Big Daddy's Kitchen
Tall Tales and Anecdotes
As ham sandwiches go, it was perfection. A thick slab of ham, a fresh bun, crisp lettuce, tomatoes, onion and plenty of expensive, light brown, gourmet mustard. The corners of my jaw aching in anticipation, I carried it to the picnic table in our backyard, picked it up with both hands but was stopped by my wife suddenly at my side.
"Hold Johnny (our six-week-old son) while I get my sandwich," she said.
I had him balanced between my left elbow and shoulder and was reaching again for the
ham sandwich when I noticed a streak of mustard on my fingers. I love mustard. I had no
napkin. I licked it off. It was not mustard. No man ever put a baby down faster. It was
the first and only time I have sprinted with my tongue protruding. With a washcloth in
each hand I did the sort of routine shoeshine boys do, only I did it on my tongue. Later
my wife said, "Now you know why they call that mustard 'Poupon.'"
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