Look, this is my litmus test: I pretend I am the original Earl of Sandwich. I have asked for non-bread foods to be brought to me inside bread, that I might more easily consume them one-handed while gambling.
This does not enable my wretched regency habits. This is not what I asked for. I do not deign to grace it with the name of my house.
This is the most important addition to the sandwich discourse I have ever read.
This reminds me of the time I went to the beach with some other philosophy grad students (all men except me) and they (we) spent, like, two hours debating the necessary and sufficient conditions for sandwichhood and trying to counterexample each other’s theories. Is pizza a sandwich? Is a knish a sandwich? Are ravioli sandwiches?
The moral of the story is never start this conversation with philosophers.
Loki is the Philosopher King 