Sorry folks, no on-line photos, and my trip is restricted to food memories and the fifteen steps between my kitchen and my potted tomatoes on the porch.
Food favorites can skip a generation or two... this one has. I don't remember anyone of my father's generation eating tomato sandwiches. I do remember that occasionally my paternal grandmother had one, my maternal grandmother less so, and my maternal step-grandfather gobbling them with a sense of joy.
In my teens and twenties, I could not imagine why anyone would eat such a thing.
Now that I'm in my fifties, I do.
I sit with a half eaten tomato sandwich.... (Sorry, three-quarters eaten. I had to take a short break. Gawd these are good!)
Recipe:
- Bread (I used sourdough, though I know my grandparents used store bought white, which was trendy then.)
- Mayo (No I didn't make my own. I used the same brand that my grandparents had used. Home-made mayo is sublime... but in this case it didn't capture the memory.)
- Sliced tomatoes. I grew my own just like my grandparents did. (If you don't get the humor in that last statement, then you're probably a Republican. If you're political affiliations are otherwise and you don't understand, then you've never had a tomato three minutes off the vine.)
- Make a sandwich. (Again, if you cannot do this, you are probably a Republican.)
I would offer a pic of my sandwich... but... well.. now it's gone.
As I said in the beginning, this post is not so much about pictures as it is about trips. Our memories are seldom linked to words and sentences. Most likely, they are linked to pictures. No one's ever said that a word is worth a million pictures. While this may be so, it's harder to fathom.
As time allows, I have been scanning my way through boxes of old photos. With each, the words and stories and trips pour like rain.
