School lunches in the ’60s were a lesson in survival, and the sandwiches? Well, they were often more of a challenge than a treat. Squished between slices of white bread, these sad creations barely kept hunger at bay—sometimes dry, sometimes bland, and always somehow unforgettable.
Here’s a look back at the sandwiches that tested patience and appetite, yet somehow helped get through those long school days.
1. Peanut Butter & Banana
Thick, sticky peanut butter glued to white bread, with banana slices that turned an unappetizing brown by lunchtime. The sandwich would sit in my cubby all morning, the bananas softening into a mushy surrender.
Yet I’d eat every bite, partly from hunger, partly from knowing Mom packed it with love. The sweetness of overripe bananas mixed with salty peanut butter created a weird magic that somehow worked.
2. Bologna On White Bread
The bologna always had that weird red ring around the edge that nobody questioned in those days. Sometimes the bread would get that soggy pink stain where meat met bread – the dreaded “bologna sweat.”
Classmates with fancy lunches might snicker, but bologna sandwiches were playground currency. I once traded half of mine for three Oreos and considered it the financial coup of third grade.
3. Egg Salad Sandwich
Yellow, chunky, and guaranteed to make you friendless by noon. The minute I cracked open my lunchbox, a sulfuric cloud would erupt, causing nearby kids to scatter like I’d released tear gas.
The sandwich itself wasn’t terrible – creamy with that distinct egg flavor that either delights or disgusts. But the social price was steep. Even my best friend Tommy would scoot down the bench, muttering about the smell.
4. Tuna Salad Sandwich
Nothing destroyed a kid’s social standing faster than unwrapping this fishy time bomb. Mom mixed canned tuna with enough mayonnaise to drown a small village, adding diced celery that crunched between my teeth like tiny landmines.
The bread always surrendered to the wet filling, creating a soggy catastrophe by lunch period. I’d try eating it quickly before the full aroma developed, shoving enormous bites into my mouth while breathing through my nose.
5. Jelly Sandwich
Cruel fate struck when Mom ran out of peanut butter. The jelly-only sandwich – the Depression-era ghost that haunted my generation. Grape jelly soaking through cheap white bread created a purple stained mess that resembled an abstract art project more than lunch.
Without its creamy peanut butter partner, the jelly would soak through both bread slices within hours. By lunchtime, I’d unwrap a sticky purple disaster that required surgical precision to eat. One wrong move and that grape goo would slither onto my school clothes.
6. Spam Sandwich
Behold the pink brick of preserved possibility! When that gelatinous slice of Spam appeared between two pieces of white bread, I knew Mom had been stretching the grocery budget again.
The salty, processed meat product sat proudly on its throne of Wonder Bread, occasionally adorned with a squirt of yellow mustard for the illusion of sophistication. The texture was simultaneously soft yet firm, the flavor an indescribable blend of ham-adjacent saltiness that lingered in your mouth for hours.
7. Pimento Cheese
Grandma’s homemade concoction combined shredded cheddar, mayonnaise, and those bizarre red pimento peppers into a neon paste that could probably glow in the dark. The sandwich would arrive slightly warm after sitting in my cubby all morning – a culinary hazard nobody questioned in the pre-food safety obsessed sixties.
Eating it required commitment. The cheese mixture oozed from between bread slices like lava, dripping onto the wax paper below. Despite the mess, this sandwich tasted like home – tangy, creamy, and weirdly comforting.
8. Deviled Ham
Wrapped in that iconic paper with the little red devil, Underwood Deviled Ham was my lunchbox nemesis. Mom spread it thick on Wonder Bread, sometimes adding a leaf of iceberg lettuce as if that would somehow elevate this monstrosity.
The taste was indescribable – salty, hammy, with a spicy kick that lingered uncomfortably. Each bite released more of its potent aroma, ensuring my isolation continued throughout lunch period.
9. Cheese & Pickle
Begging for something “different” backfired spectacularly when this culinary oddity appeared in my lunchbox. A single slice of bland American cheese paired with one lonely dill pickle, sliced lengthwise. The pickle’s acidic juice would transform the bread into a soggy green-tinged disaster by noon.
Biting into it produced an unholy crunch followed by conflicting flavors that battled on my tongue. The rubbery cheese offered no defense against the pickle’s vinegary assault.
10. Liverwurst Sandwich
Liverwurst – that grayish-brown tube of organ meat mystery – sliced and slapped between bread with maybe a smear of yellow mustard if I was lucky. The smell announced itself like a foghorn, causing neighboring kids to dramatically pinch their noses and make gagging sounds.
The texture was smooth yet grainy, the flavor intensely liver-ish with notes of whatever spices they used to mask the fact you were eating pureed organs. Dad loved the stuff, which explained its regular appearance in my lunchbox.
11. Cheese Sandwich With Margarine
Grandma’s influence on Mom’s sandwich-making reached its peak with this budget-friendly monstrosity. A thin slice of American cheese on white bread slathered with margarine – not butter, but the bright yellow oleo that came in a tub.
The margarine would form a waxy layer that coated my mouth with each bite. The cheese slice was often cut in half to make it stretch further, leaving sections of the sandwich with nothing but margarine on bread.
12. Tomato Sandwich
Thick slices of homegrown tomatoes between bread slathered with mayonnaise – a simple combination that transformed into soup by lunchtime. The bread would dissolve into a gummy paste, tomato seeds swimming in pink juice that inevitably dripped onto my school clothes.
Decades later, I make these for myself every summer, the taste now representing something precious – the simple garden bounty of a childhood summer I was too young to appreciate.