The first sandwich I remember loving was one I didn’t choose. Somewhere near the water in Michigan, my parents doled out a couple sandwiches to split along with a few bags of chips to preteen-me and my three younger siblings. We’d be sharing—no order-taking, no arguing. We’d never been a summer vacation type of group, but we’d driven to Michigan to visit family so extended that some of us had never met, and the last-minute trip doubled as an escape hatch from Kentucky’s humidity.