Last weekend, Dear Richard and I were glued to the annual televised Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta, Georgia – as usual.

On the surface, tales of the competition at Augusta National, and my childhood days at summer camp, do not seem to have anything in common. But let me tell you both stories.

When I was a kid, my working mother needed me to be cared for in the summer months. So, from ages eight to thirteen, I spent July and August at a small girls’ camp in Duxbury, Mass., run by the Anglican Sisters of St. Margaret. The junior camp, for girls 8 to 10. was named Dodge. The senior camp, Bertram, was for 11-13-year-olds. Each camp was comprised of 18 to 20 girls.

My first summer at Dodge was a huge eye opener for this only child. All that sharing stuff, plus rules, lights out, lottsa chapel time, chores, and many new foods.

Miss Gladys was the cook at Dodge. Short and pudgy, she wore thick Coke bottle bottom glasses. I could barely understand her thick Georgia accent. Even at my tender age, I was awed by her work load. Naturally, I couldn’t judge her age – she could have been late 40’s, she might have been 60. But she put three meals a day on the table, seven days a week, for eight weeks. For 25 people. And her food was delicious.

I vividly remember August Sunday suppers. I couldn’t believe my eyes the first time a tall, puffy concoction in a round dish appeared in the center of each table. The cheese souffles, fresh out of the oven, were served beside her warm biscuits with honey, and a platter of huge sliced tomatoes. Like I said, Miss Gladys’s food was delicious.

Occasionally, we went on off-campus treks with a picnic hamper chock full of sandwiches. The first time I bit into a pimento cheese sandwich, I was stunned. “What is this?” I thought. I loved it! When I asked Miss Gladys about it, she told me the contents and that she grew up eating pimento cheese sandwiches.

“What’s a pimento?” I wondered. Back home, I tried to describe it to my mother. “It’s like a cheese salad, with little pieces of red somethings.” Mom knew pimentos.

When I graduated to senior camp, we had another glorious cook, Miss Agnes. But she wasn’t southern, and I realized I’d eaten my last pimento cheese. Of course, growing up in Yankee territory, I never saw pimento sandwiches on the menu. Anywhere.

Fast forward 60-plus years.

Entry tickets for the world-famous Masters Tournament are sold through a local lottery. If your number is selected, you may purchase their reasonably priced tickets. The horrendous prices one reads about are in the secondary market. One year, Richard’s sister had a winning number, and we had a lovely invitation.

When we arrived at the golf course, I was amazed that parking was free. The magnificent course was even more beautiful than on television. After a fun morning of following the big-name golfers up close, lunchtime arrived.

At the many food stands scattered around the course, the menu was posted on the board: egg salad or pimento cheese sandwiches, chips, peach ice cream sandwiches, Coke, beer, and lemonade. All dirt cheap. The egg or cheese sandwiches were $1.50 each! I had brought extra cash, knowing what food always costs at sporting events. Not at Augusta National.

Richard and I bought egg salad and pimento cheese sandwiches to split. The name of the cheese sandwich meant nothing to me – until I bit into it. This was it! One bite, and I was instantly transported back to my Dodge camper days, visiting Miss Gladys in her hot kitchen. Augusta National made the exact same sandwich as Miss Gladys! Then of course, it all came together. She herself was a Georgia peach.

I stood there wondering how I could buy dozens of these sandwiches and transport them to Warren, Pennsylvania. When I asked if the recipe was available from Augusta National, the woman behind the counter looked at me as if I had three heads. Then she laughed. Instead, I have spent the last decade working at perfecting the recipe.

Watching the tournament this past weekend, I learned that the egg or pimento sandwiches are still $1.50! All the hallowed traditions at Augusta are important, including their food. The tournament managers want every visitor to walk away with an experience of warmth and fond memories. They make it easy.

But never fear. They more than make up for the free parking and inexpensive menu if you walk into their gift shop.

I myself would pay big bucks for just one copy of the pimento cheese recipe … and skip the $90.00 Masters tee-shirt.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com