eNewMexican

From my father: Grilled cheese and a side of wisdom

By JJ Goode

Exaltations of parental cuisine usually fall into two camps. There are the paeans to Dad’s gumbo and Mom’s meatballs, the familial table as exhibition of inspirational culinary talent. Then there are the Ruth Reichlian rubber-neckings at kitchen disaster, picked-at plates as incentive for progeny to commandeer skillet and stove.

I’d wager, however, that most people’s experiences land somewhere in the middle. My dad, for instance, has never masterfully grilled steaks, faithfully reproduced intergenerational borscht or even attempted to execute some triple-twist double-backflip of a dish, beckoning me over from my game of Mortal Kombat to taste his lobster sou±e. Nor has anyone winced at the prospect of his cooking, though one Thanksgiving he did famously serve a turkey whose skin was mahogany and crisp and whose core was pure poultry Popsicle.

A Bronx-born Jew and the most gentle, self-effacing man I’ve ever known, he cooks as defined by his temperament and the limitations set by the mutiny of his gastrointestinal sys

tem. He has never cared for pickles, lox or Republican politicians. He is intolerant of both lactose and cigarette smoking. In fact, the only time I’ve ever heard him raise his voice was in a restaurant, when a couple dared to light up at the table next to me and my soccer buddies, though to their credit we were in the smoking section. He can detect a speck of black pepper in a vat of pea soup, and if you’d like a sense of his reaction to said pepper speck, just go to YouTube and type in “Carolina Reaper Challenge.” His Crohn’s disease, so serious it nearly killed him, precluded a vast catalogue of ingredients — most of them green, which sometimes made me wonder whether Mr. Meat and Potatoes had exploited his illness to evade vegetables on doctor’s orders.

While my mom’s cooking was slightly more ambitious in that the food she made contained several ingredients and involved mild transmogrification, my dad’s manifested a stark simplicity. In his kitchen, many London broils were broiled. So too, unfortunately, were scallops and fish.

It brings me no small amount of shame to report that I wasn’t necessarily the most charitable recipient of his efforts in the kitchen. I may have rolled my eyes when presented with singed scallops or engaged in ostentatious chewing to protest the texture of the London broil. And even when I was old enough to operate the stove, never did I consider briefly abandoning an episode of Beverly Hills 90210 to make my own damn melted cheese sandwich. Instead, I’d holler my order from upstairs. Occasionally, after my dad had set aside the William Trevor collection in which he was currently enthralled to make and ferry his punk kid a snack, I would, like an oenophile rejecting a corked bottle of Chateau Margaux, dismiss with a hard look any specimens that weren’t adequately browned, dispatching him back to the kitchen for another go.

Before I became a parent, I looked back on those moments unsure why my dad might have decided to remake my sandwich rather than, say, remake my attitude. Now, as the father of two magical little ingrates myself, I recognize the enormity of my past behavior but also sympathize with why he may have let it slide.

While I was fussing about overcooked mollusks and insufficiently marbled steaks, my dad was quietly grappling with divorce, an ailing body and ailing parents. He was also navigating the complexities of raising a kid, and one with a disability to boot. My problems pale by comparison, and still I can barely summon the energy to nuke frozen peas and boil pasta.

Whenever I hear yet another request for “a big, cold glass of milk” from a child who is more than capable of pouring himself one, I think about the time my dad got home late from work, because for the third week in a row someone had stolen the battery from his elderly Volkswagen Rabbit. I don’t know what frustrations, disappointments and fears occupied his mind as he drove home. But I do know that I was happy he was home safe and that I was hungry for one of his signature melted-cheese sandwiches.

If ever there was a time for a firm “no,” this was it, but he made the thing and left me to my 90210, allowing me to immerse myself in the tribulations of Brenda and Dylan but disregard his. As an adult, I came to understand this as an act of generosity, then later, as a parent myself, as one of self-preservation as well. Sometimes, keeping the peace lets you enjoy the quiet.

CHEESE-CRUSTED GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH WITH HAM AND SPICY HONEY

Makes 4 servings; total time: 35 minutes

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

8 slices (about 6 ounces) sharp cheddar cheese

8 slices soft rye bread

8 slices (about 4 ounces) American cheese

8 slices (about 5 ounces) thinly sliced ham

¼ cup honey, optional

1 tablespoon crushed Calabrian chiles in oil, or more to taste, optional

Preparation: Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 200 degrees. You’re going to make the sandwiches one at a time, transfer them to a large, rimmed baking sheet and keep them warm in the oven.

In a well-seasoned cast-iron or nonstick skillet over medium-low heat, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter until it bubbles. Add two slices of cheddar cheese side by side, then add a slice of the bread on top of each one. (If slicing the cheddar into thinner strips from a block, make sure the cheese covers about three-quarters of the bread’s surface.)

Add a slice of American cheese to each slice of bread, then add two of the ham slices to one of the bread slices so the ham hangs 2 inches or so over the edges. Cook until the bottom of the bread slices are brown and crisped, about 2 minutes.

Slide a thin spatula underneath and carefully flip the ham-less slice onto the ham-heavy one. Continue cooking, flipping the sandwich occasionally, until the cheese on the inside has melted, the cheese on the outside has formed a crisp crust, and the ham has slightly browned at the edges, 3 to 4 minutes more.

Transfer the sandwich to a large, rimmed baking sheet and place in the oven to stay warm while you repeat to make the remaining sandwiches. (As you make the sandwiches, you may find you need a bit less butter due to the residual butter left in the pan.)

In a small bowl, stir together honey and the chiles. Serve the sandwiches with the chile honey for dipping or drizzling.

TASTE

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2021-06-16T07:00:00.0000000Z

2021-06-16T07:00:00.0000000Z

https://enewmexican.pressreader.com/article/281895891194033

Santa Fe New Mexican