I had the good fortune during this past work week to actually sit down for lunch at a restaurant. Normally I'm on the go and eating on the run, so this was a welcome change.
Lately I've been eating much less than I usually do, so I decided for a something light by ordering a bowl of soup and half a sandwich. The soup of the day was split pea soup, one of my favorites, and I chose a half turkey sandwich to go with it. The split pea soup was the best I can ever remember having, even better than the famous soup up the coast of California near Solvang.
The half sandwich that arrived with the soup was absolutely huge. I'm glad it was just a half sandwich, because in the end, I couldn't finish it. As I began to tackle the task of consuming this monster sandwich, I noticed how cleanly cut it was when making it a half sandwich. I also noticed that for a sandwich that was buttery and toasty on the outside, it wasn't very warm. Then it dawned on me. I got a HALF sandwich. Did I get the first half or the other half?
The restaurant wasn't very crowded, maybe because it was just the top of the lunch hour, but there were about a half dozen tables occupied. So I thought to myself, did I get the first half that maybe sat a while before being served to me? Or did I get the other half that was waiting for someone to come along to claim it before who knows what would happen to it?
I'd like to think I came along to save this possibly unappreciated other half from some unsavory sort of demise. It wouldn't be cast off in the garbage to be tossed into a smelly refuse of a dumpster, or sent down to meet its gruesome end in the throes of spinning blades in a garbage disposal. (Do they have those in restaurants?)
No, it crossed the path of an appreciative and hungry man who enjoyed its wonderful taste and fulfilling character. This other half met with a happy ending... in my stomach.
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