The bemoaned obligatory "stoic in the woodpile" gets misty-eyed for a simple fish sammich.

There is no widespread common-butted formula for a sandwich.  For instance, I took to putting leftovers in my beloved Pretzel Buns.

The sandwich of interest in the piece today had that simple bottom-of-the-line breaded fillets.

Its like a staple food, in the sense that its the basis, then I build around it, like Elton John "flowering" throughout the 1970s.

Or like the Walmart cheer: without the magic squiggle, its just a spelling lesson.  NOTE to Bentonville:  change the "competing with fellow employees" thing, please.  We don't compete against our co-workers, but instead we compete against goals set for us on the job.  In fact, you may be surprised to find that we actually may have to help a co-worker from time-to-time, rather than trying to see them fail.

For the good of the Enterprise, right?  Needs of the one; needs of the many, and all that.

In case you didn't know.

Did I just compare myself to Elton John?  Its a toss-away remark, really.

Mayo.  Real-Mayo of the south Duke's, along with salt and pepper.

Sometimes its the simple things that wake up the flavor.

So I went higher-end on the bread, low-end on the fill, and then took to the seasonings like a man that was bent on making a point.

In your face.