Never had a fried bologna sandwich.
Never wanted one.
Then, I wanted one. Because I would do it right. Good bread, good meat, good technique.
That sounds really braggy.
Anyway, I used thin slices of mortadella, four per sandwich. It wasn't enough. You want a pile. Sizzle them in some fat, bunched up like rosebuds, until they brown here and there. We used Fra' Mani mortadella, which is local and very nice. We happen to have two more sources of local, artisan mortadella in these parts (one stack in the fridge, even as we speak), so I plan on nailing this sandwich. I will try again.
OK, spread a thin layer of decent mustard on one slice of bread, and a thin layer of mayo on the other (these are now the insides). Thick it up if you want; this is junk food with superior ingredients, and only abject overdo-ness will ruin your sammie.
Pull the sizzled rosebuds of meat from the frying pan and heap them evenly over one slice of bread. Top with the other slice and place the sandwich in the greasy skillet; grill on both sides, aiming for a golden brown crust. Nothing's gonna melt in there, so just let it go as long as you can stand.
You could embellish with slices of cheese, lettuce or tomatoes. Sheesh. That sounds like a lunchbox sandwich from 1959, and, no. Let's keep it pure meat and bread.
Remove the sandwich with a spatula, cut the sandwich artistically, and decorate with basil flowers.
Take picture, snort a couple of chuckles, and then ditch the basil flowers. Don't wanna eat the flowers.
Should I be morta-fried? I'm not.