Without fail, when given the option, I will order the grilled sandwich with the crust that practically punctures the roof of my mouth, making it sore for days.
I never remember this unpleasant aspect of grilled sandwiches until it’s too late–until the plate of food has arrived on the table, and the sandwich appears so delectable there’s no way I could just choose not to eat it. (That’s wasting food, anyway, which is also something I just can’t do.)
So I am in pain today thanks to the short rib grilled cheese sandwich at Tryon Public House. Yet I am not upset about this because it was worth it. And I will forget all about the pain the next time a menu lists a sandwich with meat and cheese and who am I kidding just the cheese is good enough.
I guess it’s like childbirth. If we remembered how badly it hurt we’d never do it again. Like having kids, having a grilled sandwich improves my life so much that I can’t explain it to anyone who hasn’t gone through it themselves.