On New Year’s Day we eat a sandwich in an Amsterdam sandwich shop.
One of those with women talking far too loudly, far too smartly, behind the counter.
The man next to me asks for a tartare sandwich, and can he also have an egg on it? “Something like that has been called a special sandwich here for 75 years” is the snide answer – and whether it should also be served with mayonnaise.
“It doesn’t have to be that special,” the man replies.
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