One Occult Sandwich Is Worth 300 Regular Sandwiches

by Molly Kottemann

“Maybe I needed to prove that I’m wife material. If he wanted 300 sandwiches, I’d give him 300 sandwiches.”


To get your boyfriend to propose: Order organic seven-grain bread that has been made by nuns (it is VERY IMPORTANT that the bread has been handled only by chaste women. Man-touched bread will nullify this sandwich.) While waiting for your bread to ship, bury seven pieces of capicola and seven pieces of finocchiona under an alder tree during a waxing moon, and keep a sachet of mayonnaise in your bra, next to your heart, at all times. When the moon is full, dig up your meats and assemble the sandwich by alternating pieces of consecrated salumi with the mayo and very thinly sliced heirloom tomatoes. Serve it to him with cornichons.

To get a cookbook deal: Cast a circle with Maldon sea salt. Use squid ink and a quill carved out of a scallion to inscribe the following spell upon three slices of bufala mozzarella:

Nigella, Contessa, Julia and Julie
Heed my call of milk and fire!
Take my blood, anima, coulis
And give to me my heart’s desire!

Drizzle cheese with ouzo and set aflame. Put it in a brioche with some lamb’s quarters and puréed pasilla peppers, then eat in darkness while meditating upon which channel you want to host your inevitable brand-expansion reality show.

To increase blog traffic: Wrap a computer chip in a leaf from a century-old oak with thyme, skullcap herb and alfalfa, and tie it six times with red twine. Place it in the crisper drawer in your refrigerator — the longer the better, but for at least three nights. When you are ready, take every vegetable that came in contact with your prosperity-bundle, julienne, and mix with sour cream, mustard seed, and vinegar to form a nice slaw. You can put the slaw on whatever kind of sandwich you want, as long as you post “Cauponor Augmenti, Dolor Minui” on six different subreddits before midnight.

To resurrect your boyfriend from the dead, should he die from staphylococcal food poisoning from the disinterred capicola: Mix vino de madre, nine drops of your own blood, and nine anguished tears. Simmer with turbinado sugar and pennyroyal until it acquires a gelatinous texture. Once cooled, spread the blood-jam on French Mini Toasts with shaved burdock root to taste. Light five black candles and put tiny sandwich under your dead boyfriend’s pillow. Expect a knock upon the door.

To get a new boyfriend: Order a pizza from the best pizza place in your neighborhood that has free delivery on Grubhub. Sprinkle two slices with red clover flowers, coriander seeds, lovage, and juniper berries. Marry them together, crusts outward, and tie them into a linen pouch that you must keep ‘round your waist until you sense the stirrings of new love. At this point, you may hear an inner voice that is telling you to just eat the rest of the pizza, drink some gin, and watch the pilot of Sleepy Hollow. Permit yourself to listen to this voice. We’re sorry we wasted two slices of your pizza.

Elsewhere: #300feministsandwiches

Photo via buckshotjones/flickr.

Molly Kottemann is a scientist who lives in Brooklyn, where she can safely indulge her scandalous habit of writing about non-sciency things. More of her writing can be found on Tumblr.