Cindy, that's precisely the way I do it, and it always comes out as if I'm trying to take fat (in the form of Processed Cheese Food) and give it a cholesterol jacuzzi.

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Mmm! Cholesterol jacuzzi.

Yum.

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I burn grilled cheese half the time. And no one (no one, I tell you) can make it the way you get it at a good diner. It must be the build-up of grease on the grill or something.

I can. So can my mother. Scott is learning. He made me one when I was really sick, and it was quite edible. He's grown as a person, I tell ya.

Cindy, that's precisely the way I do it, and it always comes out as if I'm trying to take fat (in the form of Processed Cheese Food) and give it a cholesterol jacuzzi.

I use American cheese (or sometime Provolone) but not the cheese food, anymore. It's too rubbery. Getting the right amount of butter is really tricky. I had to do it by feel. It was much easier with margarine. I made plenty of burnt, or overly greasy ones, 'til I got used to it.

I do HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE my electric stove, though. Hate. However, the only option up in this neighborhood is to get a liquid propane tank, if I want a gas stove. They never brought the gas lines up here. I think there was too much ledge for them to bother. I fear my kids would find a way to blow up my house with the propane so conveniently mounted to the outside, though, so I won't. I hope, once we've saved up enough for a new electric stove, that I'll like it at least a little better.

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That was Anne, and believe me, I'm making an "ewww" face right now.

(apologising to Amy and Anne)

(sitting in corner with Amy, both of us making "ewww" faces)

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I shall say no more about the mayo (even though you can't tell the diff from a sandwich cooked w/ butter).

I have a few ideas for this drabble topic. Must go cogitate.

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FWIW, Anne, the next time I make a grilled cheese sammich, I'ma try it your way. Sounds yummy.

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Sounds yummy.

la la la la FRIED CHEESE CURDS la la la la.

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Oooh, cheese curds!

thinks hard about chasing some down in the local pub

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The Heart of the Party

There's soup bubbling on the burner, seven-bean with chicken and lime. There's a silver tray with a paper doily, stacked high with cheese: fontina, gruyere, a cheddar so smokey, it'll break your heart. Pastry. Bread.

Out in the garden, people are being people. They're talking, laughing, drinking. Crystal chatters as people toast; comments float through the kitchen windows. People are mellow, relaxed.

I'm in the kitchen cooking, keeping it coming, keeping it going. There's baked brie en croute; there are gougeres, raspberries tasting of the sun.

That's the secret to never throwing a bad party: how you use the food.

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Damn, deb. I just ate and you're making me hungry.

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