My best friend in elementary school lunched on Vegemite sandwiches daily. He used, as I recall, some sort of oval-shaped bread — French, perhaps, or sourdough. Two thick slices of bread concealed a veneer of brown, sticky substance between them. He never tired of Vegemite. His mother hailed from Australia, and his father once beat Bobby Fischer in chess. The chess part probably had no influence on the contents of Andrew’s brown bags, but the Australian part certainly did.
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