Tag Lunch

A Fish Tale

Michael 6 Comments

Yesterday I had a sandwich for lunch. You know, I started a post a couple of weeks ago almost just like that. Well, I like sandwiches. Hmm. I started a post a couple of years ago almost just like that. Now that I think about it, I’ve probably started a post about sandwiches every couple of months. Anyway, the one a couple of years was mostly about sandwiches in general and how generally universal they are. And universally general while we’re at it. The one from a couple of weeks ago was about a specific sandwich, the grilled cheese. I mentioned in that one that I hadn’t had many grilled cheese sandwiches growing up but I never said what I had growing up, sandwichly speaking. I thought of them yesterday while I was sandwiching.

To make a short story long, yesterday I had a sardine sandwich. Go ahead. Sardines often generate that kind of response. It’s ok, we’re used to it. I happen to like sardines. More often than not, I’ll have fresh sardines that I’ve roasted and served with a light pasta. But every now and then I’ll grab a tin of sardines in olive oil or mustard and plunk them on a hearty rye bread. Yum.

But how does one who didn’t grow up in Sardinia grow up to enjoy sardines. Thanks to Napoleon (you know, that Bonaparte fellow, yeah, that one), and my father. Napoleon got things going by having them canned for the first time. My father got me going on them by sharing his sandwiches with me. To clarify, the fish Napoleon had stuffed into glass jars were probably real sardines and more closely related to the fresh variety that I have for dinner. The sardines that my father ate were probably a variety of herring which seems to be the sardine standard (or standard bearer) in North America.

So yesterday, when I had that sardine sandwich, it got me thinking of those sandwiches that I had as a sandwich impressionable youth. Sardines weren’t the only sandwiches I had that weren’t grilled cheese. While others might have been developing their sandwich palettes on grilled cheese, peanut butter and jelly, and ham and cheese, I was growing up on sardines, roast chicken on whole wheat, and fried pepper sandwiches.

I see your confused faces. You understand chicken; you accept that some people eat sardines between slices of bread. But peppers? Aren’t peppers a condiment to add to something else. Not always. On Fridays, a meatless day in our household, my father would fry thick slices of large green and red bell peppers, yellow and green mild banana peppers, and yellow hot banana peppers in olive oil and slap these on any hearty bread (rye, wheat, Italian). Oh, that mix of heat and the bread oozing flavored oil. Italian yum!

I’m sorry but that’s going to have to be it for food posts for a while. Every time I write something like this I get hungry and go eat again. I’ve gain 4 pounds this month and we still have Halloween coming! Now I have to go to the store and get some banana peppers.

 

A Cheesy Story

Michael 5 Comments

Yesterday I made a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. For me that’s a rare treat. I used to do a grilled cheese, with or without tomato soup, almost weekly for years. And years. And even some more. Now I make one a couple of times a year.  I have a complicated relationship with grilled cheese.

Grilled cheese doesn’t hold one of those warm, fuzzy spots youth’s memory. I’m sure my mother made them but I don’t have a real recollection of them. I do remember eating grilled cheese at my elementary school cafeteria. Mostly I remember them being greasy.

I remember in college grilled cheese hitting a new level. There the cafeteria put ham or turkey with it! Who knew? And, I discovered with the help of some aluminum foil and the iron my mother insisted I have in my dorm room that I could prepare a nutritious and alcohol absorbing pre-weekend snack. Even considering the food service’s meaty additions, college level grilled cheese was more utilitarian than culinarian.

I remember making grilled cheese for my daughter. But I can’t say they were the things of lifelong memories. They were mostly things that could be thrown together quickly between her dismissal time and band practice.

Throughout my childhood, my young adulthood, and my adult me’s child’s childhood, grilled cheese was just there. It wasn’t until many years later that grilled became more than a pasteurized processed cheese product between two slices of bread.

