The Mustard Sandwich.

*Audio Version below*

My older brother was the first vegetarian I ever met. It was 1975 and I remember he and his wife made an announcement at a family holiday buffet like revealing he was pregnant. For the Minnesota transplants it was a big deal.

My mom took it personally as the family cook and said, "well what are you going to eat? Salad?" Jokes all around, 'rabbit food', 'more steak for me' and 'be careful of your protein'. I was 8 at the time and like most family gatherings I mostly watched from the sidelines and observed. Nearly 20 years my senior he was already married and living in a cool house he'd designed and running marathons and being a trendsetter for the era. He owned his own landscape architecture firm and had a plant nursery in Florida full of scary skin ripping palm trees.

He talked to me where my dad did not. He was the oldest to my youngest and definitely stood in for a father figure and empathized that I grew up in a household that was very different from his childhood. I never lived in the same house as my siblings.

He used to draw these silly cartoons of a character FIRD a hybrid bird/frog and his wicked sense of humor spiked my early addiction to laughter. A pretty intense person in general, he was competitive in sports, super ambitious...lauded Type A traits from the 80s. I had a lot of approval seeking behavior when he came around. If he was in a mood he had the sarcastic bite that could ruin my entire week. One sentence. Instant tears. Like losing a pet or listening to Ave Maria.

He used to jog to my parent's house in Florida after work during training season and make cheddar cheese sandwiches with lots of mayo and mustard and tons of cheese and black pepper and I realized at that moment that being a "vegetarian" didn't mean that you ate a lot of vegetables, you just don't eat meat. I could do that! My favorite things, macaroni, pizza, condiments, buttered popcorn---all vegetarian! I was in.

My parents had lots of mustard varieties in the pantry from gift baskets from German friends or the dark and mysterious shopping mall deli Mr. Dunderbak's. I can still conjure a garlicky dill pickle or caraway seed scent memory. Grainy, smooth, sharp, mild, yellow to brown mustards I sampled all, the way some kids try syrups at IHOP. Dunderbak's was a dark wood paneled pub perfumed with pastrami and Black Forest ham. Grilled reubens. Ceramic barrels with krauts. European cheeses by the pound. Wine and beer barrel tables and comfy stools. Some polka music quietly in the Bavarian background. Soft lighting on German tin signs arranged with grocery. Comfy and romantic where it didn't need to be really, but contrast to the jarring scene that is eating out today. Turn and burn fast casual stand in line like cattle and get your hot dog/burrito/taco/burger and GTFO food service. Long lunches with my mom over corned beef on my summer breaks is a sweet bit of nostalgia. If I had come of age in 2022, I likely would not have become a chef. I'd drink my Soylent green and head to the factory.

In this pueblo where I have been stranded without a vehicle or usual transport out I am aware daily that this is not what I had in mind for my vanlife tour of Mexico and the many beloved interesting foods therein. I soothe myself remembering tours of Oaxaca, street food in Veracruz, salted whole fish in Tulum, Europe memories of French bistros, tapas in Madrid, rabbit tagliatelle in Florence. A culinary obsessive as a restaurateur and now I say, you've had lots of amazing food in your life. This is a different chapter. You're here to help the dogs and ease suffering.

I keep it simple with comfort food that is accessible here and food for the first time in my life isn't a focus. I eat a lot of bananas and smoothies and peanut butter. I make grilled cheese on soft bagged bread. I make bone broth for the dogs and eat that too. Every taco stand makes tripe or carne asada. I also eat a lot of beans. I use a crock pot year round. I'd never seen mustard in the tienda and recently I've been craving. I found a teeny jar of the bright yellow stuff. I resisted the urge to wish it was Dijon. Oh, the indignity, my former self whispered.

My brother died in 2004. He was 54. Ranking high in a triathlon one day, the next he had a seizure and crashed into one of those architect angular tables he loved. They found a stage 4 glioblastoma inoperable brain tumor. Fast spreading and treatment resistant. He was livid and a terrible patient. He removed his IV and left. Clearly they had made a mistake. He was invincible.

He went hard on cutting edge treatments and gamma knives and University trials. Chemo, radiation all the poisons we're supposed to avoid in health but are dosed with in illness. He died 6 weeks later after a rapid erosion of motor skills, sight, mobility, speech. I recall that he had DNR signs taped all over the hospital room. Do not resuscitate.

I close my eyes and wonder if I could tell the difference in a taste test of yellow tienda mustard or fine French Dijon. Probably, but it would matter less. I cope with being in situations I cannot control by not dwelling on all the things I cannot get, eat, have, shop for, get delivered. I'm passed the complaining stage (mostly) and I work with what they have and make it part of the game. My brother Jeff would have been on board with that. He'd say, "Eating is not an event you know, it just slows you down..." even though my entire career focused around making dining an event, I know what he means now. Sometimes a fisherman will bring me some clams or a fresh fish and I accept and enjoy the simplicity.

After he died I found that I stopped making plans or expecting anything to go as I thought. Being relatively stuck in this town doing what I hadn't planned on and making peace with it is an obvious adjustment. I heard an old guy say once that he 'stopped buying green bananas' when someone asked how he was feeling...it cracked me up. Jeff would have laughed at that too. Descent into madness is always a little funny.

M. Niesen 7/2022 all rights reserved