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.
When I was growing up, we kids would dye eggs the day before Easter. Then the Easter Bunny would hide the hard boiled eggs Saturday night around the living room. We would find them Sunday morning and put them in our Easter baskets and then eat them during the week. No refrigeration for days, and we never got sick, either. This year we dyed 4 dozen eggs so if you want some egg salad, you can have some of mine!
Thanks, Sue.