The comfort, the flavor, the warmth that a grilled cheese provides is as unique as it is simple. It’s both a call back to childhood and a friendly face to turn to in times of need. You remember your home phone line? It existed, nay thrived, at the same time this dish made up 20% of your diet. Unlike your home phone, grilled cheese survives.

Lucky for you, their house margs are absolute weapons and $4

You know the exact Saturday morning. A cold front came through last night, the lingering rain showers tap tap tap on your bedroom window as you scroll past dozens, if not hundreds, of Tik Toks. Maybe the 2013 hit from The Neighbourhood “Sweater Weather” plays softly on the JBL. Pangs of hunger have tempted you since 10am. Push notifications from the Instagram you tossed up last night supply enough dopamine to keep you in bed without an anxiety attack. “Soup of the day? Tequila” you captioned from El Toro. Nailed it.

But you can’t eat dopamine. Brunch is out of the question. Alexa tells you the current temp is 52 and you wouldn’t be caught dead outside getting an outfit off unless it’s topping 70. Patios only in 2021. Everybody knows that.

On the tireless crusade from the bed to the couch, the idea hits you. “Gosh grilled cheese sounds so fucking good right now”. It’s not an every-weekend meal, maybe not even quarterly, but it’s a meal you need. God forbid you light the scented candle that reminds you of home and you’re toast. The power of nostalgia overwhelms any attempt to keep the health train on the tracks. Huge news though, that bi-annual article proclaiming cheese “not not good for you” dropped a few days ago on Fox29 Atlanta’s site. You’re golden.

Grilled cheese it is. And this is the recipe that will absolutely change your life.

I was introduced to God’s sandwich early on. I was a picky eater and grilled cheese made its way to my table more times than not. Everyone’s family has some sort of legendary dish. Maybe Uncle Mike is a scallop wizard or perfected hibachi from his time overseas. Maybe Nonna’s red sauce legitimately started wars between rival gangs in the old neighborhood. Maybe your cousin Jared makes mean brownies from scratch that ruin Thanksgiving.

For my family, it’s Dad’s Grilled Cheese.

He effortlessly mastered the balance between bread and butter. Cheese and melted cheese.

A world-class display of talent sharpened over the years on cast iron skillets and gas stoves. Predominantly in the kitchens of mid-century Colonials and American Craftsman residences he inhabited with his four siblings, an Admiral father (RIP Pop-Pop), and a mother who’s habit inspired a band name who’d later pen the hit “Closer” (2016).

Speaking of, remember 2016? It was 2020 before 2020 was cool. Like EVERYONE died. Not “everyone” like last year, but you get the point. Prince, David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Harper Lee (she wrote that book), Merle Haggard, Muhammad Ali, Gordie Howe (#9), Kimbo Slice, Pat Summitt, Gene Wilder (alright he was super old. Good run.), Arnold Palmer, John Glenn, Alan Thicke, Carrie Fisher, and my goodness is that a lineup.

Not to mention Zika, Brexit, Pokemon Go, Malaysian Airlines Flight 17 (not the one that disappeared), 400 ppm CO2 levels for the first time, Russian election interference, a brutal drought in California, and Harambe meeting his unfortunate demise.

2016 was a big year for me

I was out on my own for the first time. I’d graduated from Northeastern and was moving to the big city. The Big Apple. NY, NY. I needed a go-to for those late work nights. My dad had spent a decade drilling the perfect combination of heat and time into my brain to concoct the most golden brown, crunchy-yet-melty son-of-a-bitch you’d ever seen. It was a lengthy learning process demanding years of tutelage.

With the precision and rigor of a Soviet hockey coach, he routinely demonstrated what it took to create a masterpiece. I looked on in awe as he somehow knew the perfect time to flip the sandwich without ever seeing the bottom. The vision he had, the game plan he put in place, the ingredients - they all contributed to his work of art.

I tried for the first time at 12. Solo mission. Disaster. Fire department. Whole big thing.

He was proud of my ambition but I didn’t have the tools. At 14, he asked me again, “are you ready?”

I had just grinded for the first time with Michaela Collins at freshman-year Homecoming the night before so uh, h’yeah Dad, I was ready.

A valiant effort, but again, my hopes were dashed. Burned the first side. I wasn’t even close.

It wasn’t until the winter of my senior year of high school that it happened. I was fresh off a debilitating flu that I had undoubtedly picked up from the local YMCA free weights section where I nurtured the dream that my 6’1” 185lb body would launch me to a D1 athletic career. (It kinda did. I walked on for one offseason program).

