The lunch bell rang, and the 4th grade kids reached beneath their desks to pull out their brown paper sacks and lunch boxes. Beneath the napkin, cookie, and apple, we all hoped for one thing. A bologna sandwich.
A bologna sandwich was like a ribeye steak in a kid’s lunch box or bag. Sometimes, we had PP &J sammies and they were okay, but they couldn’t compare to a slice of bologna sandwich, slathered in mayo and mustard and squeezed beneath two fresh slices of white bread.
I was in the grocery store recently looking for some sandwich meats. I usually go for sliced ham or turkey, or maybe tuna fish for a salad when I saw a package of thick Gwaltney bologna. I hadn’t enjoyed a bologna sandwich in I don’t know how long, so I bought it.
For lunch the next day, I put a pat of butter in the frying pan and slapped a wedge of bologna on top, frying it to a crispy brown before adding a slice of cheese. Next, I put the bologna and cheese between two slices of bread and fried the sandwich until golden brown. With the first bite, I remembered why I so much enjoyed bologna sandwiches. I wolfed it down with a stack of potato chips and was in my happy place.
Then, I thought I heard the teacher say, “Lunch is over. Turn your history books to page 84.”
There is something about a bologna sandwich that brings back great memories.
