Sympathy for the Grilled Cheese or, If this Sam Needed a Bodygaurd, I'd be It.

There are days when I willingly spend hours in the kitchen, lovingly laboring over as many courses of food as I have ingredients in the fridge, and creativity in the mind box. But lately, my cooking frequency has been about as equal to the spare change amount of entries I've put up on the blog. I make no excuses, as I have none to conjure up. I have neither lost interest in cooking food, nor in writing about it. What have I been doing, you ask? I've been studying. I've spent the past few weeks pouring through a Restaurant Management textbook equal the size and weight of the Webster's Dictionary. And whilst doing this, I have been eating only grilled cheese sandwiches. Call it trashy, tell me to chuck some 'baloney' in there, make me a bet to see who can shotgun a can of Shlitz the quickest, hand me a coupon for a free mullet. Fine, I say. Just fine.

Yet, assuming you are not judgmental, and may be even wise, I will tell what it is--to me, of course--that makes this simple sanny my favorite default snack in the world. Let's put it this way: if our homes really did have teleporters that could whiz us off to anywhere in a second, or I could actually turn jelly beans into diamonds, you'd be instantly stoked.  You might be able to smack a couple grill-cheezers into the sentence, and lose none of its magic...and still be instantly stoked. That's right, give me a grilled cheese sandwich, and I will ask you if you'd rubbed some magic lamp somewhere, questioning how you could have so quickly and thoroughly satisfied me.

At this point, some of you gourmand types are thinking how you could actually spruce up this sanny, adding some of this and that, using real cheese, that kind of thing. You could say, "Oh oh oh, the grilled cheese is the foundation to a palace." I would have to say yes and no, and still call you a wanker for saying palace. The whole magic of the thing is the fact that it takes two seconds, and uses otherwise not so healthy ingredients. In fact, the crappier and whiter the bread, the better. What other things exist in life like this? Where if you separated each ingredient, none would be desired--but when combined and fried in either butter or vegetable oil, you have--by alchemy--created a 5th element, so to speak. You've basically created a hot blue alien chick.  Could you mix poop, diarrhea, and camel piss together and pray for some miraculous stew? Could you wear your tevas over wool socks, a pair of white sweatpants and a drawstring belt, and not look like a nerd? Exactly....

You could tell me that eating too many grilled cheeses are not good for me. I might agree if they didn't give my mouth and tummy their own kinds of orgasms. Can't argue with happy belly. Your final challenge to me could be something about using an up-scale dipping sauce for my lovewich. Like, "Hey, why not use a balsamic drizzle?" Then I could always say, "fuck off and give me the katsup, donkey."