Going Western

I write of the comestible sort of Western, but I can't find an image that matches my variety of a Western sandwich, and I forgot to take a picture, so here is a western image of a different sort for you pleasure. Perhaps I would have remembered to take a picture had I not almost overflowed the sink.

In the distant past, before we were married, Sue once or thrice cooked me a Western sandwich when I visited her. I was already in love with her, but I also fell for this simple, tasty dish. I am not sure if I had ever eaten eggs other than boiled* until then, and bacon** was never served at our house.

A Western, in our corner of the world anyway, is simply an omelette consisting of eggs, bacon, onion and cheese. I make it into a sandwich by stuffing it between two pieces of toast after topping the eggs with a bit of ketchup. I am not much of a ketchup person and only use it in a few sandwiches: Western, grilled cheese, meat loaf. I think Sue used to also put the omelette into a sandwich, but she now prefers the toast on the side.

So, that is what I call a Western sandwich. I know other parts of Canada call a similar creation a Denver, but I don't know what Americans might call it, assuming that they even have a name for it.

The price of eggs is a great concern down south, but the free run brown dozen that I just purchased were $7. That is CDN currency, the US equivalent would be about 60₵, given the conversion rate. #kidding 😎

By the way, eggs were plentiful in the grocery store in various grades, sizes and prices. I am somewhat aware of the difficulties south of the border, but I don't know the cause of the scarcity and resulting expense.

* Soft-boiled eggs were the only form of eggs in my childhood, but I don't think that I have eaten a boiled egg since then, preferring fried or scrambled. I possibly could eat them soft-boiled in the shell if necessary, but I can barely look at someone munching on a hard-boiled egg although I can endure an egg salad sandwich.

 ** Mom didn't serve bacon at our house, and, frankly, I am not sure if I had ever eaten even a strip of bacon back then. I do recall one Sunday morning at university when, as an atypical student, I got up early to go to church. The large cafeteria was almost empty; I may even have been the solitary diner, but I don't remember precisely. Since there was no one else to consume food, they heaped my plate with bacon, so it was almost like I was in heaven, even before I went to church, where, if I recall correctly, there was a hell of a good sermon. (Sorry, I can't help myself, sometimes.)

Finally, here's a little something to send you on your way.