In March of 2015, after a 4 month long hospitalization, I was admitted to rehab to learn how to walk again. For the next several weeks I went through physical therapy seven days each week working to the day that I could shuffle my own way out of there. To make a long story short, eventually the day came when my doctor said I could be discharged soon. But first, for lack of a better way to put it, I had to pass several tests. Among them I was to prepare my own hot lunch. I was given two to pick from. I don’t remember the other choice but I picked the grilled cheese sandwich.

GrilledCheeseIt took a while, but eventually I had the required pasteurized processed cheese product, two slices of bread, and a stick of butter on the table in front of me. I assembled them into a reasonable sandwich like fashion and placed it into the medium hot pan on the very hot stove. About 4 minutes later I divided the sandwich into two triangles and passed one to the occupational therapist who had been watching my poor imitation of Jeff Mauro. Three days after that I was propelling my walker to the entrance of the rehab unit where, per hospital policy, I was transferred to a wheelchair to the outside world.

Now every time I make a grilled cheese sandwich I think of those days in that unit, trading half of a sandwich for my freedom. And that’s why I now make grilled cheese only a couple if times a year. Yeah, I guess it’s not that complicated.

 

Salad Days

Michael 2 Comments

A couple of days ago I met a friend for lunch. This is a change for me as I usually meet friends for breakfast which itself was a change for me as I used to meet friends for happy hour. The things we must adjust to as we get older. Sigh.

Anyway changing from breakfast to lunch meant I had to read and consider the menu. Breakfast is easy. I check out what’s at the top of the list and say I’ll have the *full in the blank* with the eggs over easy and wheat toast. The top item is always the same, two (sometimes 3) eggs any style with three (sometimes 2) pieces of bacon and sauaage, home fries, and toast. It’s just about what I have every morning whether out or at home except that on Saturdays at home I add pancakes or waffles depending on my mood unless I completely switch things up and go with French Toast, or decide to give my heart a break (it’s one of the few organs still in its original condition) and have oatmeal.

So, that top item on the breakfast menu. It’s always the same but I have to take a quick glance at the menu to see what that particular restaurant/diner calls it so I can *fill in the blank* for the server. Even the most greasy-spoon-ish diner will have some cute name for it. Grandpa Bob’s Favorite or Harvey’s Hungry Meal or The Lumberjack Special. Bob and Harvey make sense because we’re usually eating at Bob’s Breakfasts or Harvey’s Hungry House. But a bunch of places have a lumberjack meal or two and I don’t know that this spot on Earth is known for commercial forresting. It’s their places and their menus so I guess they can call ther meals whatever they like.

But I digress. Again. On this particular day I wasn’t eating breakfast out and had to get accustomed to a whole new set of menu selections. Did you ever notice that restaurants/diners don’t give lunch offerings cute names? A grilled chicken wrap is a grilled chicken wrap. I guess by lunch most of the diners have fumbled their way through a half day of work, school, or shopping and just want to eat.

I checked out the offerings and made my choice. I might have mumbled sort of out loud that I was going on the light side and order a salad. That’s when my lunch companion just had to remind me that salad does not always equal light and healthy. Especially at this spot on Earth. Around here our best selling salad whether at restaurants, diners, or at the bar during those once happier happy hours is the steak salad.

Now at those places on Earth that might recognize that you can make a salad out of a steak might just add some grilled steak strips onto a bowl of lettuce and it’s usual accompaniments. Not here. Here we take a whole steak, perhaps even a strip steak, and drop it on top of a hearty salad that by itself could serve 3 or 4, then add cheese, hardboiled eggs (at least two), and french fries. And the only dressing allowed is ranch. And never on the side. Yep. Not exactly light.

So, I decided against the steak salad and tried to stick with something “on the light side.” And I found it, right there in the salad section. A taco salad. It didn’t even come with dressing.

How much lighter can you get?

That’s what I  think. Really. How ’bout you?

Life Needs a Soundtrack

Michael Leave a comment

Do you know a problem with real reality? There are no clues to what’s coming next. Life needs a soundtrack.

