I'm gonna admit something.
Something Tristen mentioned this week that I haven't been able to get out of my head.
He was on his way to hangry, waiting for dinner, and he broke out the cheese and bread.
T: Mom. I'm gonna make our
family tradition for a snack before dinner.
Me: oh ya birdie? what's that?
T: Cheese on Bread mom. Remember when we always used to eat cheese on bread?
*laughs*
Me: ya birdie, I remember that. I loove cheese on bread!
T: Me too mom.
Cheese on Bread. You cut some thick creamy cheddar deliciousness off that Tillamook brick, lay a piece of bread on a plate, lay the cheese carefully on top of the bread ~
being sure every little milometer of the bread is covered in yellow goodness, {it takes just about 3 slices. If you're feeding two, cut 5 slices and you're golden} and pop it in the microwave for 15 seconds. Open the microwave door; take a peak, and let some fresh air in there. The cheese in the very middle should just barely be beginning to melt.
NOT puddle, just barely melting. You close the door, enter 6 more seconds on the clock, push Start, and wait till the count down is to 1 second and then pop the door open. Done! Cheese on Bread Perfection.
Absolute perfection. All of the cheese will be
just melted, the texture perfect. It will be warm, not hot, and ready to eat immediately. Yuuuummm.
It was with some shame that I've reflected on this and realized that
THAT, to birdie, is our "family tradition" ~ the meal momma always made. He'll tell his kids someday... "eat that spaghetti child! do you know how lucky you are to have spaghetti, garlic bread, and a salad with fresh veggies, croutons, and ranch dressing for dinner??
Nana M fed me cheese on bread when I was a kid. That's it! Be blessed that Nana M isn't feeding you and Eat."
I am sure of it.
I had to make dinner this week. Cause Rhett made me. He was hungry and wanted me to feed him. I grabbed the cheese and bread, my go-to, and stood there and stared at it. Shoot. Not quite dinner to a man. So I opened a can of tuna, cut up some tomatoes, some onions, and got fancy and brushed some olive oil on the bread and pan fried that baby. Wanna know what that was?
Cheese on Bread, on steroids. Dang it was good. And there it was. The essence of my cooking skills, with an upgrade.
Obvs:
I have no cooking skills.
And the truth is, I don't even want any.
I'm not sure why that makes me want to cry.
Because it truly does. Honestly. Right this minute, as I type this, I have tears in my eyes. Maybe it's because I
do want some skills. But I'm so tired at night, and it takes work. And it makes a mess, and I just can't want to do it. But now I know that means Tristen will always remember his mom for her cheese on bread. I just don't know that's where a mom's kitchen skills should stand with a boy... I'm not sure I want him to tell his kids: "your nana made a mean cheese on bread." Is that something to be proud of, or ashamed of?
That said. I sure as heck have my own childhood memories of quick and dirty yumminess that I remember fondly.
Peanut butter and syrup, just barely blended together, dipped into with bread and saltine crackers. My dad's food fam tradition. Ha. I'll always remember it. I think it's been years since I've made it myself, but I sure do remember it. Nothing shameful there. Then again, that wasn't what he was feeding me for dinner. :)
-m-
