Who says lunch meat can't be memorable?
We asked you to share your recollections of bologna.
Many of your sentiments could be summed up by Patti Mulvihill of Modesto, who wrote, "... your request for memories of bologna brought a smile to my face and a skip in my step." Here's more:
Mom's fried sandwich was the best
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Oh my, what childhood memories this brings back to my taste buds (I'm 63). My mom used to make fried bologna sandwiches for me several times a week. She used pre-sliced bologna, but it came in much thicker slices than you can buy today. She cut three slits around the edge (to keep it from curling up) and fried it in (real) butter. She served it on regular white bread with mayo and plain mustard and regular potato chips. We didn't have any special flavors back then. Yum! I tried replicating the sandwich a few years ago, but it just didn't taste the same. The bologna was too thin and I probably used wheat bread and brown mustard. Thank you for reviving this memory for me. It was one of my favorites!
Dipped in chocolate
Back in the '60s, when I was growing up, my mom considered white bread, mayonnaise and bologna to be important staples in our home. Bologna sandwiches were evidently a food group and served often. Back then, I would complement the sandwich by dipping every bite into my chocolate milk. Seemed to slide down really well. Now I can't imagine ruining anything chocolate by pairing it with bologna!
Sandwich for teacher
When I was in preschool in Florida, my mother would make me a bologna sandwich with mustard every day. My teacher, Miss Susan, thought they looked so good that my mom made one for her the next day. After that, my mom continued making the two bologna sandwiches every day for the entire year.
Fishing with dad
When dad took us fishing at the river, we took bologna, a loaf of bread and a six pack of Pepsi in bottles. I remember that more than the fishing. I still like bologna today, except maybe not as much.
Fried to perfection
I was raised on bolognie and loved, loved it!! Especially when is was FRIED to a nice dark brown patina. With mayo, lettuce, fresh tomato and onion … we always had to cut a slit in the middle of it before frying, so it wouldn't puff up. I loved to sit outside at the picnic table to eat my bolognie sandwich and sip sweet tea! Plain or fried, there was nothing better!
Butcher did a favor
New York in the 1950s afforded wonderful memories of our neighborhood butcher. My mom would send me to Karl's Butcher Shop to get hamburger meat for dinner (called "chuck chopped" in New York and "ground beef" in California). For 65 cents, I would get a pound of premium chuck chopped and wrapped to go. Since Karl also sliced deli meats (called "cold cuts" in New York), I would then ask Karl for the "end of the bologna" and he would slice off the end chunk from the bologna log and give it to me. I would eat it on the way walking home. To this day, the first bite of a bologna sandwich sends me back to the streets of New York walking home from Karl the butcher.
Set off smoke alarm
The funniest memory I have involving bologna was fixing fried bologna sandwiches for children I baby-sat when I was in high school. Each week, they would request fried bologna sandwiches for lunch. Every time, without fail, the smoke alarm would go off while I was cooking them. The kids would all start screaming and I would be waving a towel at the alarm to dissipate the smoke. I still laugh about it today. The sandwiches were delicious and worth all the chaos.
Stretching the budget
As a single mother in the '50s, my mother often did an incredible job of stretching the little money she had to feed two growing daughters. She adapted the military cuisine known as SOS, using bologna. It involved cutting slices of bologna into into small pieces and stirring them into a gravy made of flour, milk, salt and pepper to heat. This was served over a piece of toasted bread. My sister and I didn't like it very much, but it was filling and left us with lasting memories of making the best of difficult times.
Sustained their love
I met my husband on Feb. 21, 1947. Our pastime was eating bologna sandwiches. He was a senior at Ceres High School. He always had bologna sandwiches for lunch. His mother made them. When we started going together, he would come to Modesto High School and (we would) have lunch together. He shared his sandwich with me. I was 16 at the time, so (I) had two more years of high school. He went to MJC the following two years and (we continued) to meet for lunch. We married in 1950 and he passed on June 30, 2007. They were beautiful memories for me. We continued to enjoy bologna sandwiches all those years.
Meals on long drives
When I was growing up, our family would make frequent trips to our home state of Wisconsin. My dad would drive day and night to get there and my parents always packed food to eat in the car. The main staple I remember is a piece of bologna put on top of a sweet roll — and it had to be Oscar Mayer Bologna! We never made a trip back there without the bologna and sweet rolls. Believe it or not, the whole family enjoyed that.
I used to love fried bologna sandwiches on the new (circa '59-'60) "batter whipped" bread … no holes! I would cut a slab of bolonny (ha!) from the round mom bought, fry it up and eat it on white bread slathered with Miracle Whip. Still sounds pretty dang good, if not so healthy by today's standards, but kids did not worry about such things then.
In good times, bad
My mom had a small country store in Decatur, Ala., in an African- American neighborhood. We certainly ate a lot of bologna sandwiches. It was in the '30s and times were very hard. My mother was very good to people no matter what color their skin was. She had black friends. A lot of people treated them bad. One day, a young lady came in and wanted a sandwich. Mom opened a loaf of bread and took bologna and made her a sandwich. Her friend asked her if she was going to give her husband some of the sandwich. She said, "Nah, my old man ain't getting none of this sandwich." We only had the grocery store a few months. Before that, my mom and dad had 40 acres of cotton, where we worked very hard. We came to Modesto in 1941 and I never picked any more cotton, although we still ate bologna sandwiches.