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Haha. Truth. How to make a Tomato sandwich John Holt tells how to make it: "Do this. Get a tomato. Not just any tomato. One from Johns Island or elsewhere along the Southern South Carolina coast. Make sure the tomato is firecracker-red and softer than the hindcheeks of a two-month-old. Find a serrated knife. Cut said tomato into thick slices about the width of Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With the Wind.” Tomatoes from the South Carolina Lowcountry are different from common varieties. They are superior tomatoes. In fact, top archaeology scholars at Columbia University now believe that the original Garden of Eden was located east of I-95 in South Carolina. And most experts agree that the forbidden fruit consumed by Adam and Eve was possibly purchased from a roadside stand in that area. Next, find two slices of Sunbeam bread. In a pinch, you can use Bunny Bread, Wonderbread, or Colonial bread. But stay away from any bread with packaging labels that read something like, “59 whole grains and seeds!” or “3,234 grams of dietary fiber!” This isn’t real bread but an abrasive material meant for sanding boat hulls. Consequently, if all you have in your pantry is “gluten-free” or “keto” bread, please stop reading here. Once you have your white, floppy, flaccid, tasteless bread ready, open a jar of Duke’s mayonnaise. Duke’s is the brand with the canary-yellow lid, manufactured and packaged by real evangelical seminary graduates so you know it’s sacred, mostly. If you don’t have any Duke’s, you’re not totally out of luck. Blue Plate mayonnaise will also work if it’s all that’s available. Hellmann’s, however, isn’t fit for consumption by a Yankee. Similarly, Miracle Whip is neither a “miracle,” nor a “whip,” but the brainchild of communists sympathizers who don’t love the Lord. And Kraft mayo is industrial doorknob lubricant. It bears mentioning, if all you have in your refrigerator is a kind of mayonnaise labeled “light” or “low fat”, please forfeit your tomato to someone who will use it correctly and resume doing Crossfit until your buttocks turn into tiny shriveled prunes. Next, use a No. 8 masonry trowel to apply approximately one gallon of approved mayonnaise onto your limp, lifeless, nutrition-free bread. If the bread is still visible after mayonnaise application, you did it wrong. Step Four. Carefully place slices of tomato onto your prepared bread. If, by chance, your bread has already absorbed too much mayonnaise and tomato juices and is now disintegrating into a papier-mache-like puddle on your kitchen counter, and it no longer resembles bread, congratulations, you’re on the right track. Salt and pepper to taste. If you discover that you are tempted to add cheese or onions or lettuce or something else weird to your sandwich, thereby violating the Holy Trinity of tomatoes, mayo, and bread, please step away from the cutting board. Take deep breaths, open a can of Natural Light, and start sipping until the urge passes. Next, place both segments of your sandwich together slowly and softly. Warning: Do not compress sandwich. Do not cut sandwich in half. Do not even blink or your sandwich will fall apart. Now, gently lift your sandwich—very gently—as though you are assisting in a heart transplant operation. Walk across the kitchen and stand over the sink. Say grace silently. Go ahead, we’ll wait. To eat sandwich, open mouth wide, place one corner into mouth and bite firmly. Your tomato wedges should slip from between the pieces of bread, shooting forward, falling directly into your sink, leaving you with two naked pieces of bread. If this does not happen you did not use enough mayonnaise. Retrieve tomato hunks from the basin of your nasty, crud-covered, salmonella-encrusted sink while cussing liberally. Replace mangled remains of tomato onto sandwich and attempt to eat sandwich a second time, making sure to mash your soggy, glutenous, snot-like bread pieces together until they are indistinguishable from lumps of Elmer’s Glue. After the third or fourth bite, the front of your shirt should be stained red, covered in tiny seeds and your kitchen should look like a hog killing has recently been performed on the linoleum. When your sandwich expenditure is finished, you can slap yourself heartily on the shoulder because you have just eaten a proper tomato sandwich. You may now recite the ceremonial benediction uttered by South Carolinians statewide every summer: “Thank you, Lord, for chicken and ‘taters, “For grits, white rice, and baby limas. “But most of all, thank you for all the ‘maters, “From God’s country of South Carolina. “Amen.” – John Holt (via Tom Collins)

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Aw, I get the holy trinity thing, and of course Duke's, but a truly righteous tomato sandwich has Lay's potato chips on it. Original, plain, not ranch or barbeque and especially not wavy or ruffled chips, just plain ol' original Lay's to add both crunch and salt to said sandwich, making it an edible work of art to be savored.