This was a fantastic, fantastic sandwich. This was a restaurant I picked at random and chose largely because they had a wide selection of beer, so I was not expecting something so good. But it was to my surprise and delight that I was served such a phenomenal sandwich. Incredibly juicy roast pork worked with cherry peppers, a bit of cheddar cheese, crispy fried onions and a dijon mustard aioli to come together in perfect harmony. Somewhere in there the chef snuck a bit of spice, and so there was a present-but-not-overpowering heat throughout the sandwich, delightfully playing against the sweetness of the peppers. The onions were a crisp contrast to the chewy pork, again demonstrating a skilled balance. The ciabatta roll was neither toasted nor grilled, and contrary to what you might expect that only added to the appeal. With each bite, more of the juice from the pork soaked into the roll.
With every squeeze, the bread itself grew exponentially in flavor and the sandwich began to disintegrate slightly. Not so much as to become a negative, but just enough to remind me that pleasures in life are fleeting, that all things should be appreciated as they are in front of us, and that nostalgia is a sad shadow of experience. Things built and built until the final bites of the sandwich were barely holding together in my fingers, the experience peaking in a clash of appreciation and regret, hostility towards the very idea of the passage of time and the scarcity of all things. I was left with a plate of french fries, half a glass of fine stout, and an aching sense of loss. Undoubtedly, I was better for the experience.