a southern thang

So this was one of those years when I did not make it to the Masters. All I wanted was for someone to bring me back a pimento cheese sandwich from the concession stand.

Make that two, please.

I am a pimento cheese snob. I don't eat just any kind. I can look at it and know if I am going to like it or not.

Pimento cheese should not be bright orange as some types are. Instead, it should be creamy and spread on squishy white bread...like it is at the Masters. I can recall many trips to the course, not paying much attention to golf, but people-watching, enjoying the scenery, and waiting for lunch so I can get what I really came there for.

Alan and Kacie went to the tournament this year and brought back my souvenirs, two pimento cheese sandwiches, wrapped in classic green cello bags. I have to admit that I was disappointed in my first sandwich. It tasted, well, plain. Nothing special. Not the treat I had built it up to be. Just a plain sandwich.

Then I realized what was missing from my sandwich. The sunshine. The heat. The azaleas. The experience. It is not just the pimento cheese that is so amazing. It is the whole package, the tradition.

So my second sandwich sat in the fridge for a couple of days until I took a digital picture of it for this post and tossed it in the trash. Next year I will remember not to mess with tradition, and enjoy my sandwich at the place it was intended for, the magical place called The Augusta National.