Grilled Cheese

When the pleasant red lipsticked heavy-set 70-ish black polyester clad bleached teased blonde waitress came to take our order, I was ready.

I said I’ll take a grilled cheese.

And had I been in a more upscale eating establishment I might have been asked What kind of cheese would you like? and What kind of bread would you like it on?

But I was in The Sandwich Shop--a local eatery which may be best described as a cross between an old school luncheonette and a Greek diner. It is Garden City’s—and I mean this in the most complimentary way-- greasy spoon. It is a wonderful place where no one ever counts Weight Watcher points.

And so it is understood that a grilled cheese sandwich is 2 slices of yellow American with the highest content of milk fat possible on two slices of non-whole grain processed white bread schmeared with butt-ah.

Because grilled Swiss on rye is nothing more than a Rueben without the pastrami and sauerkraut; and grilled mozzarella on focaccia is a panini which ought to be ordered across the street at the pizza place.

There only one proper way to prepare a classic grilled cheese sandwich.

And the only question that ever needs to be asked and answered is: Do you want some fries with that?