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.
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...
Today, I started with three. I should know better. From now on, five minimum.
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.