Happiness is...

...a grilled ham and cheese sammidge.

That's right, a sandwich. I was trying to appeal to Mr. Food Musings' mostly vanished appetite and had resorted to listing everything in our fridge, which is now bulging like a cartoon suitcase thanks to E. and G. who cleaned out the local Trader Joe's yesterday. When I hit on a ham and cheese sandwich, his drawn countenance suddenly perked up. "Would you grill it?" he asked.

And so I got out my non-stick pan and the cast iron skillet that's still a ways away from being properly seasoned. I nestled two slices of ham between two slices of extra sharp cheddar cheese, piled them on a sturdy piece of wheat, and then slathered one side of bread with hunk after hunk of salted butter. Once the non-stick pan was hot, it was time to rock and roll.

Permit me a few words on method. I can never decide if everyone cooks grilled cheese sandwiches the same way my family does, or if the perfect grilled cheese method is like apple pie or fried chicken with a million variations, each one handed down from generation to generation and sworn by the faithful to be the ne plus ultra. In my family we smash our grilled cheeses as flat as we can by cooking them in a hot pan with a heavy cast iron skillet on top to weigh them down. We even push down on the pan if necessary. When the bottom slice of bread is satisfyingly brown and crisp, it's time to smear butter on the top slice and flip.

No essay on grilled cheese sandwiches would be complete without a mention of the period in my youth when folly, in the form of an electric grilled cheese sandwich maker, seized my mother. No doubt an 800 number-hawking commercial persuaded her that effortless, oozing grilled cheeses were a mere $19.95 away, and I remember waiting alongside Little Brother and Little Sister, our breath held, for the very first sandwich.

No doubt you've guessed that it was a failure. The bread didn't absorb any of the butter, which lay instead in a burnt film along the concave bottom, and the grilled cheese sandwich came out shaped into puffy triangles, the edges sealed shut against oozing cheese and the bread imprinted in a scalloped pattern that screamed nothing if not tacky, faux elegance. The cheese was so hot inside that it burned the tastebuds right off our little tongues. It was an unmitigated disaster. And yet...and yet. Did my mother pack it up in the box it came in and march it down to the curb in an indignant fury? Did she hurl it out the garage door, crying tears of outrage and shame?  Did we kids tear it limb from limb and bury its evil parts in the backyard under the tomato plants? No. We just quit eating grilled cheese sandwiches.

Until one day. By this time I was much older and, on this particular day, feeling under the weather. Like me with Mr. FM, my mother was trying desperately to find something, anything, that appealed to me. We struck upon a grilled cheese when she said the magic words: "Smashed in the pan?" That's how it's been ever since.

When I served Mr. FM his grilled ham and cheese sandwich tonight (and no it is NOT a croque monsieur, merci very much) he took a bite and his eyes lit up.  "This is really good," he said. "How did you make it?" I just smiled.

p.s. And then dashed into the kitchen to make another one for the camera. Does that mean there's something wrong with me?

p.p.s. If the bread gets good and ready before the cheese is melted enough to suit you, just stick it in the microwave and zap it for thirty seconds. Yeah, yeah. Before you accuse me of making my great-grandmother turn over in her grave, you should know that she is the woman who served beans without soaking them.  When they rolled around on the plate like hard little BBs, she simply pointed out to her guests that she was experimenting with a new recipe. What can I say, my family is not made up of well-rounded perfectionists. We know our grilled cheese, and we leave the dried beans to more patient folk.

Comments

[clare eats]

That sure is a mighty fine looking sammidch! sometimes the simple things are the best

[sam]

I am so happy that Mr Food Musing's appetite seems to be on the up.
I have been thinking of you both.
Watch out - next thing he will be requesting you make him a recipe from the new Boulevard cookbook from scratch.

xx
sam

[sam]

ps - to me 'sammidge' sounds really daft, where i come from we call them 'sarnies'!

[Mom]

This just goes to show that in many cases, the old ways are the best ways!!

[Catherine]

Clare -- and almost always, it would seem, when you're feeling poorly.

Sam -- thank you, my dear. He won't be getting any fancy stuff outta me for a while, though! I have to get my own energy back. p.s. sarnie, eh? I don't even see how that's related to sandwich other than an "s" and an "n"...

Mom -- too true, and I must vindicate you by revealing what you told me today -- that the appliance was a gift from someone, not something you purchased.

[sam]

well - how does a sammie relate ? there aren't any Ms at all in sandwich,
now put me on your list of people you will bake you some cookies or a snack or something and drop it by.
Or i could bbring you something from lettus for example, or anywhere else - just let me know
i am doinf silly hours, but i can swing by at some point and i love making cookies

[Catherine]

Well at least it rhymes :)

[Mina]

Your mention of Trader Joe's reminded me that the VERY FIRST TJ store in NYC is opening in Manhattan in two months. My life will be complete. (...and I'm also very glad that MFM is on the mend. I strongly believe that grilled cheese sandwiches have mystic healing properties.)

[Robyn]

In our house grilled cheese was always accompanied by Campbell's tomato soup and sweet pickles (you take a bite of sweet pickle with your sammie). Great post!

[Catherine]

Mina -- I love the way you think!

Robyn -- yes, we always had grilled cheeses with tomato soup too! Usually after church on Sundays. I've kept the one tradition and banished the other!

[Ruth]

Love your style and - btw - we too call them sammidges - whether they're made with white bread and (what I refer to as plastic cheese - you know what I mean) or goat cheese with chiffonade of basil, freshly ground pepper and grilled pancetta - they're all sammidged and they're all fabulous.

Thanks for sharing your story.

[Catherine]

Ruth -- yeah, Sam is just a Brit who doesn't know what she's talking about ;) Thank you for coming by and reading about my latest infatuation. Your sammidges sound really, really good! Next week!