(Hello lovely internet people! I have not forgotten you. I have just been busy and I have many things to tell you, but we shall start with the funniest first. Thus, I present to you this letter.)
I must admit my deep and abiding fondness for you. You come from a land with brilliant bread, fantastic fromage and marvelous meat. I love you so much, in fact, that I alliterate. Because you, you lovely little stores, combine these three things in delectable combinations, like chicken-tomato-Roquefort or chorizo-gruyere.
But I have to admit, dear Sandwicherie, our relationship is threatened by a matter of faith. You see, I believe in mayonnaise and/or mustard. I believe deeply and fundamentally in these things. I have so much faith that I believe every sandwich should be blessed by their presence, that even your brilliant bread, my lovely, is made better by having something to moisten it.
You do not. At first, I thought I could cope. You humored me sometimes, giving me sandwiches like ham-mayo-goat cheese. But then….too often were your sandwiches dry and left me desperately needing water in order to swallow.
Sandwicherie, I cannot live unevenly yoked. You either must convert to my ways of mayo and mustard, or we may have to end our relationship.
With deepest love,