Sandwich vs. Environment

by Brian Ritchie

May 20, 2026

The air in the cockpit of my 1986 Ford Escort was thick with anticipation… and the harsh chemical pine of one of those cardboard tree air fresheners they give you at the car wash. I think they believe it creates the illusion that your vehicle has not, in fact, been transporting wet cats and Taco Bell.

My wife and I had long since accepted the synthetic forest smell as part of the car’s ecosystem and were now fully focused on the experience ahead of us. She gave me a slight smile, and I knew it was time. Then, like two underfed carnivores turned loose at a water buffalo buffet, we bit into our sandwiches.

This was no ordinary handheld meal.

Each of us took time to properly appreciate what was happening. There was chewing. Reflection. Small nods of respect. We sat in the sort of solemn silence usually associated with observing great art, performing major surgery, or bringing up politics at Thanksgiving.

Then, after several reverent moments, we swallowed and locked eyes. A silent countdown ticked in our heads:

Three…Two…One…

“Top five!” we both blurted.

I let my head fall against the Escort’s headrest, which was holding onto the seat with one spoke and some tape.

“Mmmm… bodacious,” I sighed.

“It’s, like, totally rad,” she agreed.

Now, some of you may feel that I am assigning unnecessary emotional significance to the simple act of eating a sandwich, and you would be wrong.

Because resting in our laps wasn’t merely food. It was a culinary achievement. It was the sort of sandwich that would cause even the world’s most fastidious sandwich critic—you know the type: thin European-looking man wearing a tiny scarf and suspiciously round glasses—to pause thoughtfully and whisper, “Mon Dieu.”

Everything about it was balanced with scientific precision. The ingredients were top-tier and perfectly proportioned. Each bite delivered hot and juicy alongside cold and crunchy. Salt met tang. Soft met crisp. It was less a sandwich and more a carefully orchestrated consumption event.

Honestly, it bordered on perfection.

And if you know anything about the modern sandwich landscape, you would understand how rare that is. The sandwich field today is crowded with imposters: careless meat arrangements slapped together by profiteers who have no respect for the craft. Sad tomato slices. Wilted lettuce. Bread with the texture and emotional warmth of a dish sponge. We are asked to bear sandwiches that do not nourish the human spirit so much as punish it.

True sandwich artistry, however, stretches back centuries. Nearly every civilization eventually discovered the practical brilliance of placing delicious things between bread and transporting them around town. The Romans understood this. The Greeks figured it out. I refuse to believe Julius Caesar conquered half the known world while eating only salad. At some point, he had to wake up around 2 a.m. and absolutely pound a meatball sub.

Though methods and craftsmanship have evolved over time, the basic engineering principles remain unchanged: a hand-safe food delivery vehicle—usually bread—containing edible components arranged for maximum happiness.

Pick up.Bend elbow.Enjoy fulfillment.

And there in our laps rested the fully realized expression of the form. A mature, fully vetted sandwich specimen operating at the absolute peak of sandwich capability.

But remarkably, the sandwich itself was not the only marvel.

It arrived in packaging so scientifically advanced that modern civilization has still failed to improve upon it. In fact, the carton accomplished such an astonishing feat of thermal engineering that somewhere, even now, physicists stand before giant chalkboards covered in math-type numbers and symbols trying to understand it.

Curious? You should be.

Because that container accomplished the impossible. All it did was keep the hot side hot… and the cool side cool.

That’s right, 80s kids. I’m talking about the McDonald’s McDLT.

And I don’t care what any of you making that face right now say. The McDLT was a paragon. It was everything a sandwich should aspire to be.

For the uninformed, let me explain what separated this deluxe cuisine from the field.

First, there was the hot side compartment. Inside: an all-beef patty and the bottom bun, steaming and ready for action.

Then the cool side compartment contained the top sesame-seed bun, lettuce, tomato, cheese, pickles, and mayonnaise.

The container functioned like two tiny coolers sitting in your lap, insulating each side from the other. You would have a sacred moment as you slid the tabs free from the slots, caught your breath briefly, and carefully lifted the top.

Inside was magic.

For a moment, you would marvel at the mystery of compartments capable of keeping their cargo tens of degrees apart, and then you were invited to participate in the final matrimonial step of bringing the two sides together in a holy sandwich union.

In the early years of our marriage, my wife and I lived mostly on tip money, so “date night” frequently began in the parking lot of McDonald’s.

We’d hand the cashier a collection of wrinkled singles that smelled faintly of french onion soup and determination, grab the brown bag, and hurry to a parking spot.

