For a few years in the late 60s and/or early 70s, my mom and dad lived in the desert town of Victorville, about an hour’s drive inland from Los Angeles. Although this entire period of my parents’ life is a bit of a mystery to me (based on the records I’ve since re-appropriated from their collection, I think they were listening to a lot of CCR and Janis Joplin), my father, who was a an Air Force meteorologist at the time, shares the occasional quaint anecdote.
This one is about a sandwich. Enjoy.
I just thought you might be interested in this picture and sandwich.
The background is Mom is always asking me if I want to have “breakfast for dinner.” Me being my conservative self, I would never eat breakfast any other time but the morning. However, I would consider having eggs cooked up in an omelet and served as a sandwich, specifically what I used to call a “Western.” Its origin for me was from when I was in the Air Force working a swing shift as forecaster on duty. The flight line snack bar served what they called a “Western” egg sandwich and it had Southwest seasonings, bacon, pepper, tomatoes, onions, a little chili powder, etc.
Anyway it served as my dinner then, and we revived it a few weeks ago and had this great fresh cut bread, grilled, mmmm……. good. Quite “tasty,” as [your nephew] Jackson used to say.