The Sandwich Situation

I was in a train station somewhere remote—not quite rural, but undeniably decrepit in that long-term, no-one’s-fixing-this-ever sort of way. Everything was grey. Even the light was grey. Cold in atmosphere, though I don’t recall actually feeling cold. It was the sort of place where time had simply given up.

Jennifer sat on my left. We were waiting. For what, don’t ask me—no one ever knows these things in dreams. That’s when I noticed the food situation.

There was exactly one option: a chicken salad sandwich. Or rather, a DIY chicken salad sandwich.

One slice of bread—individually wrapped in cellophane, like some tragic museum exhibit—and a small plastic cup containing a lonely scoop of chicken salad. No lettuce, no napkin, not even the courtesy of a second slice. Just… components.

Since I can’t eat bread, I gave mine to Jennifer and stared at the cup for a while, half expecting it to slither away under its own power.

Then, as often happens in dreams, Jennifer vanished. Amanda, my sister, materialized in her place, sitting on a parallel bench looking quietly amused. Her expression said, You’re being particular again.

And maybe I was. But really—if you’re going to offer food, could it at least resemble food?

I took a few bites. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good. It was simply there. The Switzerland of chicken salad.

That’s when the manager appeared. Dressed, predictably, in grey. “How’s the food?” he asked.

And because I have yet to master the art of smiling vaguely and saying nothing, I told him the truth.

“It doesn’t have to be this boring,” I said.

Not unkindly—just honestly.

He looked startled. People usually do when you suggest life could be better with a little effort. So I explained.

“Pickles,” I said. “You’ve got them, right? When the jar’s empty, don’t throw away the juice. It’s water and vinegar and herbs. It’s flavor. It’s free magic. Add a bit to the chicken salad—brightens everything. Costs nothing.”

He blinked, possibly trying to decide if this was a customer complaint or divine revelation.

Then I woke up—absurdly pleased with myself for having revolutionized the culinary standards of dreamland. Somewhere, in some corner of my subconscious, that manager’s still marinating chicken salad in pickle juice and wondering who on earth that woman was.

🥄 The Chicken Salad (That Should’ve Been in the Dream)

Now, if I’d been served my version of chicken salad in that dream, I wouldn’t have woken up unsettled—I’d have woken up hungry and possibly demanding seconds.

Here’s how I actually make it.

Ingredients:

• 2 cups cooked chicken (shredded or diced)

• 1/2 cup mayonnaise

• 1/4 cup chopped green onions

• 1 tsp mustard

• 1/2 tsp Season-All

• 1/4 tsp black pepper

• 2–4 tsp dill pickle juice (start small and taste as you go)

• Optional: 1/8 tsp chili powder (because Texas)

Instructions: Mix everything in a big bowl. Start with a teaspoon of pickle juice, stir, taste, and keep going until it sings. Serve cold, with or without bread.