By the time I engaged the parking brake, Elizabeth would already be setting the table. Napkins opened carefully onto our laps. Styrofoam containers placed gently on the bleached-white tablecloths. Fries standing by, ready for deployment once the burger merger had been completed and the cold-side compartment was vacated.

The first bite was where the rubber met the road.

You knew immediately whether you were eating greatness or flavored cardboard. We always took the first bite in unison, like it was communion.

And when that hot, juicy burger hit at the same moment as the cold lettuce, tomato, and mayo, it created a symphony of freshness in the music hall of your mouth. A truly exceptional one could briefly separate your spirit from your body.

Once the exhilaration of the first bite settled down, it was time for the official rating.

The scoring system was simple: Top Five… or not.

And we were almost always in agreement because you learn everything you need to know about a burger in the first few seconds. Over the course of the McDLT years, I estimate nearly thirty sandwiches made our Top Five.

Every one of them deserved it.

Sadly, there would be no more entries to the list because corporations eventually caved to pressure from hysterical environmentalists who informed us all that scientists were “pretty sure” styrofoam was destroying the ozone layer, apparently through a combination of chemical emissions and being annoyingly squeaky. And if we didn’t do something about it, within ten years we would all be burned alive.

And if that somehow didn’t happen, another scientist explained that humanity would eventually be buried beneath mountains of non-biodegradable containers sometime around the year four million.

Almost overnight, fast-food restaurants abandoned styrofoam and switched to wrapping their food in paper and cardboard, which kills lots of trees. But who needs those?

Without its genius delivery system, the McDLT died.

And with it, sandwich happiness.

It’s now been almost thirty-five years. The ozone layer appears to be hanging in there, and we still have a few million years before being buried alive beneath discarded food containers. And yet somehow I am still denied my McDLT.

This is why I no longer panic every time “science” announces the newest thing trying to kill us. One week it’s eggs. The next week it’s sunlight. Eventually they’ll tell us muffins are responsible for male pattern baldness.

Meanwhile, we keep finding oil, trees keep growing, the sun keeps rising, and my wife and I keep searching for a sandwich capable of knocking those thirty McDLTs out of the Top Five.

Thoughts

The world changes its mind constantly.

One day we’re told to eat eggplant. The next day eggplant apparently shortens your life by seven years and causes your eyelashes to fall out.

Every few years there’s a brand-new catastrophe headed our way. I’ve personally lived through multiple warnings about the polar ice caps melting, several rounds of rising ocean levels, and at least four foods that were absolutely going to kill me until they suddenly became healthy again.

Honestly, I just can’t get too worked up by it all. I figure if we run out of oil, I’ll buy a horse. Until then, I’m driving an SUV.

But underneath all the noise, all the predictions, and all the certainty people seem to have about everything, there’s a deeper question. It’s the same question Pontius Pilate asked Jesus two thousand years ago:

“What is truth?”

And that question still matters because the world has always struggled to answer it.

Even Pilate, a man with power, influence, and authority, had heard so many competing claims that he failed to recognize The Truth when He stood right in front of him.

The world is inconsistent. Trends change. Experts disagree. Fear sells incredibly well.

But for those of us who know Jesus, there’s peace in knowing that truth isn’t something we have to reinvent every few years.

Isaiah 40:8 says:

“The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.”

That’s the anchor.

Not public opinion.Not panic.Not whatever headline is screaming at us this week.

So if you want truth you can actually depend on, open your Bible and get reading.

And thankfully, as far as I know, Scripture still fully supports the McDLT.

And that, my friends, is how we keep it bright and hopeful.

Pray

Lord, oh Lord,

Perfect and holy. Loving and kind.

Thank you, Father, that we can be worn and disappointed by a world so dishonest and cruel, and you wait.

Thank you, that we ourselves can be dishonest and cruel, and still you wait.

Thank you for when our pockets are empty, and we have nowhere to turn, we can find you waiting.

Your open arms that receive us are all we will ever need. You are the only dependable truth that matters.

Draw me back to you, today. Fill me with peace as I sit with you, knowing I can stay here forever.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen

Going Deeper

1. Where do you look for truth and stability when the world’s opinions keep changing? How can you train yourself to recognize and cling to the unchanging truth of God’s Word rather than being swayed by popular ideas or trends?

2. What “truths” have you accepted from the world that might not line up with Scripture? How would your peace and confidence grow if you filtered everything you hear — from news to science to social media — through the steady truth of God’s Word?Sandwich vs. The Environment

   
   

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