You're Gonna Put What In Your Sandwich?
Diestel turkeys flap up a real gobblers’ delight
By Wayne Alan Brenner,
2:30PM, Mon. Jul. 20, 2020
August is National Sandwich Month, according to the National Day Calendar, and so I was going to bake my own bread for the first time, for the first several times, before August.
That way, see, when July finally bid us adieu I’d already be a master of the doughy arts, a downright legend of loafitude. I’d be a dude who could take a freshly baked batard, some tasty fillings, and conjure up a sandwich fit to leave the ghost of Julia Child weeping tears of foodie joy. Those were my plans, anyway.
Turns out that the world, especially the pandemic-ridden one, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about someone’s plans.
Sometime before July 4th, various things got in the way of my plans. Things that decimated my free time and wrought havoc on my schedule. Things that I’d love to blame on somebody specific, so I could enjoy a compensatory scapegoat, but things that tbh are just another example of Shit Happens.
(Vicissitudes, my mother calls those things. Thanks, mom.)
Anyway, I never got a chance to make even a first attempt at baking bread, though I seem to be one of the few people on the planet who, by this point, hasn’t.
And then the turkey arrived.
It wasn’t a whole turkey that arrived: It was a sampler package of sliced turkey from Diestel Family Ranch. Exactly the sort of savory goodness you’d use to make a fine sandwich with. And, dealing with a few weeks’ worth of vicissitudes, tell you what: It makes a fellow hungry.
So I went down to the H-E-B – the Texas-based grocery chain whose corporate management should really be the ones running this whole country – and I got a couple of fresh baguettes, and I set in to sandwich-making.
You know how good turkey is in a sandwich? You know, when you fill half a short French loaf with several thin slices of perfectly moist turkey (and some lettuce, tomato, Swiss cheese, a pepperoncini or two, a little micro-swath of mayonnaise), you know how damn delicious that tastes? Very damn delicious, is the answer, especially when it’s these Diestel deli slices – organic, non-GMO, from turkeys that’ve been raised on an all-vegetarian assortment of noms – that come in a variety of flavors.
Naturally Smoked. Honey Roasted. Peppered Roasted. Or, my particular favorite, Herb Roasted.
"My particular favorite," yeah – because it’s got the herbs and spices embedded right in those slices of slow-roasted breast meat. I mean, there’s a lot of options with this Diestel stuff, and they even do sell whole turkeys – but don’t let’s get distracted.
No, let’s just note one more thing before I get back to what remains of that last sandwich I built. Let’s note the packaging. Because, if you know me, you know I’m all about the graphic design, right? But that’s not what I’m talking about here. Because the design here is, eh, it’s … effective, you know? It brands the products clearly and consistently, it’s more than adequate, sure; but it ain’t taking home any fancy awards. What I’m talking about is the physical packaging, to which I direct a mayonnaise-stained flurry of applause.
These packages of Diestel deli-sliced turkey are so convenient, such an easy, eminently repeatable joy to open and close, that … I don’t know, maybe such packages should be required by law? Or maybe somebody should at least whisper to companies that package their products in more difficult-to-open, nonresealable containers that it’s time to get with the goddamn program, you know what I’m saying?
Reckon I might even save enough time, using these well-packaged Diestel turkey slices, to carve out an opportunity to bake that first loaf of bread.
Now, is this the right flour to use?
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