Feeling Mello's

I tried to save money, in my late 20s and into my early 30s, but it wasn't easy.

Even though I worked in a bank, was good at helping my customers manage their money and even making it grow, I was lousy at managing my own. I wanted to be social and hang out with my friends, and we would often go to our favourite bars and dance clubs in Ottawa.

I was also taking a sommelier program, at Algonquin College, to further my knowledge and love of wine.

From 1993 to 1995, I worked most days at the CIBC in the City View Plaza, at 1518 Merivale Road, in Ottawa. The bank is long gone, now, but my memories of that branch—along with those of the branch in the Merivale Mall, where I worked from 1990 to 1997—are still strong.

It didn't help that at the time that I worked in City View Plaza, there was an LCBO store at the opposite end of the strip mall, and that to get home I had to walk past it. I knew a couple of the employees, who were always keen to show me some of the latest Vintages releases that were added to the shelves, and it would have simply been rude to not pick up a bottle or two.

From Monday to Friday, I brought at least one bottle of wine home each day.

To save money, I would try to bring a homemade lunch into the branch, but several of the bank staff were friends of mine, who also worked Friday nights and weekend shifts with me at the Merivale Mall, and most days, they ate at the coffee shop that was in between the bank and the Independent grocery store. Not wanting to miss a chance to socialize outside of work, I would join them a couple of times a week.

We always sat at the booth at the back of Mello's Coffee Shop. I usually ate with Phil and Pam, and sometimes Karl or Noreen would join us as a fourth person. There were always enough staff members to manage the teller's wickets in our one-hour absence.

As the shop existed in August of 2021 (Google Maps street view).

I usually ordered the same lunch: the Mello's Special Club Sandwich, which was your classic double-decker sammy of turkey, bacon, lettuce, and tomato, but had a third layer of egg salad. I ordered the brown bread, a side of fries (which were always perfectly crispy), and washed it all down with coffee. On Fridays, if I dined there, I would order their fish and chips.

And coffee. There was something about diner coffee that I couldn't get enough of.

Today, the bank is gone. So is the LCBO and most of the shops that were situated in between. The Ministry of Transportation office has moved further south on Merivale Road, to a larger location near Slack Road. Even the grocery store, which occupied the bulk of the middle part of the plaza, is gone, replaced with a Giant Tiger.

But Mello's is still there. I'm sure that the staff from the 90s is gone but I wonder if the menu is the same. Last week, I had a sudden craving for a club sandwich, but not just your classic double-decker: I wanted the Mello's club.

Maybe, for nostalgia sake, I'll go back. My fellow bankers have scattered to the winds—retired or moved on to other careers—and my dear friend, Phil, is sadly no more. But maybe DW will join me for a trip down memory lane.

Happy Thursday!

Chocolate Milk

When Hawksley Workman released his Milk album, in 2010, I thought the music was great but knew that chocolate milk is even better. When Rufus Wainwright sang about "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," I grimaced at the thought (though I loved the song).

Ham and cheese and chocolate milk. There are no substitutes.

Over the Christmas holidays, in addition to turkey leftovers, we had several leftovers from our traditional Brownfoot Christmas-morning brunch: spiral ham, stollen, and potato pie. I cherish all three of these dishes, eat them on the following mornings for as long as we have them.

In addition to eating the ham for breakfast, I also make myself ham and cheese sandwiches, piled high with the thick-cut, maple and brown-sugar glazed goodness, fresh, leafy lettuce, and meaty slices of beefeater tomatoes.

Awesome.

To wash down this kind of sandwich, I can think of nothing better than a tall, ice-cold glass of chocolate milk. In fact, if we don't have Nestle syrup or milk in the house, I won't make this sandwich. One cannot be had without the other.

I think this combination can be traced back to my final years of high school. In my final two years of secondary education, I was working 16 hours each week at a paint and wallpaper store at the Merivale Mall. This part-time job gave me enough pocket money to pay for gas when I borrowed my parents car, allowed me to go out to movies or for pizza with my friends, and to have cash in my pocket for school lunches.

Every day, without fail, I ate the same meal for lunch: a ham-and-cheese sandwich, a small carton of chocolate milk, and two chocolate-chip cookies. The sandwich was prepared that morning: soft, whole-wheat bread, cheddar cheese, honey-glazed ham, bright-green, leafy lettuce, and a juicy, red tomato. Only a small slathering of mayonnaise was applied to the vegetable side; a sample of honey mustard to the ham.

To my teenage youth, it was perfection. I couldn't make a sandwich better. And the slightly sweet, rich chocolate milk washed it all down.

The cookies were just a bonus. If the school kitchen ran out of them, I'd still take the sandwich and drink. But run out of either one, and I'd go hungry.

And now, as I wrap up this post about ham sandwiches and chocolate milk, I can't get Rufus' song out of my head. Only, I'll substitute "cigarettes" for "sandwiches."