Bunch of baloney

I’m a little “off” this week. With Labor Day on Monday and trash pickup today instead of yesterday, it messes up my routine. Ah, the tragic laments of an OCD retiree. Though, it’s not bad enough to make me relinquish the official end of summer celebration that honors the achievements of hard-working Americans and their contributions to our nation’s strength and well-being. The first Labor Day parade was held in New York City on September 5, 1882. Organizers fought hard for things we now take for granted: eight-hour workdays, minimum wage, time off, workplace health and safety standards. Also, against the use of child labor. The struggle was real – then and now. If you’re still working, you can thank unions for your weekends.

How’d you spend your Labor Day weekend? Ours was mostly quiet, but on Sunday, we went to a small gathering of old friends for a BBQ with a surprising main course: bologna sandwiches. I kid you not.

Forget brats, dogs and burgers. Bring on the bologna, Donna!

We’re not talking typical ring bologna, my friends. This was a 6.5-pound “chub” – as in plump – of uncut Kowalski’s bologna that had been marinated for six hours in a cup of Leo’s Coney Island Greek dressing, a quarter-cup of Chardonnay and extra-virgin olive oil.

Then, it was grilled at 275 degrees over indirect heat on a barbecue mat, basted and turned several times for nearly three hours. This chubby block of processed meat was tended to like a newborn in a bassinette.

Honestly, it looked like a fireplace log on steroids, about the size of a regulation football, perfectly scored with a knife and seasoned to absorb all the tasty goodness of smoked grilling. A beautiful crust of caramelized glaze formed around it sealing in the juices.

Cooking an entire chub takes bologna to a whole new level. Kudos to Tina and Michelle who created this culinary masterpiece.

Most of the guests marveled at this unusual dish, which brought back fond childhood memories of eating fried bologna sandwiches our mothers cooked in a pan on the stovetop as we sang the Oscar Mayer TV jingle: “My bologna has a first name … it’s O-S-C-A-R. My bologna has a second name … it’s M-A-Y-E-R. Oh, I love to eat it every day …” (OK, that’s enough.)

In case you didn’t put it together, bologna’s origin is, well, Bologna, in northern Italy’s Emilia-Romagna region. There, it’s pronounced “boh-LOAN-ya,” unlike the boring Americanized spelling pronounced “buh-LOAN-ee.” As in, “a bunch of baloney.”

(Aside: Shout out to my cousin Mauro’s wife, Marisa, who’s from that region. Ciao, bella! The University of Bologna – the oldest in continuous operation in the Western world – was founded there in 1088.)

But seriously, this chub stuff isn’t your mother’s deli bologna. Or my Piedmontese grandmother’s, who served the original meat direct from Bologna and more commonly known as mortadella, a large sausage made from finely ground, heat-cured pork and cubes of pork fat. That’s how they create a distinctive white-dotted pattern in the meat.

It’s often flavored with black peppercorns or pistachios and has a smooth, silky texture and a slightly sweet, aromatic taste. So. Good. Especially with cheese and a hunk of Italian bread.

Unfortunately, as a kid, I picked out the white dots of fat. Not a shocker for those of you who have seen me eat anything that’s not 90 percent lean.

The name mortadella comes from the Latin word mortarium, and surely has something to do with death, as in morte, since this processed fatty meat is likely much worse for your cardiovascular system than eating sinfully rich fettucine Alfredo.

Not hard to understand why a fried mortadella sandwich was American chef Anthony Bourdain’s favorite. The late author dubbed it a “beloved heap of oozing awesomeness.”

As that cute, curly-haired kid fishing and singing in the Oscar Mayer commercial says at the end, “How’s that?” Then he happily takes a big bite out of his sandwich.

Hey, it was 1973. Bologna on Wonder bread was good for you then.

(YouTube: Here’s the Oscar Mayer bologna song from 1973, sung by Andy Lambros, who was 4 years old at the time. He sang the jingle in one take on a pier with a fishing rod and a bologna sandwich. The “My Bologna Has a First Name” campaign became one of the longest-running TV commercials in history. Lambros became the face of more than 20 commercials, and later an accomplished artist and graphic designer. PS Watch his right foot tap the beat!)