The Sandwich Method (TM)

I know what you're thinking. "That's a sandwich. What is this, amateur hour? Come on, people are making zucchini cutlets around here."

Friends, I post today because I care. Because I love. And because I am the recent beneficiary of a special secret we'll refer to as the Sandwich Method (TM). (That's right. It's trademarked.)

The Sandwich Method was imparted to me by someone very special, who--despite thinking that avocados and marinara sauce go together--makes the meanest grilled cheese north of the Mason-Dixon line.

It goes something like this. You are stressed out because of all the veggies in your fridge. (#firstworldproblems). Why did you think you'd eat salad every day for a week? And alfalfa sprouts? Really? Those things have a shelf life of about ten minutes.

Enter The Sandwich. This baby is a vehicle for any veggie wilting judgmentally in your fridge as you reach past it for the leftover coffee cake. All you really, really need are:

(1) Two slices of good bread.

I should note here that I am very partial to something Whole Foods sells called Early Bird Multi-Seed Bread. I'm definitely the sucker who falls for anything including the words "multi" or "whole" before the word "grain." Multi-seed seemed like an improvement on the usual, and boy, is it delicious. It's hearty and crunchy and toasts up beautifully. (I recently perused the calorie count and realized exactly why I find it so delicious. But!--this has not stopped me.)

(2) A slice and a half of cheese.

There's just something about that extra half. Provolone, cheddar, havarti, muenster...it's all legit.

(3) Hummus.

You guys, hummus is, in the words of a friend, "super-croosh" here. It's NOT optional. The hummus and cheese operate in the kind of synergy management consultants aspire to. You want lots of it, and you want it on both pieces of bread.

(4) Aforementioned veggies

Think in threes: spinach, shredded carrots, thinly-sliced red onions; kale, tomatoes, sprouts; avocado, avocado, avocado (I love avocados).

Now: the Method.

The key is getting your skillet warm, but not hot. It's got to be just right. Coat that puppy with olive oil spray (no judgment here--I love olive oil spray. Dare I say it's the best thing since sliced bread?). Next--and this is key--place the bottom slice of bread (loaded up with hummus, the cheese, and the veggies, in that order) on the pan. Let it sit. Let it think. Let it reflect on what it was, and what it will become. But don't put the top slice on just yet. You want the heat to radiate upward, a slow burn, as it were. (Minus the burning.) You let the bottom and middle of your sandwich hang out on the pan until the cheese stops being square and starts melting--reluctantly at first--then clinging to the crust of the bread. Then you slap the top slice of bread (spread with hummus) on top, spray it up nice and good with the olive oil spray, flip the whole thing on its head, and cook until both sides are equally brown (or if you're me, practically black and crunchy).

I don't know what it is about making sandwiches like this, but I've found it really elevates what would otherwise be a soulless, personality-devoid cheese and hummus and reject-produce sandwich into a sexy grilled (veggie and) cheese.