Not all of the sandwiches I make are winners.

Yesterday morning, I decided to make a sammie suggested by a friend of a friend—turkey, mayonnaise, mozzarella cheese, white peaches, daikon radish and wonder bread. It seemed a bit… pale. Whitewashed, even. But I thought it could work.

I swapped out the mayonnaise for a homemade yogurt sauce E used for rack of lamb he cooked the night before—Greek yogurt, a teaspoon or so of cayenne pepper and lemon. I also omitted the daikon radish. I assembled the sandwich and warmed it in the oven. And it tasted….like the most bland sandwich ever. “It’s a bit flat,” E said. But he ate half anyway to show support for my effort.

I went back to the friend and reported on the result. He suggested some tweaks–Granny Smith apples instead of peaches, Swiss cheese instead of mozzarella.

Indeed, honey mustard, turkey and green apple on fresh multigrain bread from Balthazar in Soho was a sweeter, more flavorful combo. E thought so, too, as he munched away on half the sandwich: “Much better than yesterday.”

This reminded me of a situation when E and I were first dating. We grabbed breakfast at a coffee shop near his apartment. He ordered an everything bagel with cream cheese, honey, walnuts and thyme. It looked delicious. Though I drooled over his order, I opted for a plain whole wheat bagel with low-calorie cream cheese. “One boring to go, please,” E told the girl at the counter.

My bagel tasted like cardboard. E’s tasted like nutty deliciousness. “Can I have a bite?” I asked E. Then took another. And another. Then ate half of his bagel.

Lesson learned: Don’t get the plain white bagel. It will never be what you want.

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