Keep the Home Fries Burning

At some point, when I was a kid, I started making my own food. No, not just your peanut butter sandwiches and bowls of cereal. I would make mojo potatoes, grilled cheese sandwiches, BLTs. I was pretty handy with the frying pan, if I do say so myself.

Now, if anybody ELSE said what they thought, well...

Mom actually forbade me to cook bacon at one point because I would fill the kitchen with smoke. My response was, "But I like charcoal!"

Eventually, I secretly integrated bacon back on to my regular recipes, but usually when mom wasn't home.

Most of the time, all my food is extra done (burnt isn't a nice word). I don't like floppy, underdone anything, so this is my way of making sure it is really, really ready.

Don't get the wrong idea, I don't burn food I make for other people (unless it involves bacon, fried potatoes, or grilled cheese sandwiches. Although, I don't like burnt potatoes very much, and have gotten better at not burning those. Low, low heat people...).
I actually think it tastes good. Or, I did.

Since I haven't been feeling well, Jeremy has been doing more than his share of the cooking around here.

The other day, as I lay on the bed, he asked me what I felt like eating, and I said, weakly, "A grilled cheese sandwich..." and I coughed for effect.

"Okay!" he chirped brightly, and wandered off.

A few minutes later, I could hear Jeremy bustling in the kitchen, and I could smell the grilling bread...yumm...

A short while later, in came Jeremy with this glorious, golden brown grilled cheese sandwich on a plate.

I was suspicious.

Took a bite..

WHOA! IT WAS SO GOOD! So THAT'S what it's supposed to taste like! I looked up at Jeremy through tear-filled eyes. "Thank you..." I whispered. Jeremy just smiled.

Jeremy has also shown me the finer sides of crispy, unblackened bacon...oooo...so good...
So, today, I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich...and got distracted, and it burned. Oh well. Jeremy has the magic touch.