America's Favorite Sandwich

Caitlin Miller  

Part I: Why Grilled Cheese?

This column has thus far focused on cheese in its unaccompanied and unadulterated form. As we know, I’m heavily biased towards a big ol’ round of mozzarella – but game recognize game so now it’s time to show America’s national sandwich, the grilled cheese, some much-deserved love.

I don’t care how black or shriveled your heart is: when someone mentions a grilled cheese sandwich, you suddenly acquire a thirst that can only be satisfied by a gooey smattering of melted cheese snuggled between two golden, perfectly toasted slices of bread. Accept that you will likely go through a dark range of emotions – anger, delirium, possible physical pain – until your cheese-lust has been fulfilled.

Scholars postulate that the debate over how best to prepare a grilled cheese predates the events of the New Testament by some six hundred years. To add or not to add a tomato, some eggplant, an avocado – that is the question. I am positioned firmly with the minimalist grilled cheese camp: to defile an unassuming grilled cheese with an egg is nothing short of blasphemy. The only dish I can unequivocally support in the betterment of the grilled cheese is tomato soup on the side. Dear God, is there anything more conducive to nostalgia and/or the over-production of saliva than the hot, thick aroma of a steaming grilled cheese and generous bowl of tomato bisque? The only thing that comes close is the actual moment when the sandwich has cooled down enough to tear off a hefty chunk, drag it slowly through the soup's surface, and bring all that cheese, tomato, bread and basil to your lips. That, friends, is as close as most of us will ever get to heaven.

Part II: In Which We Venture Forth Into Ann Arbor and Find Some Grilled Cheese

Look out for a later column detailing the making of a perfect grilled cheese from the comfort of your own kitchen; but, for now, the second part of this column will consider what Ann Arbor has to offer. It was the Sunday morning after our victory over MSU and, needless to say, I needed some bread. Also, I hadn't been to Zingerman's yet all year: it’s late October and this was beginning to bring shame on my house. What better moment, then, to do a little field research and locate a delicious grilled cheese in its natural habitat?! I'd heard rumors, whisperings of Zingerman's “Todd’s Cheesy Weesy” bringing grown men to their knees, so camera and notebook in hand I trekked down to Kerrytown. Sidestepping the approximately three thousand people in line, I ducked past the bread station and $800 balsamic vinegar (laughing through my tears) to pick up my grilled cheese and requisite spicy Ginger Ale (red cap or bust – do not chug this stuff, your sinuses will burst into flames) before settling at a table outside.

Here's the thing about Zingerman's: it is an incredible business, the people who work there are SO genuinely friendly and want you to have a great experience, and the pre-packaged goods they sell are unreal. For me, it’s synonymous with Ann Arbor and I absolutely love it. But that love comes with acceptance of the fact that their sandwiches, sadly, can be a bit hit and miss – especially if you're ordering to-go, which, lets face it, is a damn necessity most of the time unless you have a spare two hours to spend in line. But a restaurant, deli, whatever, is only as a good as it’s most hastily assembled takeout item. And never have I experienced such incredible highs – the #36 with avocado should be a graduation requirement – and such devastating lows at the hands of a sandwich institution. Zingerman's grilled cheese, I'm sad to say, fell under the latter category.

To be fair, they did a lot of things right: namely, the bread. But that's to be expected from Zings: it was thick, buttery, and baked the most perfect golden brown I've ever seen in my life. It was art. And all it was crying out for was a little backup from a well-chosen cheese. Frankly, the cold, tasteless, and not even remotely melted cheddar that I found in my mouth after the first bite did not answer the call. This was not the cheese I have sampled at their delectable cheese counter, and it was not what I have come to expect from Zingerman’s. It tasted like a slice of Kraft cheddar that you pull out of a plastic bag – you know, the “Kraft Singles” you liked when you were three, right around the time you thought worms and sand made for an awesome snack. And the other issue was, there was not nearly enough of it. If you’re going to name your sandwich the Cheesy Weesy, I expect to be doubled over at the amount of flavorful cheese defying the confines of the sandwich and overflowing over the crust: again, not the case. I could barely taste the cheese through all the bread – the bread was admittedly delicious, but the grilled cheese is about harmony and should highlight rather than smother its main ingredient.

As I walked away from Zings disappointed, I realized too late that my less-than-stellar grilled cheese experience was partly my own fault. A better grilled cheese sleuth than I would have headed back to the sandwich counter and constructed her own sandwich, requesting multiple cheeses and specifying the desired level of meltiness. After all, we are the masters of our own sandwich fate. In the meantime, I am on the hunt for a more satisfying grilled cheese around town and am looking forward to making my own. Have you had an amazing grilled cheese experience in Ann Arbor? Send me on a mission.