When I was a kid, on Saturday nights in the summer before going to my great-grandmother’s on Sunday (for a gargantuan feast) we would eat very lightly, anticipating the coming onslaught on Sunday. My mother would make us a sandwich: scrambled egg, tomato from the garden, with homemade mayo on her homemade bread. The juices from the tomato mixed with the mayo would squish out and run down the back of your hand and the bread was to die for. She used to beat the heck out of the eggs so they were light and fluffy. An excellent sandwich.