A few weeks ago, when Matthew and I were still recovering from pretty severe jet lag post-Europe, we went to a backyard barbecue at one of Matthew's friends' houses.
Yes. A backyard. In Toronto.
We stayed for six hours.
In the earlier hours, a toddler (attended by responsible parents) was waddling in and out of our seating area. When the host fired up the barbecue, he asked for a "hotdog sandwich."
Fast-forward to this week.
Because we didn't have tartar sauce to top his fish sandwich, Matt opened a jar of homemade relish we'd had in our pantry — it's a bookshelf in the kitchen — for over a year.
The relish was amazing.
So, the next day, when Matt started making lunch, he reached for the relish first.
What goes with relish? Hotdogs.
We don't have hotdogs.
So, inspired by a 2-year-old named Heathcliff — Heathcliff!! — I suggested a "hotdog sandwich."
He's had one two days in a row now.
Bread. Deli meat. Cheese. Mayo. Ketchup. Mustard. Relish.
Sometimes we eat aged cheese and roasted figs. And sometimes we eat like preschoolers.