I love a good sandwich for lunch. (I love it better when someone else makes it – but in the real world I am my own luncheon creator. ) We only have lunch meats in the fridge because Mr. Sanders remembers to buy them. Back in our old house, back in the day, Luke the wonder dog and I would be happy with some peanut butter scraped across Pepperidge Farm white bread, or swirled atop Ritz crackers (if they weren’t too softly, crumbly stale). We do have standard, though, even for solitary lunches. There must be a small bowl of potato chips. And a crisp dill pickle. These are the delightful sides that elevate the banal and mundane of lunch at home to sublime luncheonette-worthy standards. Chips and pickles make the meal.
We took a short weekend trip to Massachusetts a few weeks ago. Our friend was busy navigating our way in and around Cape Cod traffic on one of the wintery days. We were happily occupied looking at light houses, cranberry bogs, cottages, ferries, marinas, myriad Dunkins, and snow-piled roundabouts. When the subject of lunch came up, I called out my request from chilly exile in the back seat: “Someplace with French fries”. It was not a sophisticated response, but it was heart-felt. They could have their regional lobster rolls or local fried clams or chilly, briny oysters. I needed something crunchy and hot, greasy and salty, warm and familiar. After a lively discussion, and then some technical realignment of the GPS, we wound up in a roadside lobster shack, sitting by a large window overlooking a stream of swift-moving water, populated with a gang of ducks, an elegant swan and a pair of frolicking, joyous otters. The fries were superfluous. Who could ask for more? We had an enchanting view and so much lunch that we needed to bring home grease-stained bags of leftovers. It was nothing was fancy, just sandwiches at a roadside restaurant in the middle of winter, but it was deeply satisfying, and we left, stuffed to our touristy gills and happy. We tumbled into the snow-piled parking lot just as the locals were streaming in for the dollar-an-oyster happy hour. Timing, as they say, is crucial.
I like to find local brands of potato chips when I am traveling. I suppose it would be more interesting if I focused on local artists or regional crafts, but honestly, lunch is tantamount to my travel experiences. I just watched an Instagram video where a woman was tasting unlikely flavors of potato chips. What a superb idea! I wish I could steal it! I wish could make my fortune taste-tasting potato chips! Testing Chips
I have moved on from bland (though hideously expensive these days) Ruffles, to the store brands of wavy chips most days. But I think my life could be transformed with a taste of Brets Brie and Truffle Chips from France. But I would have to hone and refine my food descriptions. This is not a sentence I am likely to write: “These Brets pesto mozzarella chips from France have a brilliant, balanced pesto flavor with a slightly tangy creamy mozzarella taste.” That was a caption from a video from In the Chips with Barry. Apparently reviewing chips is a whole industry, and I am just finding out about it now. My life has been wasted. I have led a sheltered, suburban life. After all, I never had a Nacho Cheese Dorito or an Utz Sour Cream and Onion potato chip until my freshman year at Washington College. Until I was 18 the most exotic chips I ever tasted were a Wise Barbecue Chips. Those were simpler times. Before the posh Aioli, Camembert, Chorizo, Marmite, Crispy Bacon, Prawn Cocktail, Fiery Jalapeño, Salted Egg Yolk, Truffle and Olive Oil, and British Roast Beef chips were thought of by the continental European manufacturers like the Walkers, Torres, and Brets folks.
Today I will not have a sad little peanut butter lunch. Mr. Sanders bought some sliced turkey breast the other day, and there is a fresh loaf of rye bread. He will gussy his sandwich up with lettuce and tomato, but I am a purist, and I will just have a schmeer of mayo and a liberal grind of black pepper, with a cloud of diaphanous Maldon Salk flakes on mine. I will slice it on the diagonal, which we know makes everything more delish, a bowl of Food Lion Wavy Potato Chips, a fat, garlicky spear of a Grillo Dill Pickle, and a tall, frosty glass of Diet Coke. No otters today, sadly.
Sometimes the success of a meal isn’t about the main course, it’s the side dishes that make it more than merely edible. Add a friend or two and that dry peanut butter sandwich you were going to gobble by yourself standing at the kitchen sink seems is rather pathetic and self-wallowing. But add to the friend, some potato chips, a pickle, and a view of an otter – you have a veritable feast. Make it fancy; add frilled toothpicks, a linen napkin, a nice china plate – all little luxuries you can find tucked away in your cupboards. Maybe find a cookie. You won’t miss lunching at Parisian bistro, or at a New York City deli, because you have feathered your own humble homemade nest.
“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it… I can resist everything but temptation.”
—Oscar Wilde
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