"Here you go, two turkey clubs," said Kurt, setting two plates in front of Karl and me. We were at First Editions, our favorite literary-themed bar, for a quick lunch before we both returned to the day's writing. We had both ordered the special, turkey club sandwiches with extra bacon and lightly toasted bread.
I studied our plates and noticed something unusual about the sandwiches. It took me a second, and the more I thought about it, the more it irritated me.
Karl, I said, what's wrong with our sandwiches?
He studied them for a moment. "I'll bite, Kid. What IS wrong with our sandwiches?"
They're not cut. Andy didn't cut our sandwiches.
"So?" asked Karl, stuffing a few chips into his mouth. "Nine-Fingers is busy back there, so cut it yourself."
Fine. I rolled my eyes, reached for my knife, and began cutting.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Karl half-shouted. "What are you doing to that poor sandwich?"
I'm cutting it!
"Who taught you to cut a sandwich like that?"
What's wrong with how I'm cutting my sandwich?
"You're cutting it vertically."
Yeah, so?
There are rules to cutting a sandwich now? What's wrong with cutting it vertically?
"It's an affront to sandwiches!" Karl grabbed his knife, and for a second, I thought he was going to stab me for sandwich-related crimes. He's done worse for less.
It's not a big deal, I said. I'm about to do something a lot worse than cutting it, I said.
"It's like putting ketchup on a Chicago dog!" protested Karl. "Or pineapple on pizza."
I swore at him. I would NEVER do something as heinous as pineapple on pizza!
"I noticed you didn't say anything about the ketchup. Are you even American?"
Fine, how do you cut a sandwich? I asked.
"Diagonally, of course." He talked like I was a child, seeing his very first sandwich.
Yeah, but that's wrong, I said. The diagonal cut is not democratic.
"Not democratic? Are you kidding me?" demanded Karl. He sawed at his sandwich, drawing the knife from one corner to the other. Some of the bacon didn't cut properly, and he pulled a piece out of the sandwich. He swore before popping the offending piece into his mouth. "How can a sandwich be undemocratic?"
Let me ask you this: What's the best crust on the bread, top or bottom?
"That's stupid. Everyone knows it's the top."
OK, and when you make a diagonal cut, you have a good half and a bad half: the top and bottom crust.
"So?"
So which half do you usually eat first? I asked.
Karl answered by picking it up and taking a big bite: "The top half because it's better."
Exactly. The diagonal cut is unequal because you get a good half and a bad half. One is much less enjoyable to eat than the other.
"So eat the bad half first and reward yourself with the good half."
But if you cut it vertically, you get equal parts of good and bad crust. They average out, and that's what makes it democratic.
"That's the dumbest thing you've ever said, and you once said a hot dog is a sandwich."
Which I proved was true, I said, undeterred. Also, vertical cuts don't cause the problem you just had. When I cut my sandwich, it was in the same direction as the bacon, so I didn't lose any.
"Yeah, but you get a bigger perimeter with the diagonal cut!" Karl said. He took a bite of his sandwich with a triumphant smirk. Then he made a face because it was the bite without bacon in it.
That's true, although the area is the same. I took a bite of my sandwich. But you get more bites with the vertical cut.
"How do you figure?" Karl demanded.
When I diagonal-cut toast, I can eat a piece in three bites. But with a vertical cut, I can get four bites, so I get to enjoy my toast longer.
"But the diagonal cut is the fancy cut," said Karl. "That's how they do it in restaurants."
That's true, I admitted. When I was a little kid, I always wanted my mom to cut my sandwiches diagonally, but she never would. So, I did it myself when I was old enough. But now that's not a good enough reason. If nothing else, I still have to deal with the whole good crust/bad crust thing, and that dampens the experience.
Kurt approached our table with the check. "What if you just left it as a whole sandwich like I brought it out to you?"
"That's not even a club sandwich, then," said Karl. "That's just a turkey and bacon."
Yeah, a club sandwich is cut into fourths, I said.
"Cut diagonally," added Karl, cackling in triumph.
I grabbed my knife by the blade and smashed Karl's chips.
Photo credit: Memm (Wikimedia, GNU Free Documentation 1.2)
My new humor novel, Mackinac Island Nation, is finished and available from 4 Horsemen Publications. You can get the ebook and print versions here.