Love in the Time of a Scantily Stocked Refrigerator

A few days ago, a serious crisis was averted. Here's the story. Emily, Laurent, Andrew, and I had been painting a fantastic snow-capped mountain landscape scene to add to the already extensive natural environment display that is the Little Barn Mural. After two hours of this, it was high time for a snack. We were all hungry, but me especially. The reason is simple. I am a full-fledged glutton who, having eaten nothing all morning, was ready to gorge. Who knew painting could make man so hungry? I stalked off to the house to prepare a communal meal, but not before I informed my friends of my intentions and so heightening expectations of the feast forthcoming to an astronomical level. I knew I had to deliver something special or face complete humiliation.

While walking inside, I conjectured about what delightful snacks might be waiting for me in the fridge. Maybe a rack of lamb, I thought. Or a sumptuous crown roast. Mom likes to cook meals impossible to finish in one sitting, so most of the time the Smith fridge is loaded to the gills with a variety of 1-5 day old dishes. This time, however, I was plum out of luck. I couldn't believe my eyes. The fridge was a barren wasteland. No leftovers, just some reconstituted orange juice and lemonade, a jug of salsa, and.....oh wait...a MASSIVE leg of lamb was just staring me in the face, pleading with me to stuff it with cloves of garlic, bathe it in oil, sprinkle it with fresh rosemary and salt, and bake it to perfection in the Bosch gas range oven. Alas, this beautiful cut was reserved for Easter dinner, a whole two days away. The leg would have to wait. Here's the fridge and its limited contents on that unlucky day:


At this juncture, the kitchen seemed like an entirely inappropriate setting to create the culinary masterpiece that I and my comrades so desired. All ready to return to the barn shamefully empty handed, my eyes suddenly struck upon a magnificent device designed for an occasion just like the one I found myself in: the George Foreman Mean Lean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine.

Stream of consciousness dictated the following moves. First, I intertwined slices of Extra-Sharp Cabot Vermont Cheddar Cheese and BJ's Swiss atop three different kinds of bread (potato, wheat, and whole grain).

As variety, the spice of life, is generally looked upon as a good thing, I randomly applied a sprinkling of dried basil, hot mustard, and slices of vine ripe tomatoes to the future sandwiches and pressed each between the scalding Foreman plates until a beautiful brownish burnt crust formed. As discussed in a previous post, I particularly adore the punch that this champion edition of the Foreman packs:

Without the hassles of temperature control or messy cleanups, the Foreman is meant for the simple man. It's a simple machine that serves it purpose to the fullest. I chopped the oozing sandwiches into party-friendly bites and arranged them (aesthetically) on a plate. To finish the meal, I sliced up a few crisp Gala apples (my personal favorite) and slapped a large dollop of caramel for dipping in the center of the plate.

A few chopped up kosher dills later, and I was finished. Check out the gnarly cheese floes that formed:

In a kitchen stocked with only the bare essentials, it's amazing how something almost always turns up out of nothing. Go out and buy yourself a Foreman - you won't be disappointed unless you dislike superior foods.