The elusive grilled cheese

sandwich.

As I recall, you have a particular affection for a melted slice of
coagulated cow milk betwixt seared bread.  A side of pickle and
tomato soup being your compliments of choice...  If memory serves.

In recent weeks I have made no less than three attempts to prepare
for myself a childhood memory.  And having, for the first time, the
proper instrument (a gas range) at my disposal I conclude that my
latent culinary skills would at last burgeon like a prodigious flower
in the absence of the dark miasma that is temperamental electric
ranges of my former life, and I would manufacture the *perfect* ...
grilled cheese sandwich.

Such are the thoughts of a fool.  My would-be chef d'oeuvre remains
to me as a nimble sow to a sexually aroused rhinoceros.

Oh ye wizard of grilled cheese lore!  Might thou promulgate a trifle
of thine mastery?  Dost thine bosom harbor a generous heart?  So
generous as to give freely alms to the undeserving?  I ask for but a
splinter of light in my forsaken void!  One tiny morsel of delight
to befall the barren landscape that is my plate!  Some hope that I
too, may one day be able to make a grilled cheese sandwich!