A plea for help from a culinary imbecile to a skilled friend.
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!