All of the heavy foods had us craving a simple quick lunch. In Manchester we were directed to a place called Philpotts. It was sort of like a Panera, crossed with a Starbuck and Subway. Alright, it was a pretty straight forward chain sandwich joint. It was perfect for what we wanted.
We read the sandwich options on the board above the deli fridge counter and approached with confidence. My coworker approached first. I ease dropped so my order would go smoothly.
I’ll have a tuna salad sandwich.
White or brown?
Brown (ok, I get it, white or wheat bread)
Buh-ta or olive oil?
*Perplex face* Butter?
Our sandwich maker lifts the butter and says, You know, buh-tta?
My adorable sweet New Yorker did not find this helpful and without missing a beat… I know what butter is! Doesn’t the tuna salad have mayo in it?
No, no thank you. Just the tuna.
Confused but confident that I also couldn’t imagine having butter on my non toasted sandwich, I quickly navigated the butter question with a NO! I was too stunned to ask about the olive oil.
Later that evening our new Manchester friends insisted we join them for happy hour. I have to interlude with how much I really loved Manchester. It’s nothing what I expected. The city was old and rich with architecture. The winding narrow streets made the bustling city feel cozy and quiet. You almost forgot that you were in a very metropolitan area. The shops, bars and restaurants were all very chic, modern and trendy. So these guys weren’t taking us out for a cheeky pint. They took us to the first swanky cocktail lounge.
My New York coworker and I decided this was a better time then any to discuss our lunch adventure over my hand pressed apple juice with bison grass infused vodka
We went to Philpots to grab a couple of sandwiches for lunch. We have to ask, what’s with the butter?
You don’t put BUH-TA on YORE bread?!
We put butter on our toast.
You don’t put BUH-TA on YORE bread?! You just eat it all DRY?
I have to admit, I was taken back with the reaction. We approached this conversation expecting someone to say, oh yea, no one gets butter on their sandwiches. Your right that’s just a silly British thing. Silly Yanks.
The following day we went back to Philpots anxious to say yes to the buh-tah on our bread. To be fair, my coworker ordered the same tuna sandwich. I decided to go with the chicken salad sandwich. We approach once more.
I’ll have the chicken salad sandwich.
White or brown?
Bu-tah or olive oil?
I watch her grab a couple of chunks of what looks like chicken and places it on my buttered bread. Then she mumbles a question I couldn’t make out. I pull a smile and nod, and say, surprise me. She grabs a handful of lettuce and presses it ontop of the chicken. I quickly realize that I’m in for another lunch surprise.
The top bread comes down, she slices it in half and wraps it up. Its official, I’m literally having a chicken salad on a sandwich. Not chicken salad that has mayo in it much like tuna salad. But I did have BUH-TAH on my BREAD!