat patiently with me as we flipped through pages of his old atlases.

It doesn't take long before I think of the pain I felt when it clicked that I'd never see him again, or hear him say 'broccoli' with the 'i' like 'eye'. Or to think of how that pain stung more when my grandmother's wet eyes betrayed the brave face she put on at his funeral as she told me that "he lived a good life". And, more recently, I've begun to think of how those two pains have faded and become dull with time, only to be replaced by a new kind of pain that aches when I try and picture his facial features without referencing photographs. The healing pain of forgetting.

Even though the shape of his nose and the look in his eye has become more and more blurred over time, there's one thing that always conjures up the most vibrant of memories – his signature sandwich. When I make it, he comes alive. His presence is stronger than ever. And the first time he made it for me plays out like a movie that I could watch a billion times.

In the corner seat of his kitchen table, my feet barely grazing the ground, I watch grandad cement his position as one of the greatest, most innovative chefs of all time. Crunchy on the outside, melty, salty and sweet on the inside, he breaks all the rules I think I know about what a sandwich can be. And, if you ask little me, this is haute cuisine at its hautest.

My mouth's watering – nostalgia and hunger are powerful forces, it would seem – and now I have to make one for myself. Here's the recipe for anyone who wants to share with me:

Grandad's signature sandwich - serves one good memory.

Warning: although I've made this many times, I've never quite managed to capture the magic of that first bite. Still, this is a good enough substitute.

Ingredients:

- 2 slices of plain, white bread (the cheap, pre-sliced, packed-with-preservatives kind. No artisan sourdough).

- Butter.

- A heaped tablespoon or two (or three) of salty peanut butter (nothing too sweet).

- 1 ripe banana.

Method:

- First, toast your bread. Ever the renegade, Grandad toasted his under the grill until golden brown. Keep your eye on it and turn it over when it's done to your liking. Or use a toaster if you don't trust your bread management skills. I use a toaster.

- While the bread is under the grill or in the toaster, peel and slice up your banana into equally thick rounds.

- This step is crucial – eat a couple of the pieces of banana while you wait for the toast to be ready.

- As soon as the toast is done to your liking, slather both pieces with butter so that it melts and soaks in.

- Generously spread a thick layer of peanut butter on top of the butter while ignoring the health ramifications (you're six years old, cholesterol isn't a thing).

- Quickly, but carefully, layer the banana over the peanut butter before sandwiching the whole thing together and making a mess.

- Get crumbs everywhere, drop butter on your jeans, just the way Grandad would have done.

Thanks to my grandad for enlightening me to the art of sandwich making at such a young age. And thank you all for reading his recipe. As I type it out, I wonder if the thing I liked about this sandwich so much was the fact that I was the only one who did. My brother hated peanut butter (and banana) and my sister was too young for solid food.

This was a special dish that was just for me and Grandad.

humanity
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