In my first year of medical school, I ate sardines. I’m not sure why, but my guess is because it was convenient.
     I rented a room from a psychiatrist (good idea at the time) on the Faculty at Albany Med. It was just that … a room, a bed, a window, a desk and a door outside of which was a communal toilet.
     But that’s all I thought I needed. It was grind, grind, and grind… study for hours, afraid to miss something or fail a test and not move on.
     And oh yes, there was something else I needed… food. I was not one to cook, and there was no place to cook anyway.
     On occasion, I went to the Greek Restaurant nearby for
     “One cupsz cuffee, one rust beef samich and smush pudado.”
Otherwise, it was eat in the room.
     One of my favorites was the sardine sandwich. It was easy. Use the key to open the sardinescan, wave off the smell, pour the oil on the Italian bread, spoon out the sardines, open a Coke and that was it. Eat and no study time lost. Food for the brain.
     “What the hell is that smell,” is an oft refrain I heard from outside the door.
     “I’m eating brain food,” I replied. And I liked them, never knowing how really good they were until I had freshly caught ones in Portugal last September..