Yesterday I think I received a better representation of the divine feast: a Mahony's French Fries Po-Boy. Ever since the NYTimes article I have been drooling in anticipaton that sandwich. The VOR and I hoped to sample one at the Po-Boy festival but by the time we arrived they had already sold out (plus they were not selling that sandwich there anyway). Yesterday the chef at church prepared Meatloaf - although the chef cooks with a high degree of tastefulness I still cannot handle even his meatloaf. So after a noon time meeting I snuck down to Magazine Street, walked up the steps to the establishment, and ordered the sandwich.
After a few minutes the server handed me my made to order sandwich. I greedily liberated it from its dual prison of the bag and wax paper. The sandwich thanked me for my liberation with a rich aroma of gravy and an unbelievable flavor that can only be described as a mouth full of heaven.
Indeed this Sunday I will feast on a geometrically shaped portion of bread and a plastic shot glass full of grape juice; I will try to recall a meal with my ancestors a meal of celebration, a meal of grace, a meal of courage; it will be a foretaste of glory divine. But until Jesus comes back or I go over yonder I am fine with the sensory overload of a sandwich laid open with roast beef, cheddar cheese, french fries, and gravy while I wait.