The Baloney Sandwich....Lunch Life on the Wharf

Friends: The Baloney Sandwich…
Lunch Life on the Wharf

Jacksonville, April 30…Tallyrand Street is located in the gritty industrial south side of downtown Jacksonville, just beyond the shadow of Alltel Stadium. It is an area of weathered clapboard houses that Progress looked at once, blinked and moved on.

Lost? Drunk? Kidnapped? No, looking at overlooked opportunities among the dust and noise of oil refineries, container ports and steel fabricating shops where rust and grime are symbols for the neighborhood. In the midst of it all, near the White Horse Bar, stands Russ Doe’s, a “joint” posing as a restaurant. Bench tables, the kind seen at church family buffets, are scattered among the oaks. On these tables “Suits”, drifters, real estate tycoons and steel and wharf workers with forearms the size of thighs dismiss status and seamlessly mix and mingle here, integrated in the strangeness of life and the roads traveled. Picture Willie’s Weenee Wagon.

We entered through the kitchen, and were greeted with “What’ll ya have, boys?” The menu board was a throwback to the fare of a ‘50’s diner (not much has changed here since then!), and my partner asked, "How’s the pimento cheese" to which the short black lady, her head barely visible over the counter, curtly replied, “I don’t much like it, but we sell a lot of it.” With a shrug he said, “Sounds like a good recommendation to me…I’ll have one, and a piece of the oozing pound cake, too.”

Not me, I thought. “Hey, sign says you got bologna?” Eyeballing me suspiciously, she said, “Naw, suh, but we gots baloney.” Pushing, I asked, “Can I get it fried?” Shaking her head, she said, “Boy, you look like one of them city types…whatcha know about fried baloney?” Plenty, but I kept my mouth shut…she didn’t look like she was in the mood for humor. “What kinda bread ya want?” she demanded. “What are my choices?” Pounding the counter, she said, “Any kinds ya want, but Wonder Bread is whats we got’s here…take it or leave it.” I took it, along with the Devil’s Food cake...figured it was metaphoric for something.

Easing out of the kitchen, an empty table appeared. Passing a very large fellow (being Friendly Bud), I nodded,”Hi,” to a response of “Ugh!” ...perhaps his mother had taught him not to speak with his mouth full. I moved on by, quickly. These “across-the-tracks” forgotten neighborhoods have some kind of primordial attraction to me I can’t seem to figure out…they do offer up contemplations, perhaps of luck or destiny or stars or inexplicable somethings. I’ll let you know when I find out.

Now hear me, friends…forgetting what they are not, the folks here in this passed-over neighborhood are very ingenious. On the tables, hanging from the balcony, the trees and walls were small, clear Zip-Loc plastic bags filled with water. “What’s this for,” I asked my friend. He allowed as how that they were the “poor man’s fly repellent.” And true enough, flies swarmed and buzzed, but came nowhere near the “ripe” bologna, uh, excuse me, Baloney, sandwich. And I tell you, folks, judging from the patrons and the food, this was a fly’s heaven.

We survived lunch, and the rest of the day was pleasant and uneventful…but I can’t say as much for the consequences of “morning-after” Baloney sandwiches!

So, in a tribute to a fading Americana, put this slice of Baloney, fried, of course, between some Wonder Bread---no need to read the label: shelf life, 97 years---slather it up real good with mayonnaise, mustard and a little Texas Pete, and live on the wild side…you might even solve the mystery of my “choice-of-neighborhoods” dilemma…let me know.

Bud
May 1, 2008