Handcrafted Sandwiches

Carrie turned the lock in the back door and reached around to switch on the light. The fluorescent tubes on the ceiling flickered once, twice, and then settled into their unholy white luminescence. The kitchen looked bare, cold, and unwelcoming at this time of the morning but it was the perfect environment in which to get her work done. She shut the door behind her and locked it again. She pulled her apron down from the hook on the wall and tied it on, wrapping the strings around her waist and expertly tying the knot at the front.

Humming to herself, Carrie opened the large stainless steel door of the chiller and began to collect up her supplies for the morning. Quail eggs and duck eggs, exotic berries and nuts, briny corpulent olives, lusciously fat red tomatoes, soft and hard imported and local cheeses, fresh lettuce leaves and tangy baby rocket, sensuous just-sprouted sprouts, voluptuous green and red onions, a handful of fragrant herbs, finely-seasoned relishes, succulent pickles, decadent jams, and more. She carefully carried the goods over to the large bench and began to prepare her work space.

She was engrossed in her work when a rat-tat-tat knock at the front door of the café made her almost jump out of her skin, though of course she had been expecting the arrival of Ralph. His face was pressed up against the glass pane, a pitch black back-drop of 4am darkness behind him. She waved her knife at him before hurrying over to pull back the snip and open the door. A blast of cold air greeted her, along with the mouth-watering, toe-curling fragrance of freshly baked bread and rolls.

“Hey, you.” Ralph pushed past her and inside the café, his arms laden with bread crates. He sat them atop the counter beside the cash register. “Service with a smile.” He grinned at her, the missing tooth at the front of his smile an expected black mark on his handsome face.

“Thanks, Ralph.” Carrie signed the receipt with a flourish. “Busy day?”

“Fridays are always busy. Lock the door after me.” He was already part-way out the door. He looked back at her and dropped his eyelid in a lecherous wink. “You don’t want to be tempting any undesirables in.”

Carrie scoffed and waved him away. All the same, she walked over and re-locked the door. The lights of Ralph’s van reversed away and she watched them disappear up the street. She returned to the stacked bread crates and the intoxicating aroma of the still warm bread. Today’s selection included flour-dusted brown rye, plump rolls of brioche, round cobb loaves with the tops enticingly cracked, achingly delicious sourdough, flat and robust Turkish loaves, buttery croissants, and crusty golden buns.

She took the blackboard down from the wall and erased yesterday’s menu in a flurry of sneeze-inducing chalk dust, smiling with satisfaction at the bare slate. There was nothing quite as evocative as a blank slate. She set the blackboard down on the countertop and returned to her sandwich making.

Carrie carefully washed, chopped, diced, sliced, and cleaved her ingredients, spinning tantalizing sandwich ideas through her head as she did so. White meat, cranberry, brie, and walnuts on sliced rye bread. Lean meat, rocket, cream cheese, honey, and olives in golden buns. Sliced, salted, preserved meat with pear slices, basil, lemon curd, and camembert on brioche. Turkish bread stuffed full to overflowing with juicy, beefy meat slices, tomatoes, lettuce, onion, and tangy relish. Her mouth was watering at the very thought of it.

Finally, she was ready to assemble the sandwiches. All she needed now was the freshly sliced meats. She opened a drawer under the bench and pulled out a steel. She expertly sharpened her knife, marveling at her own dexterity as she watched the blade flash against the rounded steel. She dropped the steel back into the drawer and turned toward the second chiller, the chiller which she always kept securely locked. She pulled the key, linked on the end of the fine gold chain which she wore around her neck, out of her cleavage and placed it in the lock. The key turned with a resounding click and she opened the door, switching on the light as she did so.

Four pairs of terrified eyes stared at her from the walls of the chiller. The four men struggled and fought against their bindings, but it was to no avail. She was very good with knots. The duct tape on their mouths prevented their screams from being heard – people came to the café for peaceful enjoyment and relaxation, not irritating and discordant noises. She looked thoughtfully at her captives. Tim was the freshest, but Kevin’s lean body had proved popular with the patrons yesterday. Beefy Richard’s succulent flesh was a definite addition to today’s array. David was a little pale, clearly his job as a computer technician kept him away from the sun, but his white flesh would pop with her cranberry, brie, and walnut combination. She glanced at Tony. There was not a lot left of him but he was beyond complaining. His flesh had preserved beautifully. She’d had comments all week on the quality of her salted beef. Humming happily, Carrie took a large serving plate from the bottom shelf of the chiller and began to carve.