Le maudit Mo D.

the literate sandwich

As we approach the final week of Kitchen Remodel '08, I am officially sick of every median-priced eatery in greater Austin and cannot wait to resume a diet of microwaved burritos and stir-fried greens and brown rice in my own new, beautiful kitchen. I've put on about four pounds, we've spent probably $1000 on food over the last month, and I look forward to eating on the low end of the spectrum again.

Bob and I were discussing sandwich options today, and I mentioned local sandwich leader WhichWich, a smallish chain dotting the southern U.S. with special focus on university towns. Bob had never eaten there, and I only go there if I have business at UT, as there is a location on The Drag. I liked their crunchy bread/melty cheese flavor and suggested it as today's lunch spot, and so we went to one in our nearby overbloated upscalish residential/retail center.

Whilst there, I observed that, in stark contrast to the teriyaki shops in Seattle that D-Moe and I patronized a few weeks ago, one must be highly literate to successfully order at WW. They throw a lot of reading comprehension at their customers from the get-to and do not use semiotics to instruct those who are either unable to read or have English as a second or third language. At the teriyaki shops, every dish has a corresponding photograph of varying appeal and a number, so anyone, regardless of their language of choice, can just barrel up to the register and point to the sign as long as they're not blind.

Bob is one of tiny number of Americans who cannot design his own sandwich and must be told what the sandwich engineering team has deemed a good flavor combo, so the WW business model, despite its market successes, confounded and frustrated him. Thousands of literate Americans and perhaps some illiterate ones as well have successfully navigated the verbose WW gauntlet and have come out on the opposite end of the counter with a tasty sandwich, so what's the problem, brah? I hope that Bob can trust his own sandwich flavor alchemy skills and give in to the allure of the brown bag checklist method. Sometimes we are called upon to subvert our preferred cognitive paradigms. WW demands much more from us.

WW also assumes knowledge of general American sandwich conventions, as well as some pop cultural conventions. You have to know that Elvis was famous for his love of peanut butter and banana sandwiches; ergo, the Elvis Wich. A brief ingredient list follows, but I couldn't help but think that if I happened into Barcelona's equivalent of WW, I'd be thoroughly confused. Of course, in Barcelona, they have like three types of sandwiches, including cold omelet. No one here wants a cold omelet sandwich. I think this lack of variety is wise because all of this variety and control is the type of American excess that makes me wonder if I shouldn't expatriate to France. France would have me because of my name and my pledged commitment to speaking French and living in the French manner. My expatriation would bring full circle 400 years of my patrilineal ancestors escape from Bretagne to find their fortunes in New France. There would be some poetic justice, weight loss, free health care and six weeks paid vacation.

So, in a nutshell, WhichWich has made me consider the feasibility of its ordering method based on my own assumptions about the language comprehension of its customer base, the idea that a sandwich maker knows best, and that expatriation to France would be a cultural and economic improvement on my life.

Sometimes even I am shocked by just how Lisa Simpsonish I can be.

Posted by Zerd at August 31, 2008 03:38 PM