Ode to Sexy GCS
Saying it’s iconic is a trite, ubiquitous
marketing cliché to honor nouns.
Yet, certain foods deserve menu pride of place
for meaningful simplicity,
for memories, taste, and community pleasure;
for ingredient brevity, seldom seeking savory mystery.
I salivate composing a poem
to the American grilled cheese sandwich.
GCSs have been around more ‘n a hundred years,
frequent fare served at fun food venues,
including my house, where casual is key
and kiss is a simple, honorable principle.
Why many recipes? Bread, cheese, butter,
and heat. It’s American. Add more and
it’s a melt. If that’s what you want, well fine!
Let Brits have their toasties, jaffles for Aussies,
panini is Italian and bless the French
for le croque monsieur. Nice. But none of that is GCS.
Done right, fried golden crisp with a shell’s
shades of black to yellow-brown, either square or round.
Cut squares diagonally, two isosceles right triangles
for proper holding, touching, and eating (warm to hot).
And kissing if you want. See the colors and shape,
the moist but firm surface.
Pick up with clean dry fingers, opposite the
triangle’s hypotenuse, gently between two legs.
At the right-angle corner, hold it between your
index and middle fingers, and thumb, gently lift
its moist crisp oiliness to your face. Allow it
to touch, to be felt on your skin and lips.
Holding near your nose and mouth, invite
sensual fragrance to enter your nose, slide
it gently between your lips, barely touching,
before being taken into the mouth.
Gently bite it. Feel your teeth crunch through the crust
into the warm melted cheese. Chew slowly, thoroughly.
Swallow the bite while planning the next. No rush.
Eye the stack and plan your next attack.
Look both ways.
Food and sex are both pleasures.
Mind the gaps, the dips, and company.
Bond with the world.