This week Pete got attacked by some kind of fly by night stomach bug. He woke up and tore out of bed around 4am on Sunday night, dashing to the bathroom. He made it, thankfully. A few rounds of puking followed. Since I happen to be an incredible human being, I hopped up to provide all my patented feel better remedies: a glass of cold water and some gentle back rubbing. We fell back asleep immediately and Pete felt alright on Monday, albeit a little left-over gross and sore-throaty.
Now, I figured this was a fluke. He got a little sick. Maybe something he ate? Except that we ate the same thing. Eh. Oh well. He was doing better already!
Then on Tuesday I was attacked by a similar awake-from-slumber-and-run-for-the-bathroom malady. Evidently Pete's system is more of a delicate flower than mine, because he tossed his cookies and evacuated the bug on Sunday. My iron stomach didn't put up the least complaint, but boy-oh-boy, my lower GI tract was NOT PLEASED!
Oh dear. I just realized I'd planned to write a post about food and began by recounting stories of stomach bugs, puking and poops of doom. Sorry about that.
Anyway, we were feeling a touch under the weather this week and cooking dinner just didn't really happen.
Enter my culinary masterpiece: The Gigantwich. The Gigantwich is a horrifying take on the harmless sandwich. It's a kissing-cousin of the Club Sandwich. The definition of a Gigantwhich is a triple layer sandwich, with both layers comprised of the same elements. This ain't no double-decker PB&J. No siree. The Gigantwich is when you are trying to make two sandwiches, but realize you have only 3 pieces of bread.
There you have it folks. Go forth and enjoy.
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