Grilled cheese. The forgotten pleasure

how could I have let this happen? I’ve been writing this blog for over 2 months and have completely forgotten the staple of childhood lunches. The all so often first use of a stove we experience. The golden brown cheesy sandwich, the grill cheese.

  
How simple to butter bread on the wrong side, slide a slice of cheese between and drop into a frying pan for 45 seconds a side. How delightful the metamorphosis, how tasty the results of our labour.

Over the years I have experimented with cheeses, condiments and dips, but always the classic chedder and a side of catsup is a leader on the field of melted cheese Olympics. 

Personally I have developed a grilled cheese sandwich suited to my taste and kitchen staples.

  
A thin brushing of mayo, and when I say thin, I mean thin, so faint that even the inevitable cat hair that threatens my creations cannot find purchase in the minuscule coating of salad dressing. The ever present cheese, cheddar by choice, though I will slip a bit of Monterey Jack in if available. Then a sprinkle of mustard before placing the second slice of bread on top and introducing it to the searing pan.

  
Cooked to a golden brown and bisected with a dollop of red tomato catsup  in the void. We are ready once again to take joy in that same meal that we enjoyed the first time we didn’t burn the house down, or were horribly scarred by the dreaded stove we had been taught was a danger. 

I always questioned as a young child. if it’s such a danger to children, why the hell is it in my house? But then once I pulled a grilled cheese off its diabolical surface, I understood, the danger was worth the risk. 

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