My Left Arm for a Turkey Sandwich

I hate listeria.  E Coli I respect, salmonella doesn’t sound like a party either, but listeria?  Why does this wimpy little nothing of a bacteria have the ability to cross the placenta and thereby ruin my every craving for all things cold cut. 

I want to make out with a turkey ruben.  I’m talking thousand island dressing dripping down my chin, devour. 

I want to nuzzle my face against the soft and tender hoagie roll of an italian sub before launching into a full mouth assault on salami and capicola.

The though of a whole summer without any prosciutto to accompany my garden’s heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella brings me to the brink of tears.

Don’t even get me started on roast beef.  Bloody, delicious roast beef…

What can I say, I am a sandwich fanatic.  I once rearranged a trip to Seattle for the privilege of standing in line for over an hour just to get a salami sandwich from Salumi – and I would fly back tomorrow and do it again in a heartbeat.  I’d love to say I was so classy as to want a glass of champagne when I get home from the hospital after delivery, but I’d be lying.  I want a deli platter.  A big one.

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