Growing up in a single parent household, my mom was broke — often — ok, not just often — more like all the time. Cheap cuts of meat and processed meats were often the main course. The king of them, of course, was ground beef. My mother could make it taste good six ways from Sunday and back again. Then you have your hot dogs, then the old standby, baloney — or bologna, depending on how uppity you feel like being at the moment. Where I come from, we call it baloney (buh-lone-ee).
Now baloney is a being in and of itself. It can take on all sorts of properties. Back in Missouri where I grew up, the baloney usually came either prepackaged or, if we were especially fortunate, sliced at the deli counter or lunchmeat counter. Up here in the Philadelphia area, they have this stuff called Lebanon baloney. That’s some good eats. It has more characteristics of salami than baloney. But I digress. . .
Oh yeah, the baloney . . . so if we got a few extra bucks and were able to afford the “good” baloney, it was usually sliced fresh and thick with the rind on. If we were really good, we got some German baloney. That was some good stuff. Speaking of baloney sliced with the rind on, they don’t do that up here in Philly. They peel it back and then slice it paper thin. While I’ve grown to like my baloney really thin, I’ve found that in order to prepare the true delicacy that is a fried baloney sandwich, the baloney has to be thick — well, not like half an inch or anything — but certainly much thicker than how it is generally sliced in these parts. So, it must be thick — anything else just won’t work.
Growing up we ate fried baloney sandwiches — a LOT. Baloney, after all, was one of the staple meats in our household. We ate so much of it that I swore when I had my own house and a ton of money, I would NEVER make my kids eat baloney. NEVER EVER. By the time I was 12, I had adopted the attitude that I certainly wouldn’t be upset if I never ate another fried baloney sandwich ever again in my life.
But, as life often does, we come to eat our words. In the instant case, literally. So I grew up, got the house, but am still waiting for the money. As such, baloney is also one of those family staples that often finds its way into my grocery cart during those extra frugal shopping trips that occur usually right before payday.
My kids can eat some baloney. If given the choice of steak, lobster or baloney, they’d take the baloney. Especially Katie. She loves her some baloney. It’s not her all time favorite thing at the moment, but she does seem to prefer it over other luncheon meats. The other day I happened to grab a package of baloney. Hell, it was .99 cents; with our trip to Missouri next week and Christmas the following week, things are kinda tight.
So today after school, I offered to make her a sandwich (or sammich) for lunch today. She had the choice of turkey ham or baloney. “Baloney!!!” she said with great enthusiasm. So I’m fixing her up a good old-fashioned baloney and cheese — on wheat ;0) (hey, gotta throw something healthy in there; maybe the whole grains could counterbalance all the stuff-that-I-really-don’t-want-to-know-about-that-baloney-is-made-of). So I hook her up.
Then a bizarre thing happened: I got a hankering for a fried baloney sandwich. Now I’ve craved some weird shit in my life — the most bizarre being liver and fried onions with a side of pickled beets when I was pregnant with both children. But, never in a million did I think I would ever want a fried baloney sandwich. Never-ever. So I thought what the hell, it’s a special day with Dad getting out, why not wax nostaligic?
So I got the skillet out, got it nice and hot. Slapped two honkin slices of good ol’ chock-full-a-nitrates and Lord knows what else baloney in that skillet. With the first sizzle, I went right back to childhood. The aroma of fried baloney is something that illicits such fond memories of that time. I went right back to that summer of ‘84, when my 9 year old brother, always the adventurer, caught himself a big huge catfish about 5 inches long, then brought it home in an ice cream bucket, fully expecting to keep it as a pet (yeah, that flew with Mom like a ton of lead turds).
But, again, I digress . . . remember now, I have ADD, so this may happen from time to time . . . try to keep up with my erratic thought patterns ;0)
So I fried up my baloney and slapped a slice of prepackaged American cheese on it. Oops, sorry: pasteurized pre-processed cheese FOOD. YUMMY! Schmeared a little mayo (mmm, more cholesterol) and a little dribble of mustard on the bread, then delicately placed my baloney/melted cheese lasagna on the bread and dug on in.
OH. MY. LAWD.
I had forgotten how good those sumbitches are!!! Holy HELL! I enjoyed that sammich. Boy did I ever. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the delicate combination of melted pasteurized processed cheese food combined with melted saturated chicken/pork/beef fat and Lord-knows-what-else, but the memories that it illicited. It’s funny how something so seemingly insignificant can take us right back to a specific time in our lives. It’s a wonderful thing.
