Taken verbatim from my final English project
As a culinary major, I tend to focus a lot on food. Now that I’m pregnant, I can’t tolerate most foods. The last few weeks, my diet has been overwhelmingly consisted of grilled cheese for at least one meal per day. This invariably leads me to think over the mechanics of a grilled cheese sandwich. I don’t like crust, but I like my honey wheat bread sauteed in butter to brown. Then I add two pieces of White American cheese and top the sandwich with another piece of bread. Then, of course, I have to flip and brown the other side. There’s something about grilled cheese that’s homey enough and yummy enough that I can manage to eat it. So, naturally, it’s become my favorite food. At least for the moment.
x . x . x . x . x
The Secret Life of Grilled Cheese
How nicely browned and crisp you are.
Two pieces meet with something in between.
It’s like a marriage, with a secret.
A melty, cheese secret.
Two pieces of White American
sandwiched between the bread.
The nutty smell of browned butter
fills the modest kitchen and makes mouths water.
A stove or a griddle,
or even the grill, since you’re named for it.
Any of those will do.
The crusts must be cut away, like an infection.