I don’t know how we baby boomers survived as children. At least at my house. We grew up eating egg-salad sandwiches for lunch at school. They were slapped together on plain, old white bread, wrapped in cellophane and popped into a brown paper bag. There were no insulated bags at our house, and lunches were not refrigerated in the hallowed halls of the schools I attended. We left the house before 8 and ate lunch around noon. That’s a long time for an egg-salad sandwich to sit around.
I never got sick and I never got sick of eating egg salad sandwiches. Or fried egg sandwiches — also not refrigerated. Maybe it was the infusion of chocolate that saved us.
Today, my family rarely gets egg salad, post-Easter. That’s because we make deviled eggs every Easter, and they disappear on Easter Sunday. No matter how many I make, they’re gone. It is a protein punch with a little added fat.
Oddly, I am craving an egg-salad sandwich in a brown paper bag eaten while seated on a wooden, folding chair at wooden cafeteria table. Nostalgia at its eggstraordinary best.