Watch any movie or television show, even the so-called “reality” shows, and you see that they all have musical accompaniment. It’s quite clear when someone or something is to be happy, sad, humorous, suspenseful, romantic, mysterious, thrilling, or chilling. Just about the only time the background is silent is when the director intends for extreme drama. Even commercials have background music. Everything from auto insurance to male erectile dysfunction therapy has an associated tune. Why can’t we.

It sounded like a good idea when it popped into my head. Heaven knows there’s enough music up there. I’m always mentally humming a tune, a jingle, a theme. How hard would it be for that to be amplified and spill out around me so I know for sure what mood I’m in – not to mention everyone else who might be in the area?

It’s hard enough to get through a day without being misunderstood. Think of all the relationships that could be saved if there was a full orchestra ready to turn despair to hope, hope to thought, and thought to action. Imagine the peace people could experience if daily routines were spiced up with a bluesy southern anthem or smoothed out by a soft jazz composition. Think of your daily commute to the tune of a driving chorus instead of the tune of blaring horns and mufflers in need of repair.

If you really want to explore this idea, can we consider making life a musical? On second thought, I don’t know if I can handle a sudden eruption of song and dance while standing in line at the deli counter. “You’re the ham that I want. Ooo, ooo, ooo honey,” doesn’t run trippingly off the tongue even if you are looking for that tasty lunchmeat. No, just a soft background perhaps of Dave Matthews Band’s Pig song.

Like I said, it sounded like a good idea when it popped into my head.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Time Travel with a Chance of Meatballs

Michael Leave a comment

Have you seen this commercial? Some guy wants the newest version of his cell phone so he builds a time machine to go forward in time to when the contract on his current phone expires and he can upgrade. It’s not important what they are selling (well, it probably is to the company that paid for its production and air time but not to me). What is memorable about it is the end of the commercial. The time machine dings, the neighbor dude says “What’s that?” and the time traveler replies, “Just my lunch. Leftovers from tomorrow’s dinner.”

That really stuck with me. I can’t explain it but I like the idea. Imagine if we really did have time travel. What would you do? Where, or when, would you go – to some past historic event, perhaps the defining moment in mankind’s history? Ok, when would that be? Is there really some single event that created the essence of who we are today? Maybe you want to go forward in time to a not yet occurred event. But if it hasn’t yet occurred how do you know you want to go there, or then? Nope, I think regardless of how sophisticated we want to think we are our needs are pretty uncomplicated.  Food, shelter, sex. And the greatest of these is food.

It was just yesterday that I was thinking I needed lunch. Badly. I was hungry and I didn’t have anything to make a light meal with. I could have put a sandwich together but I wasn’t in a sandwich mood. I could have made a wrap but that’s just a sandwich that knows somebody. I could have had yogurt but why. What I really wanted was some spaghetti and meatballs. As luck would have it, that was the plan for today’s dinner and I was well aware of it at the time.

Think of the possibilities. Some big problem with leftovers is storing them (my fridge is always too full and by the time the next day comes around I’ve forgotten most of what’s In there), heating them (microwaves turn everything gummy, ovens take forever, and stovetops create as big a mess to clean up as the first time around), and eating them (face it, except for chili, nothing is better after sitting around for a day). Had I had a time machine I could have zipped from yesterday to today and put together a leftover plate, travelled back to yesterday and had the lunch I wanted. There’d be no storage issue, it would have still been hot so no heating would be necessary, and it would have tasted fresh since it is, was(?), will be(?). A bonus is there would be no waste. Nothing to sit around in the refrigerator, forgotten until the day before garbage pick-up day.

Yep, if I were to get my hands on a time machine I could solve the leftover problems of the world. It’s a great thing that commercial. I have no idea what they were trying to sell but they unintentionally sold me on spending some time inventing practical time travel. Gotta run. Today’s meatballs are calling. I hope I remember them tomorrow.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Pride Goeth Before Just About Everything – And With Good Reason

Michael 1 Comment

It was a while ago that I was on my way to an appointment and was there early. Very early. Most of the time I hit my appointments just about on time. This particular morning I was way off. I left too early, drove too fast, got no red lights, did who knows what but for some reason I was early with a capital ‘E.’ No problem. I’ll have breakfast.

