I knew my husband and I were made for each other when he told me how much he liked Vienna sausages. You know, pinkish-colored blended meat parts molded into the shape of little test tubes and stacked upright in small cans, swimming in some kind of high sodium liquid. Vienna sausages are a staple food for all self-respecting Southerners and a great addition to a happily married couple’s pantry.

As newlyweds, Lewis and I lived in a 14 by 65 foot mobile home on six acres we owned in Alabama. I was a project director at Auburn University and my work required extensive, national travel. Most of my weekdays were spent enduring long-winded meetings in big cities, sleeping in fancy hotels and eating the latest food trends in upscale, overpriced restaurants. So it stood to reason that I cherished a simpler lifestyle on the weekends, hanging out with my honey in our homey trailer.

Throughout those early years, one of our favorite Saturday afternoon activities was to pack a cooler and have a picnic in our own woods or beside a nearby pond where Lewis could fish while I read a book or napped. The menu never varied: canned sardines on saltine crackers with a squirt of mustard and an onion slice, tinned smoked oysters in olive oil, on saltine crackers with a dollop of cream cheese, Vienna sausages straight from can, really cold beer in cans, not bottles.

Those were fun years. We had no TV, so we spent evening hours listening to records (yes, real albums), playing cribbage and grilling lots of steaks or smoking a huge Boston Butte. In the fall, we lit bonfires and stargazed for hours. We planted a garden one summer and harvested baskets of tomatoes, bell peppers, hot peppers, cucumbers, okra and eggplant. I learned how to fry green tomatoes the likes of which you’ve never tasted. We took long walks on dirt paths lit by full moons, our Springer Spaniel and tabby cat trotting behind us and flushing small wildlife along the way.

My career resulted in our moving to Atlanta shortly before our third anniversary. The subsequent years have been good to us and I do not recall either of us ever looking back and longing for our formal rural lifestyle. We love our home in Woodstock and are thankful our son was able to grow up in this community. We’ve vacationed over the years in exciting places. Each of us has a laptop, an iPhone and a TV in our respective, favorite room. But I can’t remember when we last bought Vienna sausages or had a family conversation lasting more than about 10 minutes.

Lewis’ appetite has been off the last couple of weeks. The refrigerator is stocked, as usual, with all the right foods – fresh fruits and vegetables, lean fish and meats, high protein snacks. But he’s not interested. Last night he told me he has a hankering for creamed chipped beef on toasted white bread, the ingredients for which I have not stocked in over 20 years.

So as soon as I finish writing this article, I’m going to put away the laptop and turn off the TV. Then I’ll head to Publix and fill a grocery cart full of the simple comfort foods from our past. I’ll dust off the cribbage board and suggest a game after dinner, or after we spend some quiet time on the back deck with our fire pit.

Sometimes, simple is just fine.