The Ultimate Sandwich

Over the years (of which I have more than I readily admit) I've acquired some strange tastes in food. I don't consider them strange, other people do. For instance, I like ketchup and Old Bay seasoning in my vegetable soup. I like living in the South, where every social event has pimento cheese sandwiches.

Recently, a neighbor gave us a huge bottle of huge dill pickles. My love of dill pickles is genetic and hereditary -- my father loved them so much that when he was in the hospital one time with either a stroke or a heart attack (he alternated), he sent my husband and me to an Isaly's store to get him a pickle. Of course, he had his jackknife in the drawer of his bedside table, and he ate every bit of that huge pickle.

I was raised on peanutbutter and pickle sandwiches -- made with my mother's bread-and-butter pickles (where they got that name, who knows!) Unable to duplicate that culinary delight, I substitute dill pickles. Well, I made myself a grand sandwich. I got four slices out of that first pickle and only needed three to cover the bread, and the ends hung out the sides. It was heaven!

But I thought to myself as I was taking that first delicious bite, that I could have saved myself a lot of trouble. There were hotdog buns in the fridge. I could have slathered one of those bad boys with peanut butter, put a pickle in the middle and had the ultimate peanut butter and pickle without any wasted motion!

Naxt time!