When we are born our first bout with individuality is when our parents bestow upon us the gift of a name. What is in a name? Does a name define who we are or how we are perceived by others? What about those souls who are lost to their families, perhaps they ended up homeless and one day when their time was up they couldn't be identified? They are just as much a human as anyone else but because their "name" was not known they were coldly stamped John or Jane Doe.
WALK IN EMPATHY
Step into my worn shoes,
How would you feel?
When People walk by,
Forgetting you are real.
Beyond your reach,
The hopes of a warm meal;
Or a place to lay your head,
To let your weary body heal.
Your spirit is broken,
Yet your head held high;
Only to be ignored,
By oblivious eyes.
A face with no name,
Is what they see;
Unloved, forgotten,
Throughout society.
Such lonely solitude,
Unanswered prayers;
Hopelessness and sorrow,
But no one cares.
Who will miss you
When it’s your time to go?
Will anyone remember,
Your name is not John Doe.
© Rose Bruno Bailey
The name
Rose has caused many a remark from people when they first meet me. Usually it is the standard "aww that is my great great grandmother's name;" thanks a lot pal, for making me feel ancient. Or sometimes it is the cheesy "oh Rose, the name of beauty, the flower, by some guy dripping in too many chains and mens cologne." When the movie Titantic premiered I got lots of "never let go Rose." When I first met my husband he actually believed I gave him a fake name.
That brings me to the Sandwich. It was named after John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich, he was an 18th-century English aristocrat. Apparently he requested his valet bring him his meat inside two slices of bread. He was playing cards and wished not to get his hands greasy. Soon others followed suit requesting to have what Sandwich had.
Many sandwiches over the years have gained individual names of their own. The BLT, The French Dip, The Dagwood, The Club Sandwich to name a few.
This inspired me to make my favorite sandwich to take on a picnic in the park or a day outing to the shore. Malibu breeze and a delicious light sandwich to feed my senses. I first had this unusual yet simple sandwich at my friend Margeurite's house back in Cleveland, Ohio. Marguerite was French,world traveled, sophisticated, and whimsical. She sliced a french baguette, and spead some dijon mustard on both sides. Then she topped it off with thinly sliced green apples and sharp cheddar cheese. My version is a bit more gourmet, but in honour of my long lost friend( I used the english spelling of honor since Margeurite lived in London), I have decided to name it
THE MARGEURITE. A whimsical, sophisticated sandwich with a french origin just like it's name sake.
You will need for one
MARGEURITE
A good french baguette.
Extra virgin olive oil.
One green apple, sliced thin.
Brie cheese, enough to spread on both sides of the baguette.
Arugala, a generous handful
Toasted pecans( lightly spray cooking spray on a cookie sheet. Place pecans on sheet,and toast for five minutes in an oven set at 350 degrees for about five minutes).
Drizzle of balsamic vinegar, and extra virgin olive oil, and a teaspoon of a good dijon mustard.
Drizzle olive oil on baguette and place on a cookie sheet in a pre-heated oven set at 400 degrees.Bake baguette for about ten minutes til crusty.
Spread dijon on both sides of the baguette.
Spread a generous amount of brie on each side of the baguette.
Top brie with a handful of the toasted pecans, spread them in the brie so they are firm in the sandwich.
Place thin slices of apple on one side of the baguette in a uniform line.
Top it off with a generous handful of fresh arugala.
Drizzle balsamic vinegar on the arugala,and a bit of sea salt and ground pepper.You may wish to use a bit more olive oil, the choice is up to you. I think the olive oil on the baguette suffices but again individuality comes first. It is your Marguerite Sandwich.
Close tightly, slice in half, and enjoy this distinctive yet delish sandwich which is reminiscent of walking barefoot in a field in Paris during springtime in a Monet painting.
Oh la la c'est marveilleux