I slipped into a hole in the wall diner and had a remarkably tasty omelet with chorizo, onions, jalapenos, tomatoes, salsa, and sour cream. This was after the waitress ran through the morning’s specials including a pancake special. I was told their pancakes are always special, so special that people come from all over for their pancakes. When I was finished and the waitress was clearing my place I mentioned that the omelet was very good, just as good as I’m sure the pancakes would have been. It was the salsa. The salsa was very good, very fresh, not too hot but authoritative enough to hold one’s attention. Oh yes, she agreed that it was good salsa. She went on to tell me that they sell it by the quart jar and, in fact, people come from all over for their salsa. As I was at the register paying my bill I noticed again that one of the specials was two eggs any style served over corned beef hash. I like corned beef hash and had I thought more of it when I ordered I would have taken advantage of that special. And I must have said that out loud because the lady running the cash register said that they make their own hash and I would have liked it. Everybody likes it. In fact, people come from all over for their hash.

Those were some people who were very sure of the products they were persuading the public to purchase. I‘m certain that had I brought it up I would have been assured that people come from all over for their oatmeal. Someday I’ll go back there for lunch and see what the world beats a path there for after 11. I’m sure that the lunch crowd comes from all over also.

That crowd might even be larger than usual. You see, when I got to my appointment two employees on the other side of the reception window were discussing lunch. I happened to mention the diner I had just come from and mentioned that they had a pretty good breakfast there and I bet lunch would be good also. They commented that they had indeed never been there; it looked too much like a hole in the wall for them to take a chance. Now that they heard good stuff about it, that might be where they end up when the lunch bell rings.

Contrast that with another day when I was sitting at a pizza parlor waiting for a calzone for my lunch of the day. A pleasant enough place with good enough food, good enough that when I feel the need for something that I would not ordinarily make for myself, like a calzone, I’ll let them make it for me. While I was waiting another diner walked in and asked if there were any lunch specials. The girl at the “Order Here!” corner of the counter looked up and said, “The specials are written on the window.”

You know, I bet I can find another pizza place that can make a good calzone.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

The Salad Days of Summer

Michael Leave a comment

Even worse than the dog days of summer are the summer salad days. Those are the days when even a confirmed carnivore welcomes a chilled plate of veggies in place of steak and ‘tators.

I hit the salad days about a week ago. It was a day that started out like no day should ever start with me being hauled away in the back of an ambulance after ripping a gash in my leg on a hunk of cardboard. You know how much a paper cut hurts. Think of cardboard as a bunch of paper all stacked up just waiting to slice through an unsuspecting appendage. It wasn’t so terrible. A couple of hours in the emergency room, a few lab tests, a pair of stitches and one large tetanus shot and home in time for lunch.

But honesty, after a morning like that, that started before I even had breakfast, even though I was hungry as a bear, the last thing I wanted to do was eat. I was quite content sitting with my leg elevated and the noon newscast detailing the horrors other metro residents had been facing that morning. Fortunately my daughter recognized the grumbling noise coming from the living room not coming from me because I couldn’t get comfortable but coming from me because my stomach was quite sure my mouth had been stitched shut.  “How about a salad?”

It seemed innocent enough. Some lettuce, perhaps a tomato, the sort of thing that one burns more calories eating than one expends on chewing. Boy was I wrong. I got an old fashioned “what’s in the fridge that can look a little like a chef’s salad” salad. Green and red peppers, red onions, mushrooms, ham, turkey, provolone, cheddar, and carrots on a bed of butter lettuce with ranch dressing. Fabulous! Filling, tasty, a variety of textures, and still light when compared to my usual lunch of pepperoni and peanut butter on wheat toast.

