How A Bologna Sandwich "Incident" Taught Me Not to Lie - True Story

Oh, Bologna is one of those foods that I just cannot stand - the site of it, the smell of it, the texture of it, and especially the taste of it! I don't know why, but it was always this way ever since I can remember.

Strange, because I actually like Mortadella, the Italian and original version that the americans made a disgusting copy of... but, maybe I will have to give it another chance one of these days.

I was just a little girl and we were living in a big house on Lausanne Avenue in the Kessler Park Area of Dallas/Oak Cliff Area at the time. I have few memories of that house now, but one thing I remember was feeding grapes to raccoons with my brothers (from a window or a balcony) at night. Thank Goodness no one lost a finger. I digress. Back to my Bologna story and there is a Moral to this story. A very important one that teaches the virtue of telling the truth. I learned the hard way, baby.

So, I don't know where all my siblings were at this particular moment in time and why it seemed like no one else was around. It's not normal that six boys are quiet. Maybe Dad had taken them somewhere and left me all alone in that kitchen that day. I must have been hungry (go figure) and asked for something to eat. Anyway, my mother had made me a sandwich. I took one look at it (and developed what I learned years later in a university psych class what was referred to as an aversion) and knew that I could not and would not eat that bologna sandwich. I don't know if it was the way it looked, or smelled, but it was a total turn off. I think my parent's were right in teaching us not to waste food and were really great to make us try all kinds of foods (hence why I love all kinds of foods today), but this was taking that a little too far. I mean, it really was like the most disgusting thing to me at that moment in time - the idea of having to eat that sandwich. I always had good intuition and you should really listen to it. I knew even as a little girl how much I hated the idea of being sick and wanted to avoid vomiting up that stupid sandwich at all costs! (sorry that's a pretty gross visual, but stick with me here)

So, my mother told me that I had to eat that sandwich whether I wanted to or not. [I don't want this to reflect badly on my mother, but it's just that I want to tell it as I remember it - from the point of view of my younger self that has given me the memories and perception of that experience that I have today - surely very different from my mother's version ;) I do want to say, though, that Yes, I am scarred for life from this experience - so traumatic!] All joking aside, she left me for a few moments in the kitchen, but not before telling me something like "That sandwich better be eaten when I come back in here," in a very annoyed and threatening tone of voice. I was really in a bind and I had to think fast. [I guess I was always an actress, but back then I just wasn't as good at pulling things off believably like I am now. I know I said the moral was to tell the truth, but sometimes acting can be a survival skill.] Well, I don't know how long she was gone before I got the bright idea to get rid of the evidence and pretend I had eaten it instead of trying to eat it or tell her that she could not make me. (You know, it's good to stand up for yourself...there are more lessons in this story than I realized...) I was always trying so hard to please everyone and be an obedient daughter but we are talking about Bologna here!

Short story I made really long ends like this: I thought I was so clever because I had managed to put the Bologna sandwich at the bottom of the trash compactor and then get back to my seat before she returned to the room. She asked me how it was and how I could eat it that quickly. Quick. Think fast. Told her I finished it and pretended that I even enjoyed eating it and that it wasn't so bad after all. MMM good. [My Mom's a fabulous writer and cook, but many don't know about all of her gifts. One of her most amazing hidden talents is that she is a human lie detector and probably would have made an awesome interrogator for an intelligence organization or a really good lawyer. You get the point. She is not someone to lie to nor mess with in general.] I guess it wasn't that believable of a performance and she wasn't exactly in suspension of disbelief or buying it even just a little bit.

Can you believe she walked angrily and directly right over to that trash bin and dug up the sandwich. I mean I had no chance of getting out of this one. (They should call her in when they secure and need to canvas a crime scene radius.) I was busted. The image of her holding that sandwich standing next to the trash. She was fuming - I think there really was smoke or steam coming out of her ears. The look of disappointment and anger all wrapped up into one scary, penetrating glare. Like any good parent, she took this opportunity to teach me a valuable life lesson. She told me then and there that if you lie, you will get caught. (Too bad for all these hypocritical Republican politicians that can't seem to stay out of sensational sex scandal headlines lately that they didn't have a mother like mine.) So there - that is the moral of my Bologna story: Don't lie to your Mom. It's bad to lie. It's even worse to get caught in a lie. Truth be told.

So, let me get this: Mortadella gets it's name from a Roman sausage and a sausage was found/mentioned in a document of the official body of meat preservers in Bologna dated 1376 that may be Mortadella. Mortadella originated in Bologna, the Italian city that is the capital of the Emilio-Romagna region, it's been around for a while and Mortadella Bologna even has a protected geographical indication status under european union law. Those (other European cities/countries) that make a similar cold cut refer to it as "Bolognese style" salume. On the other hand, the "similar" commercially made and processed american version uses the actual name of the Italian city Bologna and made people pronounce it like Boloney. Where is the respect? That is an insane bastardization of a great and delicate "sausage" and name of an amazing city where people sound like they're singing when they speak. The american version shouldn't even be allowed to use the word bologna because it is made like most hot dogs are made in the USA - some of them you wouldn't even want to give to your dogs. Most are made from low value scraps and the usda has to put a limit on what percentage of binders and extenders are allowed and regulate what meats and byproducts are allowed or god knows what they'd put in there in addition to the normal recipes with chemicals and corn syrup in addition to other stuff. I will take the chunks of pork fat in the ground or finely hashed Mortadella meat any day over American style Bologna. Remember: Boloney is phony! and should call to mind "Vienna Sausage" - that's a whole other mystery meat category! I found this website after googling bologna and thought I should share. I think it makes my case stronger actually. Think about it after you read some of the "uses" for bologna...

Ah yes, the bounty of bologna...

Did y'all know that Americans eat 800 million pounds of bologna annually? And that's just my family up in the hills!

Uses for bologna:

• Catfish Bait
• Hair pomade
• Filler for casseroles
• Lubricant for door hinges, bicycle chains, and squeaky cabinets
• Shoe polish
• Redneck perfume
• And many more!

One warning though, bologna grease has a strong odor. You might attract dogs, flies, and your cousin Earl if you wear it too long.