Loafing Around APRIL 2015 | BOROMAG.COM | 33 Story & Photos by Bradley Hawks My Grandpa Peterman used to work at the Wonder bread factory in Indianapolis, and as my mom’s entire side of the family will wholeheartedly attest, not much in the world tastes better than a warm loaf of classic white bread fresh from the oven. I still smile and think of grandpa every time I toss one of those red, yellow, and blue polka dotted bags into my grocery basket, despite what I know to be the perils of white bread. Sometimes, nostalgia just wins. Each Thanksgiving, Grandma Peterman slaved relentlessly over roasted turkey and honey-glazed ham, jell-o parfaits, chicken with hand-cut noodles, meatloaf, cinnamon rolls, buttery mashed potatoes with homemade chicken gravy, pecan pies, and angel food cake with strawberries from the garden. The real star of Thanksgiving, however, actually came after the main feast, when one-by-one the cousins would wake from our tryptophaninduced post-meal naps. Careful not to awaken the adults who could strong arm us out of our snack, we’d sneak into the kitchen to grab fresh slices of Wonder bread, leftover turkey carvings, yellow mustard, with a bit of cheddar cheese to zap in the microwave for the yummiest sandwich on Earth. One of the simplest meals to execute, sandwiches are the culinary star of so many childhood memories. Don’t you recall some of the finicky preferences of you or your friends? Perhaps my favorite sandwich of all time was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, provided the correct ratio of Smuckers to Jif—there must be at least twice as much raspberry jelly as peanut butter (creamy, not crunchy). Furthermore, the pieces must be cut at the diagonal, and the crust removed. As my parents refused to pay a premium price for popcorn every time we went to the movie theater, more often than not mom would open her purse as the lights dimmed, and pass down Ziploc baggies of those delicious PB&Js. Of course we were exposed to more sophisticated versions of the sandwich. For the Indy 500, we’d tote ham sandwiches on pumpernickel with pepper jack and alfalfa sprouts. New Year’s Day absolutely demanded corned beef and sauerkraut with Russian dressing and lorraine swiss (with those tiny holes) on marble rye. The signature Hawks household hot sandwich was a sausage, mozzarella, and marinara stromboli on Italian bread, wrapped in aluminum and baked in the oven. Mom even had a coding system worked out in Sharpie shorthand on the foil to indicate which sandwiches had bell peppers or not. When I moved to New York City twelve year ago—to the land of bagels and pastrami at world famous Jewish delicatessens—I knew I’d find new loaves of love, but remained skeptical that anything could outshine those childhood gems. Tuscan Caviar and Mortadella
BM042015
To see the actual publication please follow the link above