Do you know anyone named Rose? First name or last name. A dog, a cat–anyone? What about famous people–Charlie Rose, for example. Or Rosemary Clooney. Or someone who just reminds you of roses.
Well, I had a first grade teacher named Mrs. Rose. Come to think of it, I have no idea what her first name was. That makes me sad. But I do remember her quite vividly, and I’ve decided that she’s the inspiration for this week’s writing exercise. I’m going to write about her; you write about your Rose (real or imaginary).
When I was a kid, I had a trademark sandwich. I called it the muttereese because its filling was comprised of:
As I got older and my palate got more sophisticated, I added pickles. Thus it became the muttereeickle.
The other day I was poking around my kitchen looking for lunch and it hit me: a huge craving for muttereeickle. Except, instead of store-bought bread (usually buttermilk white or potato), I cut a couple slices from my loaf of homemade sourdough. Instead of Velveeta or Kraft processed cheese food, I used medium cheddar. Instead of dill pickles, I used bread and butter. (Funny, since I forgot about the actual butter, which really wasn’t necessary anyway). I thought about classing up the mustard, too, but in the end I went for good old French’s yellow.
Oh. my. god. Oh my god, you guys! (Ten points if you get that reference.) It was so good. To use a vocab word I hadn’t learned when I created the original, it was sublime. And maybe it sounds weird to you. And maybe you think I’m hormonal. Maybe it sounds like a pregnancy craving (hallelujah, it is not–one kid on each arm is enough for me, thanks.) But if you like sharp, tangy flavors like I do (hail the glory of the salt and vinegar potato chip!) you will love it. Because I love it. If I hadn’t just had lunch, I’d go make one right now.