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MustardMustard
vs. 
How hard could have been for my mother to remember what my brother and I wanted on our sandwiches? After all, we both wanted liverwurst. Of course, he wanted the Butcher’s Branch liverwurst, which was sliced. Whereas I wanted the braunsweiger that was a spread. Of course, there was the type of bread for her to keep in mind. Now who was it that wanted wheat, and who wanted white?
When it came to which kind of pickle to put on the sandwich, it was simplicity itself. Dale and I both hated sweet pickles and bread and butter pickles. Dill pickles were, and even to this day are, the only pickles Dale and I will eat. Of course, one of us wanted pickle on the liverwurst sandwich and the other didn’t. (Which was easy, really, because Mom just had to remember it was the opposite of the one who wanted dill pickle on a hamburger and who didn’t.)
Now, Mom could get the liverwurst right, and the bread right, and the pickle right, and even remember which sandwich should be sliced and which shouldn’t. None of it would matter if she got the mustard wrong.
My brother Dale preferred French’s mustard, which was a tad spicier than my Morehouse brand mustard. And if you think we couldn’t tell the difference, then you have gravely underestimated the nuanced elementary school palate.
I continue to be astonished that not only did our mother listen to our finicky requests, but that on a fairly regular basis, she fulfilled them. It’s almost more astonishing than a mother’s capacity to clean up vomit or endure scoreless soccer matches.
There were actually five of us kids. Three boys, two girls; I was the youngest. My mother remembered all of our dry cereal preferences, how dark we liked our toast, the right cheeses for grilled cheese sandwiches, who liked cinnamon on applesauce and who didn’t, tomato soup or chicken noodle, green or red apples, chips or pretzels (and about those chips – corn or potato), and she knew who preferred low fat and who preferred non-fat milk.
I think of my mother while making lunches for my kids. The boy, the oldest, wants peanut butter and jelly on wheat bread, strawberry jam and only Skippy peanut butter – CRUNCHY. The middle child, girl, would like a piece of steak, but if she can’t have that, she’ll settle for no more than five and no less than three pieces of salami on a flour tortilla. The youngest girl – ham, lettuce, Monterey Jack cheese on a hamburger bun.
I sometimes wonder what’s a more fitting cosmic retribution for those liverwurst sandwich demands: my children’s lunch orders or occasional bouts of gout?
My mother passed away four years ago and tomorrow would have been her 89th birthday. I wrote this when my adult children were in school, so a while ago, but I decided to post this in her honor.
I started off on French’s, but soon hit the harder stuff. Moved to Gulden’s, Grey Poupon, and Dijon. Now I’m back to French’s, and much happier.
We had a large strawberry patch and mother would make strawberry preserves every year. It was peanut butter and strawberry preserves every day for lunch. I used to beg mother to buy grape jelly when I went to the store with her, sometimes but not often she did. Dad was going to college on the GI bill and with a family of five there wasn’t money for grape jelly when there was lots of strawberry preserves. To this day I won’t eat PB sandwiches or SBP.
You remind me of a friend of mine. His father would make and sell maple syrup commercially. He wouldn’t eat the real stuff, preferring the Aunt Jemima corn syrup with coloring stuff you could get from the store. Never made sense to me; real maple syrup is the good life.
Lol. The pimento is pickled.
It’s the wurst.
Liverwurst is good! Pretend the word liver is not in the name. Slice some crusty French bread, spread some mayo and add sweet pickles (that’s what we did in the South!) and it is a taste treat.
“Wurst” is “sausage” in German; Braunsweiger was a favorite of Mom P’s – and I liked it because nobody told me I shouldn’t. Eaten on toast, with homegrown leaf lettuce, and just a hint of kid-friendly French’s mustard…A great Summertime treat and fond memory!
So true. So true. However, growing up the only thing we had was Miracle Whip – and for lunches it was chipped ham (Pittsburghers will know) on cracked wheat bread and tomato or chicken noodle soup. Our little grade school didn’t have a cafeteria and being only 2 blocks away, we walked home for lunch.
When I got married, on my first food shopping trip I bought MW. My husband looked at the jar; the pronouncement that day was that there would never ever be MW in the house. Dutifully, I bought Hellman’s and after tasting it realized I had been cheated all those years. Even today I cannot abide the taste of MW.
Note: A friend made deviled eggs for a block party the other day and tasting one of the eggs made with – you guessed it – I nearly gagged and politely found a napkin…
The Hellman’s/Miracle Whip question is a matter of familial habit, personal taste, and regional availability, no? I’ve experienced both – and find one rather oily and bland – not gonna say which. This contretemps makes Coke/Pepsi look tame. :-D
I’m on the other end of that scale: I’ll use both/either, depending on the situation.
I guess those who don’t won’t?
I grew up with Miracle Whip, but, when I got older, discovered mayonnaise. I never looked back.
And pretty much everyone else Will die too. Eventually ;>}
Pimento cheese spread was and is one of my favorites. Mom made her own so it may have been better than store bought.
No it’s nicer to train kids to be independent than to make then picky and self indulgent. They make better adults that way. And better voters I think.
Strawberry preserves and PB. Heavenly. Wish I could afford the calories now.
Great post. Just what I need to waste time while waiting for Mrs OS to wake up so we can hit the road again. This is the last day of our trip to the GA coast. With stops at several gardens along the way booth ways.
Safe travels! Garden hopping, how fun.
Ah, you fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is “Never get involved in a land war in Asia.” Only slightly less well known is this, “Never argue the relative merits of mayonnaise and Miracle Whip when death is on the line.”
Miracle Whip is technically salad dressing while Helmann’s is mayonnaise. We were a Helmann’s family, but IMHO, my Southern friend’s cole slaw definitely tastes better than my mom’s did because of the Miracle Whip in the Southern version.
Everyone who doesn’t eat Miracle Whip ™ is going to die. Your point?
Edit: Sorry. One time I don’t read the whole thread first…
For me it breaks up the trip, for Mrs. OS it’s about adding to her store of knowledge as a Master Gardener. She also picked up two plants in the Atlanta area that should be fine additions to her beds in KY. Several gardens were what she was looking for with many plants labeled but two were pretty much a bust. Still it made a nice interlude for us as a stretch break though.
I like to take secondary highways and look for those surprises that make the drive worthwhile.
I also get to enjoy the fruits of her labors at home and I got some ideas for adding structures to our layout here.
I know I’ve had Morehouse but don’t remember the taste. I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re confusing the wretched excess of vinegar in French’s with spice. I think the label says it has turmeric in it, but I’m pretty sure the vinegar renders it (and any other purported flavoring) moot by the time it gets to the taste receptors. I also think the brow sweat French’s causes is due to the acidity. Grapefruit juice does the same thing. But that may just be a personal physiological quirk.
As for mayo v. Miracle Whip, I think this sums it up:
I prefer homemade mayo. Note, properly made, this requires you to look like Jean Gabin, wear a wifebeater undershirt, and have a lit Gauloises hanging out of your mouth–or can get someone who has that look into your kitchen–while patiently drizzling olive (or avocado) oil into the eggs while whisking vigorously. That is, it takes a proper French husband. It gives him something to do on Sunday afternoon.
I’m pretty sure I can’t live up to that requirement. Not sure I’d want to. I don’t even own a wife beater.
I am sad that this went flying way over my head.
My mother goes through the list until she gets to right one.
Don’t be. It’s just A Tale of Two Cities reference.
To be fair, I was only expecting a lack of surprise that my mind went for the exact same reference as my Father’s.
Well, I learned something anyway:)