Phogna Bologna

The last time I ate bologna was the 1980s. I used to be a picky kid and one of my favorite sandwiches was bologna and mustard on white bread (hold the nutritional value). Ironic that “picky” as a kid is so vastly different from “picky” as an adult. The idea of eating bologna and knowing only that it’s basically a giant tube of organ gunk is horrifying. It’s hilarious that it was a-okay with me back then, and yet things like onions and coffee ice cream would make me recoil. Nowadays, I don’t think there’s any way I would touch the stuff, nor would it ever even occur to me that you could buy a 2 pound filet o’ bologna and rotisserie roast it. I feel like that would smell like a tire fire. (That seems to be a common theme in a lot of these recipes – how to recreate the feel/look/smell of something else for a haunted house. You want the smell of rubbery burning flesh? Make this here bologna. You want liquid shit? Mix this tomato and pea soup together. It would be a very intense haunted house.)

But you know what classes up a bologna dinner and makes it all okay? Waldorf salad.

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