I Found and Lost Love Between Two Slices of Bread

The Todd is the staple item from Mid Chihuahua, every slightly racist guy from your English class’s favourite coffee shop at UBC. Here’s how to make it, Photograph by August Ofwind


2 servings


Step 1

The first time I tried the Todd, it tasted like heaven. The crispy focaccia, gochujang and glistening strings of melted brie turn a simple breakfast sandwich into a baroque symphony. The last time I tasted the Todd, it tasted like heartbreak.

The Todd is the staple item from Mid Chihuahua, every slightly racist guy from your English class’s favourite coffee shop at UBC. Here’s how to make it.

To make the Todd, first, you must understand it. Technically, the Todd’s name on the menu is ‘the LGBT’ (lettuce, gochujang, brie and tuna), but we’re on a first name basis, so I’ll stick with ‘Todd.’

The Todd is quick and simple to make at home, perfect for any beginner cook.

You’ll need over 20 different ingredients which can’t be found at your local Spend-On-Foods, so you’ll need to go to that one expensive locally-sourced artisanal hipster “living wage” family-run grocery store across town.

Why all the trouble for a simple sandwich? I wanted this recipe to reflect how much Todd means to me — and how it cost me everything.

The first time I tried Todd was with my boyfriend at the time. His TA for SAND 420: Bre(a)d for Success brought up the LGBT earlier that week during a class discussion (ally!), so we decided to try it out.

We wove our way through the intersecting construction sites between Buchanan and Mid Chihuahua together. We walked hand-in-hand (so I wouldn’t blow away in the wind tunnel), finally arriving at our destination, which would soon become the site of my downfall.

When our sandwiches arrived, I finally learned what love is. Seeing the melted brie and gochujang drip off my sandwich into a creamy waterfall, the luxurious combination of fish and dairy filling the air, it all made sense to me. I forgot all about my boyfriend’s clammy palms that once held my own. It was just me and Todd — together, forever, in a euphoric eating experience that activated all my saliva glands at once…tantalising…unforgettable…

I savoured every bite, the cacophony of flavours bouncing off my tongue. But when I finished, I felt a lunch-shaped void in my stomach. My first moments with Todd were too short; I needed more.

After walking my boyfriend to to to take the 99 to Commercial (yeah, we did long-distance), I went back to see him (Todd) again. Then I went back the next day. And the next. Only Todd’s crisp lettuce and fermented chili tang could satisfy the hunger burning within.

The new year came, and my boyfriend decided his resolution was to experience twink death and go full twunk. While at first I loyally supported his twunkification, his health kick soon started to seep into my life.

One fateful day in February, my boyfriend said the most offensive thing I have ever heard: “Let’s just get one LGBT. It’s the perfect size for sharing!”

I was aghast. What was he saying? How could we possibly split my perfect sandwich? Having Todd to myself was barely enough (this is also when I learned poly is not for me).

Suddenly I was screaming how much Todd meant to me. “Girl, who’s Todd?” he had the audacity to ask.

Had the manager not separated us, I would have resorted to violence (that’s what love does to a motherfucker, I guess).

Needless to say, my boyfriend broke up with me after that. I was also banned from Mid Chihuahua. For life. For “harshing the vibe” or whatever.

Ever since then, the memory of Todd has remained with me.

I’m not sure I’m ready to let Todd go. Sure, it’s been years, but it was my first love. Writing down a recipe to recreate Todd at home won’t bring our time together back. If anything it’ll tarnish what little I have of him…

I don’t think I’m quite ready to let Todd go just yet. I still can’t share him with the world. Go make a PB&J or something instead.