Plano Bologna Sandwich

Until recently, I believed that somewhere between the villages of Plano, Il and Sandwich, Il was a town called "Bologna" (aka Baloney). This is because John told Eric and I that when we were little because it was a good pun on his part, but we were too young to get it. (Right? Plano Bologna Sandwich.)

Anyway, I've never ever gone out of my way to make myself a plain old baloney sandwich, because apparently it's a feature of American culture that I consider myself to be above. I am in the middle class after all har har har. When I opened my lunch bag in grade school, I found packed for me: whole wheat bread PB&J, applesauce or cottage cheese and carrots (to clean your teeth afterwards!). Brenda tried making me eat these nasty healthy fruit leathers for a while, but E-Train and I both refused so I think she gave up.

BUT, elitist as I might be, American I still am. When the Seattle Kindergarten went on field trips, the lunch ladies would pack plain old baloney sandwiches, a cookie an apple and a juice box. I would always manage to eat at least 2 or 3 baloney sandwiches, between the extra lunches and the sandwiches not eaten by their child. Guiltily, I ate them, paranoid about getting fat arms.

AND, recently we were at Robert Hines' house when the Jones Big Ass Truck Movie got a million hits, and his wonderful thoughtful wife brought down some snacks for the 8 or so boys who were in her basement drinking beer and talking fanatically about how they were going to get famous or something. She brought down some goldfish crackers, some chex mix and she brought down a tray full of bit size bologna sandwiches on white bread with plenty of mayonnaise and American cheese.

I must have eaten a whole sandwich worth.

I salute you, plain old bologna sandwich. You remind us all how hopelessly boring it is to be American, but damn are you tasty.