Fried Boloney

Last week on TwiX, fried baloney took off like a rocket for some reason, but it was enough to make me shift from my scheduled topic for this week to talk about one of the greatest delicacies of my youth, nay, my friggin’ life. The humble fried baloney sammich.

Yep, that’s how you spell baloney and that’s how I spell sammich. I write like I talk.

I don’t know what bologna but is sounds fancy and German.

There isn’t much to this fine fare, a good slice of baloney (don’t ask and I don’t care what it’s made of), some white bread (Wonder is preferred or Bunny if you’re a good ol boy like me) mustard (sometimes mayo, Duke’s only, please) and you are set!

The question on TwiX (Twitter or X if you don’t know) was about “have you ever eaten this poor?” Well, the hillbillies rose to the occasion to defend this fine fixture of Southern cuisine. No, it ain’t expensive, but you don’t have to be poor to eat simple.

Lots of us grew up on this, lots of us ate just mayonnaise and tomater sammiches, too!

What does hit home with this sammich, in all seriousness, is it brings back a memory of me and my Pop, the OG Southern Stoic. You see, my Pop was old school and a man’s man. He worked hard blue collar, he didn’t cook. He expected meals when he got home.

But on the occasion my Mom was out of town or sick, my Pop stood in like a man and took on feeding me. He had a limited arsenal, bless his heart. He could fry boloney and he could heat tomato soup. That’s it.

I vaguely remember him at the stove, black cast iron frying pan, teaching me the art of making sure the red plastic trim ring was off, cutting the ‘x’ just right so it didn’t curl too bad. How to watch for the spatters of grease rendering from that fine product. How to spread just the right combo of mustard and mayo (again, Duke’s only please).

We’d eat standing in the kitchen over the sink, cause he damn sure wasn’t going to wash dishes!

The point is that the things we remember the most are usually the small things but they have a big impact. My Pop taught me to be grateful for a simple baloney sammich, because we had food, a house to cook it in and we weren’t going hungry. We could sustain ourselves. He also taught me that sometimes, simple is best.

Now, tell me…how do you cut the baloney to keep it from curling?

Until next time y’all,

Chuck