Two Pestos’ cousin

HAVE I got a sandwich for you ?. . .

It all began long ago in a galaxy far far away in King Soopers marketplace in Denver, Colorado. That is — last week.

I was doing a grocery run with my mother. We were both in search of a good, grainy, crusty and satisfying fresh loaf of artisan bread. Then I saw it. A little paler than what I had initially been looking for —— it was a plain, lackluster, pre-sliced French white bread. I kept looking through the rustic breads I normally love, like the roasted garlic, kalamata olive . . . but that white bread I was “deprived” of in my childhood was whispering sweet nothings in my ear. “Take me!” “Take me!” “I’m so soft!”

How could I, I reasoned? I mean, it’’s white bread. But then I decided to be bold. I picked it up and held it close to my heart. My mother had chosen her loaf and we were on our way.

As we turned to leave the bakery, my mother, my health concious mother, noticed the deep indiscretion I had just committed.

With the dismay and disbelief dripping in her voice as though I had just picked up a loaf covered in green mold my mother said, “You are not getting THAT bread, are you?”

Now the problem with coming home on a visit is that you revert to the behaviors and stage of your life when you were living at home. In my case, it was teenagehood.

I could feel the culinary independence and defiance rising within me. I could feel the drumbeat of my heart responding to that challenge in my mother’s voice. Now was the time to stay strong.

Shakily, I stuck to my guns and said, “Um, yeah, I’m going to get the white bread.” With my mother’s roll of her eyes we were off.

ONCE AT home things got busy and I forgot about the bread as it sat there all lonesome on the kitchen counter. One hour turned into the next hour and before long, after some telephone calls with friends, I was ready to turn in for the night. All was quiet in the house. I figured I would check my e-mail.

Before I knew it I got a second wind and was up reading.

This time, when I got up from the sofa in the living room to go to bed I passed the kitchen on my way upstairs. “Pssst.” I swear, the bread hissed!

I went into the kitchen. Oh what the heck! I’ll enjoy a piece of that bread right now. Before I knew it, I was washing my hands and sinking my teeth into that empty-of-all-nutrition, forbidden bread of my childhood —— with the thrill and delight of a rebellious teenager. There! White bread! Whole loaf, to boot. All to myself.

I opened the fridge. An occasion like this calls for a sandwich! Let’’s see. There was not much in the house. Oh wait! The Swiss mayonnaise Thomy my sister brings us from Zurich. Mayonnaise! Another junk food we don’t really eat! Ummm. And wait. Is that Frank’’s RedHot sauce I see? Yu-um! A white bread mayonnaise and hot sauce junk sandwich at 2:04 a.m. in my parents’’ house!

So many rebellions combined into this one moment. A full revolution, by now.

And what a devilishly good one. I am lovin’’ this sandwich!

I think I’’ll have another one, only this time I add bottled grated parmesan for some depth. Oh my! This is getting better by the minute. I need to name this sandwich, I decide.

YES, over the years I have named my sandwiches. There is something about that good old fashioned sandwich that is up close and personal. There are no utensils. You get to cup your hands around it and feed yourself. You choose any fun combinations that tickle your fancy. Swathe the deliciousness with the most satisfying crusty frame ever. And viola! Sandwich! A good old fahioned sandwich — a true, simple pleasure, indeed.

Oh —— the names. Yes . . . .to date there is: “The Coup de Grace Egg Sandwich,” the nicoise salad ingredients in bread I call “The Picnic Box Nicoise,” the chickpea sandwich I made up, now officially “The Sassy Chique,” and my favorites —— my omelette sandwich I dubbed “Breakfast in Bread” and my cheese sandwich “The Big Cheese” or “The Cheese Please” (for the little ones). I think there might have been a “Tale of Two Pestos” sandwich at one point. And who could I forget my dad’’s favorite sandwich of toasted buttered bread and a ton of grilled onions.In our home it’s officially named “The Hillel Sandwich a la the Passover Seder “Hillel-the-Elder).

I should also tell you that by now this new sandwich has morphed into a hamburger bun or that naughty white bread, the mayo, hot sauce (lots!), ground bottled Parmesan and a Morning Star Farms Grillers Original. Once I even topped it with a sunny side up egg. I’’m keeping that sandwich mojo going. Now, with the newly minted “2:04” junk food sandwich!

So, B’’teavon!

Bon appetit!

Enjoy!