The Chronicles of Sophie....continued

I have a new name for Sophie: 'Stroyer, short for Destroyer. Yesterday was a particularly outstanding day for her. She snatched a handwoven coaster off my desk, didn't chew much but that one corner is probably enough to start it unraveling. Next she got one of my bras--no, it was not on the floor but hanging on a doorknob where I often put it. I thought she couldn't hurt it much. After all she wasn't going to tear great holes in fabric. But when I put it on I couldn't fasten it--she had destroyed the plastic hook--just hope it's not in her stomach.
 But the final insult was that she stole the last bite of my lunch sandwich--just reached up to the plate next to me on the desk and took it. I wasn't looking but when I turned back to the plate, I thought, "Wait a minte. I didn't eat it all." I'd been savoring that last bite in my mind. Then I saw her licking at something on the floor. This was no ordinary sandwich--I had combined mayonnaise, the last of a roast chicken, and crumbled blue cheese on rye bread. My all-time favorite sandwich.
I first ate this combination in the basement cafeteria of a department store in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, way back when I was in college. Brought the idea home to my mom, and she loved it as much as I did. We were--and I still am--big fans of Maytag blue cheese. One day Mom fixed me a sandwich to take to the hospital where I worked and also fixed one for the older single woman who was manning the gift shop that day. The other woman ate my sandwich, raved about it, and left me salami and cheese. A big enough disappointment that it stands out in memory even today.
Back to Sophie: last night I had dinner guests, he an Episcopalian priest who had done a blessing of the animals service that day on a ranch. Since Sophie is still too excitable to take to a blessing ceremony, I asked him to bless her. She is now blessed though it was quite informal--she was trying to jump in his lap and he said something quckly about blessing her and then named the whole family. Katie and Gayland were, however, lovely about welcoming Sophie, raved about her beauty (well, I think so), and loved on her. She behaved medium well, did sit when told to but quivered with excitement.
Today there was no school, so Jacob spent the night and was here until after lunch when he went to play with a friend. He went outside to play with Sophie and I took the picture above. He tells me she is his best friend, and today he said, "Sophie is a lover." When I agreed, he said, "I am a lover too. She gets it from me." Then he hastily added, "And from you too!"

A taste of Iowa

I went to a small liberal arts college in a small Iowa farm town for two years. It definitely was not a match for a city girl from the South Side of Chicago who was madly in love with an "older" medical student back home. My mom claimed my girlfriend, Barbara, and I chose that school because the recruiter who visited our high school was young and very good-looking. Probably so. But I didn't like Iowa, didn't like 3.2 beer--we weren't allowed to drink anyway. When you signed in from a date at night, a monitor asked if you had a good time, putting her face close enough to yours to smell your breath. I never felt comfortable with the social life, though Barbara loved it and has gone back to reunions. I guess I got a good enough education, although when I transferred to the University of Chicago as a junior, they made me take freshman English because I had "passed out" of it at the college and taken a substitute course in Henry Adams' The Education of Henry Adams. It was a fascinating experience that I recall with intellectual fondness--whatever that is. But Chicago deemed my writing skills inadequate--a nice irony since I've been a writer for almost forty years. Chicago also deemed me unable to qualify for an advanced degree based on my exit exams--another nice irony since I have a Ph.D.
All of that is beside the point, except to say that I carry good food memories of Iowa. In the basement cafeteria in a Cedar Rapids department store I learned to love a turkey sandwich with mayonnaise and blue cheese. I carried that idea home to my mom, who immediately adopted it. She used to pack a lunch for me when I was in school and working in Chicago, and she sometimes surprised me with that sandwich. I also remember visiting the Maytag cheese factory in Newton, Iowa--Mom and I were a bit dismayed that one of the workers dipped his bare arm into a vat of cheese to stir it. But later Mom used to send a wheel of Maytag blue cheese for Christmas, and it's the kind I buy to this day. I also remember visiting the Amana Colonies--a German self-sustaining commune--and encountering for the first time a family-style meal. The simple food--corn, green beans, potatoes, whatever--was served in bowls big enough to serve everyone at the table. A party of three? Didn't matter. You sat at a table for eight or ten and shared it with folks you'd never met. I loved it--and loved the plain, simple and oh-so-good food.
But what I've longed for ever since--and believe me, that's been a long time--is a good pork tenderloin sandwich. It may be that I remember those also from my time in the northeast corner of Missouri, but after all that borders on Iowa. Breaded pork tenderloin is served on a hamburger bun and to my memory the meat was always slightly peppery--and delicious.
I don't remember if we ate them at a Maid-Rite or not, but I read  recently in local food critic Bud Kennedy's column that Maid-Rite has come to the Fort Worth area and brought their iconic pork tenderloin sandwiches. My good friend Betty and I usually go to a nice restaurant once a week, but I'm tempted to suggest we get to-go food from Maid-Rite and bring it to my porch next week. I'll present it as a food adventure.
Maid-Rite is also the home of loose meat, which is just what the name says--ground meat not formed into a patty. In fact, that's their signature sandwich. Ground meat is sauteed with onion on a special grill so that the grease drains off and then piled on a hamburger bun. It depends on the franchise--some season the meat and some don't.
But me? I'm ordering the pork tenderloin sandwich. After all, where can you get dinner for $4.99. And then, maybe a giant shake to go with it. Hey, Maid-Rite, welcome to the Metroplex.