I was really looking forward to lunch. I’d been thinking about making a grilled cheese and scrambled egg sandwich all morning. It’s one of my favorite sandwiches and I don’t often indulge myself with it. I decided to use the excuse that I’ve been sick with a cough for weeks and I needed a treat to pick me up.

There’s a ritual to cooking that is soothing. Getting the ingredients and pans out, beating the eggs, melting the I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter in the pan for the eggs. Confession here: I use real butter for the grilled cheese part. The fake stuff just makes the bread wet, not toasty. I had two pans going. One with the eggs and one where I was toasting one side of the bread. I don’t like just putting the bread in the toaster as that would toast both sides. I only want it toasted on the outside. I mentioned ritual, remember. The scrambled eggs were perfect when I dropped the slice of cheese on top. I put a lid on the pan so the cheese would melt quickly and the eggs wouldn’t overcook. When the cheese was melted beautifully over the fluffy eggs, I scooped them up and laid them on the bread, then topped it all with the other slice of bread. My mouth could almost taste it. Then I cut the sandwich and realized I hadn’t pulled the divider sheet of paper off of the cheese slice. It was between the perfectly melted cheese and the eggs. I scraped as much of the cheese off of the paper I could and tried to smear it back over the eggs. I ended up with two congealing lumps. My perfect sandwich was considerably less so now. Sometimes you can anticipate something too much. Then again, there’s always lunch time tomorrow.

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