I just went to the bathroom and my stomach is not happy with me. Admittedly, I am eating horribly, but I’m guessing it also has to do with a sandwich I ate in Luxembourg. Evan Rowe and I went into a small deli, and Evan attempted to order Wiener-Scnitzel. They were out, but he did order a sandwich. He didn’t know what was in it or its name.
It was some kind of puréed meat topped with sliced onions. It had an orange hue and at it’s thickest, the purée was three quarters of an inch thick. Evan couldn’t eat more than a third, and because I’m extremely cheap and insistent on claiming to love new food, I ate maybe half of the sandwich.
Bad choice. It’s likely that the sandwich was raw meat of some kind and highly seasoned. It’s typically called an American sandwich because Americans would never eat it if they knew what was on the sandwich. That’s true, and judging by the number of sandwiches in the window of the deli, Europeans don’t eat them either.
