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I've been out of town for the past four weeks (but home on the weekends), which translates into a jam-packed schedule where I try to squeeze in baking and cooking time for my columns in between trips.
More often than not, and more often than my neighbors would like, I'm banging and clanging around the kitchen at midnight and waking up early to photograph the finished products before I run out to errands, yoga, meetings, and other minutiae I let fall through the cracks while I'm away.
Expending all of this energy makes me hungrier than a bear about to head into hibernation. I begin to crave and fantasize about cakes and sandwiches—not pleasant when driving around eating nothing but gas station snacks, but deeply satisfying when the scribble on my to-do list is a messy sandwich like this one.
This sandwich was born of a late-night prowl in the barren kitchen of a bachelor friend I stay with when working in Boston. Other than leftover Super Bowl beer, a desiccated apple I had abandoned on a previous trip, and a bag of insipid rice cakes, there was nothing to feed on but this fantasy sandwich: crisp Spanish chorizo, bright poblano peppers, garlic and smoked paprika ground pork, toasted bread, mayonnaise, and crumbles of milky queso fresco.
The sandwich materialized in the morning and despite the early hour, I had it for breakfast along with the hard cider adding a little color to the photo. I don't run on a regimented schedule, and neither does my appetite.
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