I’m not what you’d call a picky eater. Even Tammy will tell you that she’d be hard pressed to name 10 things I legitimately don’t like (beets would be the first thing she’d say).

Brussels sprouts? No problem. Asparagus? I love that it makes my pee stink. Cooked cabbage doesn’t bother me either. I’ve even grown fond of cooked carrots – sautéing them helps.

I don’t count things like pigs feet, chitterlings, liver, and gizzards because they aren’t things I’ve eaten – or want to eat for that matter – and aren’t anything I’d bring home to cook.

Recently at work there was talk about something I just can’t bring myself to eat anymore… bologna.

Now I’ve eaten my fair share of bologna sammiches growing up and even had plenty of bologna fried in a skillet as a kid. But as an adult it’s just something I can’t bring myself to eat.

My head knows it’s basically the same thing as a hot dog — lips and buhholes — just not in tubular form. Bologna is basically just a flattened hot dog, and I don’t have a big problem eating hot dogs, although I don’t eat as many since we moved from Chicagoland.

So when a coworker was talking about ordering baloney sammiches at some of the places we’d eat, I just didn’t understand why he would make that choice.

CW: Why would you go to Uncle Lou’s and get a burger? Especially when they have that awesome baloney sandwich.
Me: The only way I’m ordering a baloney sammich is if that’s the best thing on the menu. It’d have to be like livers, gizzards, chickens feet or baloney sammich. That’s it.

I seriously can’t imagine a scenario where I’d choose bologna from the menu.

Me: I’ll have the ribs.
Waiter: We’re out of ribs.
Me: I’ll do the pulled pork sammich then.
Waiter: We’re out of that as well.
Me: Smoked chicken?
Waiter: Out.
Me: Turkey leg?
Waiter: Nope.
Me: Brisket?
Waiter: Uh-uh.
Me: Hmmmm, well what do you have?
Waiter: Bologna. All we have left is bologna sammiches.

At that point several other things would come into play before I’d actually order a bologna sammich: What time is it? How long has it been since I last ate? How far away is the next place? Do I have enough gas to get there?

If Tammy was with me then none of those questions would matter because we’d be finding another place to eat.

Another coworker: Sometimes when I’m a little hungry and just need a snack I’ll fry up some bologna.
Me: That means you knowingly and willingly purchased a package of it when you were out and brought it home.

Again, I just can’t see a scenario where I’d do that at a grocery store. Were they out of sliced turkey or ham? Fresh fruit? Cereal? Cookies?

I’ve even jokingly said things like, “I used to eat bologna sammiches, when my Mom didn’t have a job.” (For the record, that’s not true. Mom, I know you always had a job and just fed us bologna because you didn’t love us.*)

Last week I saw that a burger place in Memphis, Last Burger or Earth or LBOE, put bologna on a burger and it made me thing of two things.

Today’s BOTD: ‘Made in America’: 8 oz. seasoned beef patty served over shredded lettuce, dill pickles, and red onion topped with American cheese, fried bologna, and bbq sauce on a toasted Ciabatta bun w/a pickle spear. $9.95.

Seth smoking bologna for slider. (Pics from Best Memphis Burger Facebook)

The first thing was you can’t put lipstick (or in this case cheese) on a pig. The second thing was that actually looks pretty good.

Now, I still can’t see me knowingly and willingly ordering a burger with bologna on it, but in a situation like this, I feel like I’d be tricking myself by thinking I was eating a burger. The burger to bologna ratio heavily favors the burger, which means the flavors would as well.

Then I see Seth (aka Best Memphis Burger) posting pictures of bologna on a smoker and I start second guessing myself.

That’s when I realized I had found the scenario where I could actually see myself eating bologna… at a cookout.

If I was invited to someone’s house for a cookout and all they had was smoked bologna, well… I guess I’d be willing to try it.

Until that happens though, there are just too many other options on the menus of places.

* I know you loved us Mom.