I went to a place called the Frost Stop yesterday. I'm fairly sure that I was served a sammich in place of a dull, run of the mill, sandwich. Looking at the menu for the place, I noticed a food item entitled yatwich.

Now, according to the rules, since it already had its own special name, it was a sammich. But a name doesn't mean anything. We all know that that which we call a rose, by any other name would grow out of the dirt. However, the guy behind the counter, when I asked what a yatwich was comprised of, told me that it had, "everything."

I asked him to hold the mayonnaise.

It took a little while longer to make than it did for the burgers that my compatriots were getting, but when the guy behind the counter called out the number 54, I stepped up to reap the delicious bounty that I had ordered. This particular food item was divided into thirds, it had three different kinds of meat (the meat which I so desperately crave), the likes of which I wasn't sure. I love me some meat, but I'm not a connoisseur of meat products so much as a person who just enjoys them. There was lettuce, and fresh tomatoes, and gravy, and it was just dripping with the goodness of it all. I am at the ideal weight for an average man who is 8" shorter than me, and usually I'm not a big eater, but I downed that wholesome delicious meat-filled, cheese-amplified, gravy-enhanced monster faster than any of my friends could begin to approach burger completion.

This food, a bit of pure, concentrated, wholesome goodness, without an ounce of not-goodness, truly deserves the appellation of sammich.