Tragic Sandwich

Tag: lunch

  • Mom-to-Mom (or Dad): Lunch Time

    How do you pack lunches for your toddler? And what do you pack?

    Baguette is not a fussy eater–in fact, she has been known to enjoy a spicy dish or two. She’s starting to get intrigued by forks. That tells me that I might want to change up what I’m giving her–or maybe not.

    Every evening (supplemented by most mornings), I cut up a variety of foods and pack them into an array of containers to make the short trip to day care. My latest theory is that the correct number of containers to own is x + 2, x being the number you currently own. (This is also my theory about the correct number of sleepers/pairs of pajamas and the correct number of sippy cups.) Because somehow I could always use a couple more of the medium and large ones. Clearly I over-invested in small containers when she was just starting out with the solids, although at the time it seemed to make sense. And I’m intrigued by bento boxes, but I’d need at least two, right? Because now I have none. But I have so many containers that bento boxes seem redundant. I’m conflicted.

    And she is willing to try new things. Lately she’s taken to spaghetti, with Mr. Sandwich’s “extra garlic, basil, oregano, and hot sauce” sauce. We haven’t sent that to day care with her yet, but she does enjoy eating it from a tiny bowl while sitting on the couch. (Now, if we can just keep her from feeding it to the dog…)

    Here’s what goes to day care in a typical week: scrambled eggs, fresh fruit (she loves pears, peaches, berries, and melon), sausage, hot dogs, cheese, freeze-dried fruits, freeze-dried snap peas, cereal bars. Plus milk.

    That seems limited and limiting. She’s got no apparent food allergies, although her pediatrician has us holding off with nuts and shellfish for a while longer (her school is nut-free anyhow). So what else might we throw into the mix?

  • My Favorite Sandwich

    In a sitcom, this reveal would come in the series finale. And it would probably be a disappointment to many viewers, because of course the earlier episodes would have featured increasingly complex concoctions with discordant and occasionally obscure ingredients.

    When I started second grade, my mother said, “What do you want for lunch tomorrow?” I paused–because it had never before occurred to me that I might have a say in the matter–and replied, “I don’t care, as long as it’s not bologna.”

    Every morning in high school, my mother would say, “What do you want for lunch?” And every morning I would give her the same answer, which finally led me to say, “Peanut butter and jelly, and I’ll let you know when I’m tired of it.” (Yes, my mother made my lunch in high school. I think she felt guilty because I was up in the morning before she was, and her vision of the “perfect mother” was someone who was up early and made her kids’ lunches, even if they were old enough to manage that themselves. Hopefully we can all get past this shocking revelation.)

    PB&J and “not bologna” are still very high on my list. But my real favorite sandwich can be traced back to a trip to the UK that we made when I was 10. In the course of traveling through England, Scotland, and Northern Ireland, we had a few high teas. At one of those teas, I discovered a wonder: the tomato sandwich.

    This is a delightfully simple sandwich: sliced tomato between two slices of bread that have been brushed with mayonnaise. (Do not tell me that mayonnaise is “gross.” I’m telling you what I like, not making you eat it.) I’m sure that at the long-ago teas, the sandwiches were made with white bread. We don’t have white bread, so I make mine on Roman Meal. To a lot of people I know, that’s practically white bread. For the mayonnaise, I used Best (Hellman’s to you East Coast readers). For the tomatoes?

    Ah, that’s where the magic comes in. The tomatoes are from our garden, which was dug, planted, and harvested by Mr. Sandwich. Last year the raccoons got all of the tomatoes (or, at least, part of each tomato), but this year he’s actually been able to find some that are both ripe and untouched by vermin hands.

    So last night I sliced up the tomato, put it on the mayonnaise-y bread, sprinkled just a little salt on it, and ate. Delicious.