|Bologna: Food of Kings|
I cannot stand the stuff, now. But, it was once a staple in our childhood. Every Sunday evening, we had bologna sandwiches, bread and butter pickles, longhorn cheese, Sunbeam bread smeared with Miracle Whip, and potato chips.
I recall how we sat down at the table, just as if this were one of my mom’s pot roast dinners.
My father enjoyed, no, he loved bologna. He once told me of a vow he made when he was 9 years old. His father had died in 1932 and the family was left almost destitute. Every school day Dad and sister Helen placed left-over biscuits sliced in half, and smeared with bacon grease in lunch bucket.
|Dad is in front center, holding the ball. His sister is behind him in the second row.|
That, with a jug of milk, was their daily lunch at the country school.
“I made a promise to myself, that when I was grown-up, I would have all the bologna I could eat.” The other children at the school were better off; they had bologna and cheese on store-bought white bread every day.
So, on Sunday nights, we sat around the table and lived his dream. The image of the pleasure on Dad's face as he took that first bite is fondly held in my mind and heart.