300 Sandwiches: A Multilayered Love Story . . . with Recipes
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
“Honey, you are 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring.”
When New York Post writer Stephanie Smith made a turkey and Swiss on white bread for her boyfriend, Eric (aka E), he took one bite and uttered those now-famous words. While her beau’s declaration initially seemed unusual, even antiquated, Stephanie accepted the challenge and got to work. Little did she know she was about to cook up the sexiest and most controversial love story of her generation.
300 Sandwiches is the story of Stephanie and E’s epic journey of bread and betrothal, with a whole loaf of recipes to boot. For Stephanie, a novice in the kitchen, making a sandwich—or even 300—for E wasn’t just about getting a ring; it was her way of saying “I love you” while gaining confidence as a chef. It was about how many breakfast sandwiches they could eat together on future Sunday mornings, how many s’mores might follow family snowboarding trips, how many silly fights would end in makeup sandwiches. Suddenly, she saw a lifetime of happiness between those two slices of bread.
Not everyone agreed. The media dubbed E “the Internet’s Worst Boyfriend”; bloggers attacked the loving couple for setting back the cause of women’s rights; opinions about their romance echoed from as far away as Japan. Soon, Stephanie found her cooking and her relationship under the harsh glare of the spotlight.
From culinary twists on peanut butter and jelly to “Not Your Mother’s Roast Beef” spicy French Dip to Chicken and Waffle BLTs, Stephanie shares the creations—including wraps, burritos, paninis, and burgers—that ultimately sated E’s palate and won his heart. Part recipe book, part girl-meets-boy memoir, 300 Sandwiches teaches us that true love always wins out—one delicious bite at a time.
1973 Corelle Old Town Blue and Snowflake Blue patterned dinnerware sets every time I come home. I’ve seen them at other people’s houses, particularly in wood-paneled dining rooms. If you grew up in the ’80s, I’m sure you’ve seen these plates before. A few years ago, I bought her a brand-new set of white glass plates from Crate and Barrel as a Christmas gift, since my parents had rebuilt their home in Michigan. They were pretty enough for special occasions, but basic enough for everyday use.
We walked slowly, with intention, toward the back, where a glass desk was set up near a private office. On the desk were four more glasses of freshly poured champagne sitting on a tray and a rectangular plate of petits fours. “Would you like anything to eat?” Jody offered. We grabbed another glass of champagne. Jody brought out a tray of traditional rings. Princess cuts, emerald cuts, oval cut, halo settings, some with baguettes on the sides, others with pavé stones along the band. I tried them
that to him. We’ll keep it super-casual. We don’t even have to go to the courthouse, we’ll do some quick vows, and then we’ll have a simple brunch and call it a day. We’ll order Chinese food afterward! And people can wear jeans or flannel shirts or whatever he wants to wear. Easy. What do you say?” He was able to plan this faster than he planned a weekend snowboarding trip upstate. “Are you just doing this because of my father?” “No, I’m doing this because I want to. I want to give your father
eased my mind as I flew home to New York, repacked my bag, and headed to the airport. “I’ll see you in two weeks, Dad,” I told him. He smiled. Our Barbados vacation was not to be a romantic lovers’ escape, but rather a kitesurfing boot camp, where beginners like me would take lessons and the more experienced would do long downwinders along the sandy golden beach until sunset. Two other friends of ours, Vicky and Brad, and another buddy of Graham’s, Tony, met us on the island, and the six of us
We danced around each other as we shuffled from the refrigerator to the oven to the sink. I chopped onions like a pro and tossed them into a bowl, while he sautéed meat. “Should I pop the tomatoes in the oven to roast?” I asked him. “Yep, and I’ll get started on the fish,” he said. We opened a bottle of crisp rosé as we cooked, and poured two glasses. E raised his glass to mine. Clink! “To us,” he said. “I love you.” We cranked up some music, the soothing voice of Diana Krall wafting from our