I’ve written before about how my mom was the primary cook for our family during my childhood. It’s not that my dad didn’t like to cook or that he wasn’t good at it, but the division of labor was set up so that he primarily worked outside of the home while my mother mostly worked within. (Now that he’s retired, my dad spends much more time preparing meals for himself and my mom.
) After his family-famous sweet potato pies and beloved beans and cornbread, one of the next foods I associate with my dad is fried bologna sandwiches. My dad grew up eating fried bologna sandwiches, a dish that has been passed down through generations. I have vague memories of him making them for my brother and me as a late-night snack or perhaps packing them to take with us on a Saturday morning fishing trip.
The sandwiches are rather simple. Slices of bologna, which for us always came from the familiar yellow and red Oscar Mayer package, are fried - or, more accurately, griddled - in a skillet until browned to your liking. (Like with hot dogs, I prefer them to be a little charred.
) Then grab a couple of slices of sandwich bread, add a good squiggle of yellow mustard, and you’re in for some mighty fine eating. My brother claims there was also “sandwich spread” - which is sort of a mix of mayonnaise and relish (and something I completely forgot existed until now) - but all I can remember is the mustard. In honor of Father’s Day, I decided to revisit this classic Southern sandwich and .