That started a run of salads from simple leftover rotisserie chicken salad on a bed of lettuce to a full out steak salad. We make ours with hearty greens, bell peppers, sweet onions, radishes, hard boiled eggs, whatever leftover steak might be in the fridge warmed up, and French fries (oven baked if you want the healthy version). That with some fresh melon for dessert and you really can forget about a classic steak and baked potato. And be satisfied.

But the salad days won’t last long. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll want an old fashioned hot dog off the grill smothered with chopped onions and baked beans.  Maybe two of them.  Make that three.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

It’s Taco Thursday!

Michael 1 Comment

Yes, I am quite aware that the entire rest of the world recognizes Taco Tuesday. But I post only on Monday and Thursday and Taco Monday sounds stupid even though I’m just as apt to eat a taco on a Monday as a Thursday or any other day of the week.

In fact, that’s the point of today’s post. And you thought this was going to be pointless like all the others. The point is I’m worrying myself a bit. I seem to have fallen into a taco trough. (That’s sort of like a taco rut but more alliterative.)  I really am apt to have a taco any day of the week and any time of any day. And not just tacos. Toss into that mix burritos, fajitas, and enchiladas, just about anything with meat and cheese in a tortilla and you have my diet from the past couple of weeks.

Lately I’ve had a lot of appointments and trying to do as much as I can around the house. For me that means I’m working sometimes up to two, maybe three hours a day. (I tire easily.) Standing in front of a stove isn’t on the list. Nor is on the list standing in front of the counter prepping something to go into the oven. A sandwich is quite doable, but who wants a steady diet of sandwiches? Thus, the taco. As quick as the sandwich but certainly more fun. And just as versatile.

Over the past week I’ve had a couple of breakfast burritos with scrambled eggs, sausage, peppers and onions, and tomatoes in a flour tortilla. I had a quick lunch of ham and cheese quesadilla, a fajita made from thinly sliced flank steak that I originally was going to use in a cheesesteak, grilled peppers and onions, some provolone cheese, and some tomato slices. I made a dinner of a soft corn tortilla with leftover pot roast and caramelized onions, cheddar cheese, Boston lettuce, and a splash of hot sauce. I even had a more traditional taco dinner with seasoned ground beef, jack cheese, lettuce, red onions, green peppers, and black olives.

All of that and there’s not a drop of Hispanic blood in me unless I got some during a transfusion. Still, the adaptable wraps of the southwest have been far outpacing my ingrained Italian cooking. This weekend I may have to make lasagna to re-center my chakra. Or maybe I’ll do layers of spiced chicken, cheese, and flour tortillas in an enchilada casserole instead. That’s pretty lasagna-like, don’t you think?

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Soup’s On

Michael 1 Comment

It started innocently enough with a cup of clam chowder. This was a couple of weeks ago after a doctor appointment stuck right in the middle of the day. By the time that was over I was hungry as a bear and lunch came at one of those big casual restaurants that are handiest when you have no idea what you want but you know that whatever you decide on will be decent. I decided on soup and a sandwich. Clam chowder and corned beef. I know, not one of your classic combinations but it was decent. and it woke up a soup need in me.

I like soup. Not so much that I’ll eat it every day but that’s exactly what I’ve done now for a whole week. You might associate daily soup eating with autumn, a chill in the air, leaves falling outside, fires burning inside. Not with May and unusually high (like in the nineties) daytime temperatures. I blame my daily soup eating partially on being in the hospital during the coldest months of the year where their idea of soup is salted water. And partially on that clam chowder.

Let’s fast forward a week or so. It’s time for another doctor appointment stuck right in the middle of yet another day. Again, lunch was high on my list of things to do. Another casual restaurant, another soup and sandwich. French onion and grilled chicken. (What can I say? I just don’t pick combinations well.)

Since then I’ve had soup and something for lunch or dinner. Every day. For seven days. Soups from spicy hot and sour to hearty black bean to classic chicken noodle. All much better than salted water.

So now as I approach week two I have to decide if I should continue the soup-a-thon or shift to a more season appropriate accompaniment to my meals. After all, I’d hate to be the cause of snow in May.

That’s what I think. How ’bout you?