Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Broiled Cheese

People ask me sometimes how I do it: four small children, a shoestring budget, a small house, etc...

In a word,

Not really.  I can't give an addictive substance any credit. 

To God be the glory for making me who I am today. 

To God be the glory for my insight in making grilled cheese sandwiches.

Please don't think me irreverent.  I'm seriously grateful because I know,
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. 
 James 1:17

I know it is a gift to make good grilled cheese because I have a reputation, a bad reputation, that is, for burning grilled cheese sandwiches.  When we were dating, I was seriously trying to impress Kyle with my culinary prowess, and I failed miserably.  I burned them to a crisp.  They were black.  But he ate them anyway.  And he quietly resigned to the idea that he would be doing all of the cooking.  Little did he know, I just needed more practice.


Today when I was getting ready for Jenna's Occupational Therapist to come and I wanted to make grilled cheese I remembered that once upon a time I made grilled cheese for the in-laws and their five children by

*drum roll please*

broiling them in the oven.   

Here's how I do it...
  • I butter a piece of bread and place it butter side down on the cookie sheet. 
Today, I started with three.  I should know better.  From now on, five minimum. 
  • Then I put the cheese on the bread. 
  • Then I put another buttered piece of bread butter side up on top of the cheese. 
  • Then I place it in the oven on broil, set a timer, and walk away
This is the part I love.  I can't walk away from a hot skillet with ravenous small children running around.  I can, however, close the oven door and be reasonably assured that they won't open it. 
  • When the first side is done to my liking, I flip it. 
  • Then I set another timer and walk away
This is when I start a load of laundry or sweep the floor or wipe off a filthy surface somewhere in my house.
  • When the timer beeps, I take them out, slice them up, and serve them to the bottomless pits I call my children. 

Yes, my friends, that's how I do it. 

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