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WordPress Prompt: What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten?

It was the summer of 1999,
Annapolis was bright and brackish,
and I was nineteen,
slipping between sugar bins
at the Sweet Factory,
where children were sticky,
thieves were sloppy,
and the candy was sacred.

The Chesapeake breeze curled around corners
like a whispered promise.
Market Place was closed,
so I wandered toward Einstein Bros—
not for bagels,
but for something that would break me open
in the very best way.

And there it was.
The Sandwich.
On a ciabatta roll that
wasn’t soft, wasn’t hard—
just perfectly weathered like a dock in the sun.
Asiago cheese spread met olive tapenade,
salty and briny
like a kiss between a sea captain
and an orchard witch.

There were grilled slices of eggplant
and zucchini,
roasted red pepper,
lettuce, tomato,
maybe a whisper of onion,
definitely sprouts—
the alfalfa kind, green and wild.
There may have been
an avocado spread
soft as a sigh
but I can’t be sure.
I was floating by then.

It was vegetarian,
but not meek.
It was bold and messy,
filling and refreshing—
a riot of oil, salt, sun, and tenderness.
It fed me for hours.
It fed me for years.
It still does.

That sandwich is gone now.
So is the Einstein Bros on that street.
So is the Aero Bar gifted by the kind British child
who wanted us to know the joy of their candy
as we had offered ours.

But I remember.
I always will.
Some sandwiches
aren’t just food.
They’re altars.