The Most Gentile Corn Beef Sandwich in Toronto

The BiPolarBear and I were at a pub last week, on Bloor St. W., and ordered corn beef sandwiches. Which, when they arrived, turned out to be on toasted, barely-rye-possibly-even-white bread, like melba toast; and the corned beef was thick, microwaved, and slightly rubbery. The crowning touch were the dill pickles, which were of a bland suburban variety that I hadn't tasted since my childhood.
"This," whispered the BPB, "has got to be the least Jewish corned-beef sandwich in the world." It wasn't really as bad as I make it sound, actually, but it was puzzling, since the menu went on about how these sandwiches were inspired by a really great sandwich in a specific New York deli, etc. I guess "inspired" was the operative word. I imagined the Cleaver family going to the Big Apple for a business convention, and Ward saying to June, a couple of weeks later, "Say, Hon, remember those great sandwiches we had in that delicatessen? I'll bet you could whip up something just like them in our own kitchen to eat while we look at our vacation slides." It was like that.

Afterwards, I said, "Well, they could have been less Jewish if they'd had bacon and cheese on them. And shellfish. And a little sign that said 'Happy Easter'."

"On raisin bread," said the BPB, "with little crucifix-shaped sandwich picks."

(no subject)

It's been kind of an angsty week here, on both the personal and political fronts. Political - we're worrying the Tories will get in. We saw what the provincial ones did to Ontario, the last few years. I really really don't want them running the whole country - and the BPB is terrrified that if Harper gets in, the first thing that will happen is that disability pensions will stop (ok, that's a bit extreme, but paranoia is one of his symptoms).

The personal - well, I finally told the BPB what I hadn't even managed to confess to this anonymous journal, which is that I've got rather a crush on someone Nameless. I'd been particularly guilty about it this last week, since the BPB was being particularly good to me (and he thought something was preying on my mind too, only he didn't know what). He's not really angry (it isn't Nameless' fault- he doesn't even know I like him that way), just shocked and...undermined, I guess. Also puzzled, as Nameless isn't my usual type. I can't explain it either- but my own sense of the erotic is so hands-off, I guess anything can happen.

I think we're getting over it, though. I'm trying not to think obsessively about Nameless, and the BPB's decided the fact I could tell him is a sign we're ok.

Whew!

The voters have spoken - their mistrust of the Conservatives is greater than their anger at the Liberals.