A Love Note

I have been eating an inordinate amount of grilled cheese lately. It's just a magic fucking sandwich, isn't it? Simplest concept ever- cheese+bread=love. And so many different combinations of cheese and bread! Focaccia and Brie, boule with a mix of gorgonzola and cheddar, rye and Swiss...! Add tomatoes, bacon- who gives a fuck? Still delicious! And it all seems to come from a similar story across America- stuck inside on a crappy, grey winter day, Mom calls you to the kitchen table. Waiting there is a bowl of soup... And an amazing, buttery, slightly burnt grilled cheese sandwich. Simple, classic. I always liked mine with tomato soup. NOT tomato-basil, straight tomato. Don't get me wrong, there is a time and place for tomato-basil soup, it is delish on its own merits. Just don't give me grilled cheese with it. That's a dick move.

Surprisingly enough, if I'm not making it, my favorite grilled cheese comes from Waffle House. It is consistently just like mom used to make (and no, my mother never worked at WaHo). For as much as I love gourmet restaurants and stuff like that, Waffle House holds a special place in my heart. It started off as a joke, and grew into one of my favorite things about Atlanta. Now it's a special place, and I have my own traditions there- I will always order a coffee and a water, with a grilled cheese sandwich and order of hash browns (covered at least, and sometimes capped). It comforts me, and even when I toss my life into periods of upheaval and change, those will always be a grounding factor for me. So here's to you, grilled cheese, and you, WaHo. To wherever life takes me, and your disgustingly tasty American cheese product slices!