E.U. Sandwich

Fournisseur Fine Foods sold fine foods. It is saved immortally as a Google Business page. It is labeled a Gourmet Grocery Store. Between the aisles of imported olive oils and preserved fish in olive oil and white and black truffles packaged in olive oil, Niall and Ritchy walked. 

Twenty dollars, Niall said. 

For what?

This. 

You can’t afford that.

Not anymore.

You never could. Really.

True.

Niall was making a meal. His in-laws were in town. He wanted to impress them. He had gained forty pounds since the last time he saw them two years ago. He quit his job two hours before meeting Ritchy at Fournisseur Fine Foods. He hadn’t held his wife in bed for months. He was 28. Childless. Jobless. Buying upscale ingredients that he knew he would mindlessly spoil or burn or over salt or under salt and the whole thing would turn rotten. He knew it. But maybe this time was different.

Here. Youre gonna need this. Ritchy slipped a paper bag full of baby wood ear mushrooms. $28/lbs. 

Is this a pound?

You need that much for the risotto.

Can’t I do half those and half those? 

The criminis?

Or the oysters.

You can. If you want to make a forgettable risotto. 

Richty moved his fingers across rows of vibrant peppers. A clerk in a starched apron walked by with a spray bottle to spritz the piles of rainbow chard. Water droplets formed on the hydrophobic leaves dripping and falling only to leave a few behind that would be the evidence of freshness and refreshingness and health and quality. Ritchy grabbed a stalk of chard.

Salad?

No. They dont eat salad.

Thats dumb.

They just dont like it.

No one likes salad. But we eat it.

Why should we?

Balance. Are you hungry?

Yeah. But lets go somewhere else.

Why? They got sandwiches here.

Niall lowered his voice. They’re so expensive.

Theyre on me. How bout that?

The sandwiches made the $90 worth of groceries go down easier. There was a small patio in front of Fournisseur that they sat at. The patio looked out onto the busy street with cars and camping tents and graffiti that said things like BOYVAGINE and CLOWT and ACAB. 

It feels weird being here.

Here? Ritchy took a bite of his sandwich.

In a city thats falling apart. Ritchy chewed. I spent a hundred dollars for one dinner. Now we eat sandwiches with ingredients from every EU country.

You got it wrong, Ritchy said. He was still chewing. We dont live in a city thats falling apart. Its the whole world. Ritchy’s lips let loose a shred of prosciutto that landed on the table squarely between the two friends. 

Youre not wrong.

They ate their sandwiches in silence.