Bologna browned on either side between two pieces of sourdough bread spread with lots of mayonnaise, potato chips, and a glass of milk.

I remember having it for lunch when I was growing up. Or maybe supper when my Daddy was out of town, and Mama didn’t feel like cooking.

Other favorites were peanut butter and banana sandwiches mixed with a spoonful of mayo, a grilled cheese sandwich with a bowl of tomato soup, and chicken noodle soup with crackers on sick days.

After playing outside all morning, we came running the minute Mama called us for lunch. We might sit at the kitchen table with her while she drank iced coffee or eat at the picnic table or playhouse.

Afterward, we’d have cookies or ice cream from the truck that drove through the neighborhood in the afternoon. I’ll never forget hopping from one bare foot to another on the hot pavement while waiting in line to buy my treat and eat it before a drop melted.

As the years went by, my list of comfort foods expanded. Hamburgers. A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, a bowl of pinto beans and cornbread. A Coke float on a hot afternoon. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Nothing better.

Never fails to fill me up with nostalgia.