GRILLED CHEESE ANYONE?
I just want to give a big shout out to my dear friend George Foreman. Thank you George. If it wasn't for you I would not have fond memories of lunches with my dear friends Am and Steph. You see, lunch used to be boring. You know, take out from McD's, or Taco Hell, or name your other fast food poison. Or, God forbid, leftovers in the microwave. Going to eat at an actual restaurant was fun, but limited. But the best days...grilled cheese on the ol' foreman grill. This really opened up the possibilities of lunch excursions. Think about it...you can add ANYTHING to a grilled cheese sandwich. My personal favorite: onions and hot peppers on wheat bread. We tended to keep it simple though because the short duration of lunch period we were allotted by our less than generous employer. So it was the typical classic Kraft sliced cheese on Wonderbread or some other white bread staple.
Preparations would start in the dark of morning, or what we called in the military "o'dark thirty". I would get up extra early (well, ok, 2 minutes early), to dig out the machine from the cupboard to haul it from my homestead all the way to work. We would sit in the lunch area where all the other victims of indebted servitude congregated during this very brief moment of rest from hard labor. It was a restorative reprieve from the cruelty of the hard lashes against our backsides. Especially relieving was the anticipation of the greasy cheesy gooey slathered bread slices sliding off of George's invention. And the smell of it cooking...oh my God! I can only imagine the smell wafting down the hallways into the dungeons. I always waited for others to be drawn out of their cubical land, zombie like, searching out this aroma of heaven. But alas, it occurred to me that perhaps they were on different lunch periods or they were simply non-believers of the classic gourmet meal we came to call the grilled cheese sandwich.
The others that were there on the same lunch period as us...the stares we received....they were like piercing arrows penetrating deep into our brains. I'm pretty certain the thoughts in their minds were "how dare them. Look at them sitting there acting all higher than me. What makes them think they can get away with that?" But I do not hold any animosity towards them for the stares they threw at us. As I am certain they were only stares of jealousy. We would even oftentimes offer a sandwich to them as they passed by with drool hanging down the front of their shirts. But I cannot remember any of them accepting.
I was the chef, but I use that word loosely as after all it is only a grilled cheese. Meanwhile, Steph would be the socialite, talking to everyone who walked by while Am would just stare off into space with sparkles in her eyes in anticipation of the luscious meal about to be served. We had like 30 minutes to have lunch and this time was allotted as follows:
I just want to give a big shout out to my dear friend George Foreman. Thank you George. If it wasn't for you I would not have fond memories of lunches with my dear friends Am and Steph. You see, lunch used to be boring. You know, take out from McD's, or Taco Hell, or name your other fast food poison. Or, God forbid, leftovers in the microwave. Going to eat at an actual restaurant was fun, but limited. But the best days...grilled cheese on the ol' foreman grill. This really opened up the possibilities of lunch excursions. Think about it...you can add ANYTHING to a grilled cheese sandwich. My personal favorite: onions and hot peppers on wheat bread. We tended to keep it simple though because the short duration of lunch period we were allotted by our less than generous employer. So it was the typical classic Kraft sliced cheese on Wonderbread or some other white bread staple.
Preparations would start in the dark of morning, or what we called in the military "o'dark thirty". I would get up extra early (well, ok, 2 minutes early), to dig out the machine from the cupboard to haul it from my homestead all the way to work. We would sit in the lunch area where all the other victims of indebted servitude congregated during this very brief moment of rest from hard labor. It was a restorative reprieve from the cruelty of the hard lashes against our backsides. Especially relieving was the anticipation of the greasy cheesy gooey slathered bread slices sliding off of George's invention. And the smell of it cooking...oh my God! I can only imagine the smell wafting down the hallways into the dungeons. I always waited for others to be drawn out of their cubical land, zombie like, searching out this aroma of heaven. But alas, it occurred to me that perhaps they were on different lunch periods or they were simply non-believers of the classic gourmet meal we came to call the grilled cheese sandwich.
The others that were there on the same lunch period as us...the stares we received....they were like piercing arrows penetrating deep into our brains. I'm pretty certain the thoughts in their minds were "how dare them. Look at them sitting there acting all higher than me. What makes them think they can get away with that?" But I do not hold any animosity towards them for the stares they threw at us. As I am certain they were only stares of jealousy. We would even oftentimes offer a sandwich to them as they passed by with drool hanging down the front of their shirts. But I cannot remember any of them accepting.
I was the chef, but I use that word loosely as after all it is only a grilled cheese. Meanwhile, Steph would be the socialite, talking to everyone who walked by while Am would just stare off into space with sparkles in her eyes in anticipation of the luscious meal about to be served. We had like 30 minutes to have lunch and this time was allotted as follows:
1 minute of greetings (as we were in a hurry to get this operation under way)
5 minutes prep time
15 minutes cook time
1 minute devouring time
6 minutes of reflection and socializing time
2 minutes of wipe down and clean up
30 minutes time of our lives well spent!
And of course, 30 minutes later was the gut bomb from eating all that cheese. A satisfied gut bomb none the less.
Gut bomb is an expressive term. Prolly one of the most expressive terms I have ever heard.
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