First-timers often broadcast their inexperience by insisting the bread be toasted for a fried bologna sandwich. They mistakenly believe it’s a cousin of the grilled cheese — after all, a frying pan is involved — but lunch-meat veterans assure us that fried bologna sandwiches pretty much stand alone.
My old college buddy, Herbie R., was very clear in this regard. He learned the basics of sandwich-making from his grandmother, who carried sliced roast beef in her purse for snacks, and he later became a kind of enforcer (perhaps overzealous) of sandwich dynamics — meat preparation, types of bread, stacking order of ingredients. Herbie insisted that his grandma, a stern woman not given to much baloney herself, was clear on the fried bologna rule: no toast.
It all makes sense when you think about it. Fried bologna sandwiches are primal events, sort of like making fire, concocted on the spot with purpose and determination. Any effort to dude them up — with, say, lettuce and tomato, Dijon mustard, or toasted bread — undermines their very existence. Purists might even insist you eat them standing up at the kitchen counter, no plate or napkin involved.
In this modern age, it pretty much all comes down to texture and contrast — room temperature bread (untoasted) on the outside, hot fried greasy bologna on the inside. Herbie allowed one swipe of mayonnaise on each slice of bread and the smallest dab of French’s yellow mustard, but no other adornment. Standards must be maintained.
Ah, there’s one other trick to a successful fried bologna sandwich, and that’s the cooking of the meat itself. Get the skillet really hot, and fry it only in butter. A slice of bologna properly fried will curl at the ends and center, forming a shape much like a flat sombrero. The butter will char where the meat touches the pan, a result that always gets knowing nods from bologna traditionalists.
Remember to chew.
♦ The recipe: Melt one dab of butter (about half the size of a fishing cork) in a hot skillet. Slap in one slice of thick-cut bologna (or two slices regular) and fry until it curls and slightly chars. A strong burning smell or open flames means it’s cooked too long. Flip it, and do the same to the other side. Meanwhile, squeegee the thinnest layer of mayo on two slices of untoasted white or, for you health nuts, light wheat bread. A slice of American processed cheese, freshly peeled from its plastic sheath, is an option, but don’t tell Herbie I mentioned it. Stack them all together, with the bread on the outside.
Details: John Morrell & Co. of Cincinnati, Ohio, packages six slices of thick-cut, mixed-meat bologna for 99 cents. The first ingredient listed is “mechanically separated chicken,” so this stuff is primo. Pork is second, followed by an assortment of sodiums, nitrites and phosphates. (Salivating yet?) Bread can be almost any brand that lacks seeds or whole grains, which can distract the taste buds.
Doddering about online, I came across this bread at bonappetit.com. If you only looked at the photo or if you failed to look at the ingredient list, you might think it’s a sweet apple bread, or banana bread, or other kind of sugary quick bread. Instead, this bread calls for no sugar, but lots of bacon and cheddar cheese.
9 Comments
