Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1915-11-30
What L. q Sandwich

What ID q S1now1C0f
The answer to that question would
have been easy, In that far-of period Of
bliss, when We were going fishing fol
mipnovs under the sawmill dam, anc
begged Katie for "aw Jest o couple nv
sam wiges." Indeed there was no such
question capable of discu ssion. They
inst were, that's all. a sandwich
Why. the idea! What should it be but 9
slice of pink, boiled ham with dab Of
mustard, IL you were old enough fol
condiments, entirely surrounded by
bread and butter?
And such bread and butter! The
kind that grew on country pantry
shelves after much mixing and man!
beatings, that was baked the lovslies'
tender brown, and smelled, when II
came out OF the oven-A-a-a-h-U-u -u.m
II doesn't live In cities. And butter
that dripped clover sweetness and ali
the freshness of green growing things
transmitted into firm golden pate, cover
ed with a salty cloth in stone crock on
the cellar floor.
OBJ, dear! Why could not that supply
have been saved by some sleeping eaut!
magic until this degenerate day wher
unworthy limitations are worth theiI
weight in diamonds? The descendants
of that bread and but'er-making family
of blessed memory would now be sailing
giddily upon the top wave OF finance, ane
sticking up their noses at those Other
Door things, whose forbears dealt will
such trash as oil and railroads.
Those were sandwiches, OF truth
But never in this wide world would they
recognize their grandchildren. The
same family name they have kept, truly
but how changed their identity. They
have shrunk in size, become SKINNER
and SKINNER as to the buttery layer, los
their crusts, which were the best part Of
their country ancestors, and which
would make your hair curl, if you were
to believe the tales of some who wer'
supposed to know everything. But
their iusdes, Faith, they have multi
piled in variety beyond all reason or be
lief.
They are never sliced any more, b
they "ba-aa-m - er t.o-o.o-pgue - e
ch'k'n", but chopped up, fine as fine, t
conceal their real identity from too in
curing minds. And, maybe, they arr
not fieshly food at all. They may chance
TO be just greenery gallery mixed.ul
cheese and olives, or plain lsttuce Will
leaky dabs of addressing, or, maybe
those mashed-up pimentoes, which ar
nothing in the world but expurgated rec
peppers. They may be something o.
other masquerading as chicken salad, o.
even a fried egg. They may be skimp.
layers of scraped raw beef with outside
of gluten health bread, or generou
slices of hot roast, with floods of grav.
over the top. They may be diaphanou'
as tissue paper, or an entire-course DIN
uer between crisp triangles of gold!
brown toast.
They may cost five cents and they ma.
cost seventy five. They may live on
thick white plate, with an aquarium
globe upside down over their heads, ant
they may be borne reverently upon
silver platter, on lace doiley, with al
olive to right and a pickle TO left, and
lettuce-leaf cup of extra mayonnais
lettering little to the northeast.
| Tley may BE- what dear old lady
who bad never by any chance eaten one
called "cold dog, with thick yellow
mustard down his back AID split fla
roll for covering, and they may b
fried oysters dripping catsup gore. Ea
them with forks or what was made be
fore them. Anything that has top ant
bottom, with something ea'able in tn
midst, is sandwich Anything, wit
the lid off, made in pretty patterns o
mashed up things out of bottle tina
makes you wonder whether they Peall
are all right, with little sprnkles of egg
yolk over the top, 10 be eaten only viii
forks, and served at the Deg ming D
keep. your ba, -on luncheon parties an
outrageously expensive dinners, ar
French cousins 10 our old friends.
Even the family name is strangel
different. A canape is a far cry from
that sandwich We munched from ON
hand, while We twiddl, q an angleworn
from tue end of stick up and down uu
der the ripples of the wash from thu
saw-mill dam. And for one more sucl
luncheon, the modern sand wich aud al
it's French relations might pass onward
out of sight and out OF mind, unwept
uuhonored and unsung.
But they don't seem to grow an.
more. Not in cities, they don't.