When I was about 13 years old, on a hot summer day Cec took me to a John Deere Front End Loader on the top of Taylor Mountain, as we always called it. From up there you could see Marble Falls, because you were up there looking down. It was far into the distance. I was clearing off the brush on several lots and then leveled them up for future building.
It was early in the morning when he dropped me and I didn’t think about taking a jug of water. When noon rolled around I had never seen anyone. Finally about mid afternoon Cec showed up. He was bringing me something to eat. It was a Herbie’s ready made sandwich and a quart of milk in a sack. He left telling me he’d be back later to get me.
I gulped down the milk out of pure thirst. Then I tore open the sandwich. It was a ham and cheese on Rye Bread. I hated rye bread. The taste of those little seeds made me sick, I thought. I was willing to put that all aside. I gobbled that sandwich down like I liked it.
I have loved rye bread ever since.
Then when I was about 30 years old I was invited on a trip to Elmira, New York with a pipe supplier to tour a valve and fire hydrant manufacturing plant. There were several contractors on a big corporate jet for the trip up there. It was a large enough plane to have a couple of hostesses. They broke out plenty of stuff to drink and some snacks. Some very light snacks.
When we arrived in New York they polled us to see if we wanted to get something to eat or go take a tour of one of the plants. I may have been the only one that wanted to eat. Since it was a good sized group of fellow contractors I just went along without making a fuss.
The tour was delayed and one thing lead to another. Most of the others, maybe all of the others, had drank enough beer and other beverages that day to not notice their hunger pains. When we finally arrived at a big steakhouse about 8:00 PM for our first meal since breakfast, I was having serious food withdrawal symptoms.
They only ask us how we wanted our steaks cooked and nothing else. They started setting salads down. Someone one objected to the dressing, The waitress said that was the house dressing and take it or leave it. Kind of a New York attitude I guess it was.
It was a very strong blue cheese dressing. I didn’t eat blue cheese dressing. I hadn’t been that hungry since that day up on Taylor’s Mountain. So I dived right in and ate my salad, as did my table mates.
Since that day, I prefer blue cheese over any other.
Just give me some rye bread and smear it with blue cheese dressing and I’m a happy boy.