Yes, I've resorted to writing about grilled cheese

So the other day they had a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. Now just to clear things up, I'm not going to become one of those bloggers. You know, who become so desperate for material that they start writing about what they had for lunch, but... allow me to indulge myself just this once. Please. I'd like to dabble in the art of food description, and this grilled cheese nearly jumped off the plate and begged me for imortalization in a nearly readerless blog.

 Anyway. So the food at this summer program is pretty good. It's pretty much like any school cafeteria, with the usual options every day and a rotated hot lunch. Except it's done buffet style... and without the Stop-Fumbling-With-Your-Damn-Money-I-Got-Shit-To-Do-Lunch-Ladies.

Usually for lunch I have pasta and salad coated in Ranch, because I consider it safe. Can't really go wrong with pasta. But on the particular day I'm thinking of, the menu board read: GRILLED CHEESE. Upon seeing this glorious declaration of lunchtime food, I was filled with unparalleled joy and excitement. The lining of my empty stomach jumped up and down like a school girl after she's talked to a cute guy. Now, I've been at this program for roughly five weeks now, and grilled cheese is pretty much my favorite lunch food at home. If there's one thing I've craved, it's been a grilled cheese sandwhich with a tomato.

So I bounded up the stairs, pushing aside unsuspecting teens and startling one or two teachers. The need for a solid, hot, steamy sandwich was overwhelming. A wave of pure desire and sandwich lust sent me powerwalking through the line, even though it moved at a snails pace. Once standing in front of the platter of sandwiches, I took two. Two beautiful, warm, cheesy sanwiches.

I devoured those sandwiches. They fell into my stomach magically, not quite tasting of home... but of something close. Truthfully I'm not all too sure what home tastes like, because it isn't a food... but yeah. It's gotta be something like the taste of grilled cheese. I think if I ate my family, my cats, the walls, the cielings, and the furniture it would taste like grilled cheese. And death. Considering my stomach would start to disintigrate right after I ate my brother and his nastiness.

I don't quite understand why grilled cheese sandwiches are so delicious. I've been wringing my hands for the past ten minutes trying to find the words to describe the taste... but it's hard. Here's what I've come up with so far:

The rough bread succumbs easily to my incisors, powerless to the wishes of my stomach. The cheese oozes around the bread, determined to fulfill the desires of my tastebuds. As for the tomato... well, the tomato has a flavor so softly present that it merely pulls at a corner of my attention. It accentuates without overpowering, lessoning the dryness of the bread while diluting the strength of the cheese. My eyes close against their will, nostrils flaring in order to vacuum up as much of the grilled cheese aroma as possible. They can not expand enough. I cannot get enough until the last bite, when I realize that I am perfectly full. There is no lingering hunger. No overly stuffed bloating. Just perfection.

In conclusion, I ate a grilled cheese sandwich. Writing about it has been interesting, but I doubt I will do it again. Unless I eat something spectacular. But it has to be life changingly spectacular. The day I find a food that finds me love, makes me immortal, and gets more people to read this blog, I will write about it.