Bologna Sandwiches
A few days ago a friend said “So I assume you like bologna, or at least it doesn’t make you sick.”
His assumption was correct; although I don’t really like bologna, it doesn’t make me sick.
I smiled and agreed with him, but I couldn’t explain why. I began to consider the reasoning behind it all. The motivation, the purpose, the true meaning of bologna. As I discovered the role it plays in my life, it became obvious that there is so much more going on here than just my lunch.
Given the choice between a bologna sandwich and just about any other food I would drop the bologna in a second. However on any given day you can probably find bologna in my refrigerator. I often eat it for lunch and I have eaten it for dinner on many occasions.
Bologna is the bottom line of lunches. It is the slacker of sandwiches. It gets the job done, it exists, it fills the void and that’s about all. One bologna sandwich is much like another. After a while the taste is irrelevant. Bologna takes on the taste of its surroundings: bread, cheese, mustard. Before the sandwich, my stomach is empty, after the sandwich my stomach is not empty. It is not a dining experience, it’s a fill-the-void experience. No thought is invested, no creativity required.
I eat bologna not because I like the taste but because I don’t give it much thought. The process does not begin in the break room where I eat my pasty little sandwich and pretend to be interested in the same old women’s magazines that I’ve read twice before. The process does not begin in my kitchen when I put the sandwich together in a grumpy haze where the preparation of toast and jam for breakfast seems to conflict with the mustard and cheese of lunch. The whole bologna process begins in the grocery store.
This is the place where decisions are made. Choice, variety, options, there is much to choose from and several variables to take into account. By the time I arrive at the store I am ready to leave. The people, the musak, the lighting, the whole scene bothers me. If I make a list I usually leave it at home and end up buying a few random things on my way towards the exit. I know exactly where the bologna is in the grocery store. I know which brands are cheap. I know the turkey bologna from the pork, chicken and beef byproduct bologna. I even know the German style bologna and I do not recommend it. Once I secure the bologna, all I need is bread and I can make lunch for a few days.
It is not for the lack of sandwich knowledge that I stuck with bologna. I know there something better out there. I have tasted it.
If I wanted to I could make a great sandwich with tomatoes, sprouts, lettuce, onions, cucumbers, avocado, turkey, ham, Dijon mustard, mayo and a few paper thin slices of kosher dill piled high on nine-grain bread.
I spent a couple years making sandwiches for other people. Turkey, ham, roast beef, corned beef, tuna salad, tarragon chicken, BLT, Reuben, hot, cold, toasted, extra mayo, no mayo, no mustard, no lettuce, extra tomatoes, for here and to go. Would you like soup with that? Or maybe a salad? I recommend the tarragon chicken. The tuna salad is excellent, if you like tuna. Would you like that on honey wheat, sourdough, light rye, dark rye or nine grain? Perhaps on a baguette or bagel? And your choice of cheeses: cheddar, swiss, jarlsburg, havarti, cream cheese or no cheese at all.
Before that I worked the graveyard shift in a really bright kitchen making hundreds of sandwiches each night. I made 25 at a time. I was a sandwich machine. Fifty slices of various kinds of bread all laid out, ready for the stuff. It was important to work quickly because the bread, once exposed, would soon dry out in the harsh environment of an industrial kitchen. First I applied the spread, a proprietary mixture of mayonnaise and Dijon mustard, to both slices of bread. (the dijon/mayo ratio was critical) Next, I applied one ounce of cheese per sandwich. The cheese acted as a moisture barrier between the contents of the sandwich and the bread. Then came the meat, two ounces of turkey, ham or roast beef. Finally, tomatoes and lettuce. I had to make sure the lettuce was sliced correctly, not too cole-slaw-thin and not too thick. Then I put the sandwiches together and cut them in half at a flattering 45° angle. A sandwich looks much bigger when the halves are nice isosceles triangles. I placed the sandwich on a polystyrene tray with the sliced surface of both halves facing the same direction, clearly displaying the contents of the sandwich. Finally, I added a garnish. Then shrink wrapped and labeled and priced each one. Then I did it again, and again. I came back the next night and did it a few hundred more times.
It is not for the lack of sandwich knowledge that I am stuck with bologna. I have made enough sandwiches to know that there is something better out there.
Bologna is the baseline. It is the point at which lunch cannot get any lower. In that sense it is comforting. An old friend. A dependable lunch date.
It is not for the lack of funds that I am forced to eat bologna. I am not forced to eat it. I can afford to buy turkey breast, or corned beef, or veggie burgers. I sometimes eat bologna three days in a row, then go out for lunch, order pizza for dinner and spend a week’s worth of grocery money drinking at the bar.
The potential for more is there. It has been there from the beginning and I assume it will be there in a few years. Past experience has proven that something more is possible.
I can talk about it, dream about it, write it down and plan ahead. But it all comes down to a decision, a choice. It takes some thought and a bit of effort. It’s a stretch and then it’s a commitment. When faced with a decision I tend to look way down the road to what I view as the final product, leaving out all the intermediate steps. Most of the time the final product is talked down, discounted and viewed in a poor light. I can talk myself out of something in a second because I make it seem difficult and not worth the effort. Then I fall back on the old standby, the sure thing, good old bologna.
Make a plan for the future and then act on it. Whenever I have a definite plan, an objective, a goal, I have no problem achieving it. However, what I have here is… a failure to plan. Baseline existence. Getting by. Just being. Going through the motions with no goals for the future and no attempt to connect to the grand scheme of things. I have been to the grocery store many times. I can put whatever I want in the cart and buy it. But what do I want?
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this little ditty was written in 1994 when I lived in Bellingham. It was inspired by eating many lunches in the breakroom at Whatcom Pathology Lab with Dr. J Lonner.
brown bag lunches and a breakroom entered my workday existence once again in 2010.
I still eat bologna sandwiches.
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