burgers hambled, arbystyle

That said, it's draining to immerse yourself in the venom of people who despise you, even when their reasoning is garbage. Make sure you take some breaks to feel other emotions besides dismay.

For a long time after, I was more into the idea of a flavorful grilled cheese than I was the reality of making it. I made a lot of dumplings, instead. I wrote this whole passage about someone trying not to hate themself more than they already do while making sandwiches for themself and a girl they like.

I was brainstorming all these different sandwiches they could theoretically make; but I stuck to my plain, loose turkey and random granola bars. In the back of my head, though, there was this ideal: white cheddar blueberry grilled cheese. Sourdough bread, equal parts mozzarella and white cheddar, thyme, fresh blueberries; melted and just barely sharp and sweet, with the balance of the cheeses and the bread offsetting the blueberries perfectly. I memorized recipes and recommendations; I fantasized about substituting in some sort of preserves instead of fresh fruit; wondered about strawberries and cherries and pears.

And then I started getting better, mentally, and that love for food came back. Rather than existing in tolerated state of necessity, it was bright and happy and I wanted to think about cooking again. Not just making dumplings on the weekend and microwave pasta salad, but experimenting and eating and savoring. I realized I loved brioche and remoulade-- that the routine of the mess hall burgers was a delight, and I loved partaking in it; and I remembered how much I used to love provolone as a kid; and then, at a business luncheon for a university financial committee I was on, they served these delicate sliders. I don't like ham; it's personal, though I blame it on my ancestors; so I found myself eyeing the other two options. One turkey; one brie and apple.

I'd never had brie before. It was one of those out-of-reach, fancy, too-expensive-to-justify-when-the-pound-of-cheddar-is-cheaper cheeses that I had barred myself from even thinking about trying. You can get cheddar from the Bishop's Storehouse and grate it by hand for more effort and far less money than a wedge of brie. And how do you even eat it? How do you eat any of the grocery store fancy-cooler-at-the-deli cheeses when you don't know how? When the biggest special-occasion cheese you've ever been allowed or allowed yourself is feta?

And I think it opened something in my head. Apple and brie. Perfect balance, by my standards. When I went to the store for groceries a few weeks later and stopped at one of the discount coolers, one of the good habits my mother gave me, there was a wedge in there. Cost something like four dollars. I justified it to myself, took it back with me, and ate it like that. Scooped it from the wedge with my fingers. Let it sing.

I do love cheese, to be clear. Despite myself and my stomach, I love cheese. I used to just say that to fill the silence sometimes, but it was never untrue.

And then I got more pizzeria jobs, and experimented with flavors and meats and different sauce and cheese pairings for my occasional work dinners, like artichokes held close to the broiler and ranking the different kinds of pepperoni. And i loved that part of my work; loved offering different sauce and topping ideas to customers; loved talking to them about their favorites and mine, and why one of my regulars always switched her black olives for tomatoes. And I miss that more than anything; miss cooking, miss understanding.

That said, it's draining to immerse yourself in the venom of people who despise you, even when their reasoning is garbage. Make sure you take some breaks to feel other emotions besides dismay.

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