deliciousness

It was Friday evening. A Lenten Friday evening. I pondered my meatless choices for one (Megan was out with a friend, Maci, well she’s not quite the practicing Catholic, she had chicken with her kibble). After a few trips around the kitchen, opening various cabinets and of course the refrigerator, I landed on the good ole’ grilled cheese.

I whipped out the frying pan, placed it on the cooktop and turned on the burner, suddenly, quite eager and excited for this nostalgic dinner. I mosied back over to the refrigerator, pulled out the cheeses and two slices of bread from the freezer.

I sufficiently buttered slice number one and place it on the waiting pan. I cheesed the waiting bread with shredded mozz and shredded cheddar. I covered the cheese with butted slice number two and waited patiently for melted cheese and and an overall, golden sandwich.

I plated that beauty, carefully cutting it on the angle. I situated myself at the table and picked up the top triangle and took a bite from the tip. My next bite came from the other tip. I made my way around the edge, taking a few bites from the center as went along. When just a mouthful or two was left, I ate the last edge bite and then the gooey center. I picked up the bottom triangle and followed the same routine.

The buttery, cheesy goodness of that grilled cheese had me forgetting that Lent was a time of abstinence.