But, now that I’m old and all that shit, I know I won’t be able to scarf them down like I used to as a kid. But, every once in awhile, I’m gonna have me a fried baloney sammich. Hell, I might even have to break out the cherry Kool-Aid and have Dad ship up a bag of KAS barbecue potato chips (if they still make them) to complete the whole trip down memory lane. ;0)
Now baloney is a being in and of itself. It can take on all sorts of properties. Back in Missouri where I grew up, the baloney usually came either prepackaged or, if we were especially fortunate, sliced at the deli counter or lunchmeat counter. Up here in the Philadelphia area, they have this stuff called Lebanon baloney. That’s some good eats. It has more characteristics of salami than baloney. But I digress. . .
Oh yeah, the baloney . . . so if we got a few extra bucks and were able to afford the “good” baloney, it was usually sliced fresh and thick with the rind on. If we were really good, we got some German baloney. That was some good stuff. Speaking of baloney sliced with the rind on, they don’t do that up here in Philly. They peel it back and then slice it paper thin. While I’ve grown to like my baloney really thin, I’ve found that in order to prepare the true delicacy that is a fried baloney sandwich, the baloney has to be thick — well, not like half an inch or anything — but certainly much thicker than how it is generally sliced in these parts. So, it must be thick — anything else just won’t work.
Growing up we ate fried baloney sandwiches — a LOT. Baloney, after all, was one of the staple meats in our household. We ate so much of it that I swore when I had my own house and a ton of money, I would NEVER make my kids eat baloney. NEVER EVER. By the time I was 12, I had adopted the attitude that I certainly wouldn’t be upset if I never ate another fried baloney sandwich ever again in my life.
But, as life often does, we come to eat our words. In the instant case, literally. So I grew up, got the house, but am still waiting for the money. As such, baloney is also one of those family staples that often finds its way into my grocery cart during those extra frugal shopping trips that occur usually right before payday.
My kids can eat some baloney. If given the choice of steak, lobster or baloney, they’d take the baloney. Especially Katie. She loves her some baloney. It’s not her all time favorite thing at the moment, but she does seem to prefer it over other luncheon meats. The other day I happened to grab a package of baloney. Hell, it was .99 cents; with our trip to Missouri next week and Christmas the following week, things are kinda tight.
So today after school, I offered to make her a sandwich (or sammich) for lunch today. She had the choice of turkey ham or baloney. “Baloney!!!” she said with great enthusiasm. So I’m fixing her up a good old-fashioned baloney and cheese — on wheat ;0) (hey, gotta throw something healthy in there; maybe the whole grains could counterbalance all the stuff-that-I-really-don’t-want-to-know-about-that-baloney-is-made-of). So I hook her up.
Then a bizarre thing happened: I got a hankering for a fried baloney sandwich. Now I’ve craved some weird shit in my life — the most bizarre being liver and fried onions with a side of pickled beets when I was pregnant with both children. But, never in a million did I think I would ever want a fried baloney sandwich. Never-ever. So I thought what the hell, it’s a special day with Dad getting out, why not wax nostaligic?
So I got the skillet out, got it nice and hot. Slapped two honkin slices of good ol’ chock-full-a-nitrates and Lord knows what else baloney in that skillet. With the first sizzle, I went right back to childhood. The aroma of fried baloney is something that illicits such fond memories of that time. I went right back to that summer of ‘84, when my 9 year old brother, always the adventurer, caught himself a big huge catfish about 5 inches long, then brought it home in an ice cream bucket, fully expecting to keep it as a pet (yeah, that flew with Mom like a ton of lead turds).
But, again, I digress . . . remember now, I have ADD, so this may happen from time to time . . . try to keep up with my erratic thought patterns ;0)
So I fried up my baloney and slapped a slice of prepackaged American cheese on it. Oops, sorry: pasteurized pre-processed cheese FOOD. YUMMY! Schmeared a little mayo (mmm, more cholesterol) and a little dribble of mustard on the bread, then delicately placed my baloney/melted cheese lasagna on the bread and dug on in.
OH. MY. LAWD.
I had forgotten how good those sumbitches are!!! Holy HELL! I enjoyed that sammich. Boy did I ever. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the delicate combination of melted pasteurized processed cheese food combined with melted saturated chicken/pork/beef fat and Lord-knows-what-else, but the memories that it illicited. It’s funny how something so seemingly insignificant can take us right back to a specific time in our lives. It’s a wonderful thing.
But, now that I’m old and all that shit, I know I won’t be able to scarf them down like I used to as a kid. But, every once in awhile, I’m gonna have me a fried baloney sammich. Hell, I might even have to break out the cherry Kool-Aid and have Dad ship up a bag of KAS barbecue potato chips (if they still make them) to complete the whole trip down memory lane. ;0)