The first day I could stomach anything more than a saltine, I knew it was time. I had been close throughout the fall. Too soggy in September. Just barely too crisp in October. Every time my dad would look over my work and take a bite, channeling his inner 20th century USA hockey coach, uttering a cold “again”.

You know, he might’ve never actually said that and it’s only a fantastical addition to the hit 2004 Disney film “Miracle” but man, Kurt Russell delivered that line like he’d spent the last 20 years behind the bench. Pithy and succinct, he perfectly encapsulated the tension that persisted between those two world superpowers. Imagine watching that 1980 game in person? Witnessing a microcosm of the Cold War play out on the ice in front of you with tremendous pressure on either side to bring home a victory. National pride and political bragging rights on the line as a bunch of seasoned grown men went up against America’s best college kids. I really hope they served grilled cheese in Lake Placid that night. Single digit temps and frozen school buses make for a cozy ride back to a Saranac Lake motel with the girl you met that spilled popcorn on your Members Only after Eruzione put the States up one. 14 years later I was born.

Perhaps that proxy war so many years ago forecast what we’re currently witnessing in the Russian geopolitical sphere with their intervention and advancements in The Ukraine. Crimea was annexed in 2014 as it was claimed hundreds of years earlier by the Russian Empire and since then, the area has been an international headache at its most benign and a WW3-threatening ticking time bomb at its worst. It’s in the interest of the US to back the sovereignty of the Ukrainian state and their forces against the Russian-backed separatist groups to the east of Kiev given the fertility of the lands in question and the increased access to oil, sea ports, and land that Putin seeks.

Broadly speaking, the Russian-Ukrainian Conflict

No such headaches were experienced on that cold winter night when I finally hit the jackpot. Having not eaten for the previous four days, I was ravenous, and the risk of impatience was at an all time high. Flip it too early, and you may never get another chance. Like Coach Shanahan said, “I can’t guarantee that anyone in the world will be alive on Sunday.” It was now or never.

“Don’t do it too quickly,” I thought to myself. Rehearsing the same words I had mumbled after senior prom in the tent in the O’Brien’s backyard. They failed then, they wouldn’t fail me here.

The greased skillet, the buttered bread, the melted cheese - everything worked in sync. I was the Galifianakis meme incarnate. The flip was timed to perfection - a result that was YEARS in the making. The second side can be tricky, but not on that night. Not for me.

As I plated and walked back to the recliner to watch garbage time of the 2011 Beef O’Brady’s Bowl, I could’ve sworn “Danger Zone” was playing at max volume. In fairness, It could’ve been. My dad liked to watch Top Gun by himself in our second family room.

But I knew I’d nailed it.

Me throwing what appears to be a KNUCKLEBALL at 11

He slunk in and asked for a bite. After a few seconds of pondering, his eyes lit up. I hadn’t seen that look on his face since I decimated Saratoga National Little League after perfecting the 12-6 curveball at 9 years old.

Game over. Pass the torch, old man. We did it.

Grilled Cheese Points:

It can be ANY bread. It could be your FAVORITE bread. Obviously if you pick a shitty loaf I’ll judge you but you really can’t mess this up.
Pick your cheese. There’s a correct answer here, but from bougie cheese on down, it’s gonna melt.
Gas oven or electric oven? Doesn’t matter. They both throw heat. Unless you have a convection stove and in that case how fucking annoying is it that you have to get MAGNETIC pans to do anything? Like oh here’s a 9-dollar skillet from Tuesday Morning that you can’t do ANYTHING with. Embarrassing. (I’m jealous).
I know mayonnaise is hot in the streets when it comes to GC’s. It’s fine. I’ve tried it. To each their own.

Grilled Cheese Recipe:

Two (2) slices of Pepperidge Farm Wheat
Two (2) slices of Kraft American singles (yellow)
¼ Cup salted butter (stick)

Preheat a skillet over low heat and grease with cooking spray
Melt butter in microwave in small container (microwave safe)
Baste bread (both sides) with melted butter and sandwich with cheese
Grill until golden brown. Time varies based on how fucking good you are at knowing when to flip.
Grill the other side until golden brown
Cut into triangles (obviously) and serve on a plate adorned with early 2000s animated movie characters. You know you still have that somewhere.

You’ll inevitably take a bite prior to your GC being remotely cool enough to eat and that’s just part of the experience. Who doesn’t like molten cheese ruining their taste buds on a dreary Saturday morning?

The PERFECT Grilled Cheese Recipe