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I think it& #39;s now a dumb running joke to test the limits of my brother& #39;s definition of a sandwich.
A sandwich is a filling surrounded by bread. Bread being baked from dough made from flour, water and yeast.
So in his eyes, a BLT is a sandwich, a Subway sub is a sandwich, a hotdog is a sandwich, all pretty normal so far.
So in his eyes, a BLT is a sandwich, a Subway sub is a sandwich, a hotdog is a sandwich, all pretty normal so far.
When I ask about ice-cream sandwiches and wraps, he specifically declines because in both cases, neither is made with "bread".
So I press on, and ask.
Are two pizza slices held facing together a sandwich?
He pauses.
He agrees but then turns around to say that the toppings on a pizza become part of the bread when cooked and thus, is no longer a separate "filling".
Are two pizza slices held facing together a sandwich?
He pauses.
He agrees but then turns around to say that the toppings on a pizza become part of the bread when cooked and thus, is no longer a separate "filling".
Disregarding that line of logic, I try to argue that bread shouldn& #39;t be defined by "yeast" since there are breads baked without it. He agrees to change the definition to "leavening agent". This is his mistake.
So this thread is just the set-up to this joke in my head.
Plato: "A sandwich is a filling surrounded by bread. Bread is baked from flour, water and yeast."
Diogenes, holding a slice of cheese between two brownies:
"BEHOLD, A SANDWICH."
Plato: "A sandwich is a filling surrounded by bread. Bread is baked from flour, water and yeast."
Diogenes, holding a slice of cheese between two brownies:
"BEHOLD, A SANDWICH."
As a result of this conversation, my leavening agents privilege has been cut, and bread is no longer a term of discussion with my brother anymore.
