Grandmothers always know best.

I was probably 10 years old when I met my first tomato sandwich. It was a day of favorite days, spent hanging out with my grands at their Handyman/Crafting shop. At lunch time Nana called me away from pinning shiny sequins on fruit shapes, and because nobody feeds kids better than grandmothers I went running.

"What are we having today, Nana?"
"Tomato sandwiches."
"Ew. I don't like those."
"Have you tried one?"
"No. But I don't like them."
That's when my granddaddy walked into the office, winked at me and said "I'll just eat yours then since you don't want it."

He would have, too.

So I watched her slather mayonnaise on a slice of white bread, add layers of perfectly ripened tomato, and sprinkle on salt and pepper before I reluctantly took a scrunchy faced "this is gonna be gross" kid sized bite.

I didn't even bother with the chips resting on my paper plate that day, because when the first of my new favorite sandwiches was gone Nana made me another.

I can still picture her satisfied smile.

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