...but what is miga?
This is miga. (I did not take this picture, I found it on this blog, of a miga-lover.)
Believe it or not, this is a sandwich. Argentina's favorite sandwich, in fact. What's in there? 3 thin slices of white bread (no crust) with one slice of ham and one slice of tasteless orangy cheese, separated by the middle piece of bread. Oh, and mayonnaise. The mayo is the thickest layer of the sandwich.
Miga FAQs?
What does miga taste like? Nothing. Well, not nothing. It kind of tastes like a ham flavored angle food cake with mayonnaise frosting.
Where can I get me some miga? Everywhere. Super/Maxikioskos are big purveyors of miga, where it sits for days in the refrigerators that don't quite fit into the kiosk space (the grander the prefix, the small the kiosk). Miga can even be found in the nicest corner café, but it is still the exact same thing. It is also the standard fare for 15-hour-bus meals. Packed in a styrofoam tray alongside a bun with ham and cheese on the side, a packet of mayonnaise, and 2 alfajores.
Why doesn't it have crust? Since elementary school, I have pondered the strange behaviors of my peers who requested the crust be sliced off their sandwiches. To me, the crust is the best part. The crustier the better, I say. Don't even get me started on Uncrustables. Actually now that I think about it, I bet Uncrustables were invented by an Argentine miga lover. I think they use the same "bread". Anyways, the image of miga in my mind got even worse the day I saw a woman walking down the street with two blocks of miga bread under her arms. Yeah, blocks of crustless white bready stuff, bigger than a shoe box. Just a big 'ol block of miga.
Why are Argentines devoted to miga? It's cheap. It has ham and cheese and mayonnaise. If you want to find success in Argentina, just find a way to incorporate these 4 things into whatever endeavor you choose.
These are my thoughts on miga. Now I'm going to spend a long time, trying not to think about it. Happy lunching, America.
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