I've sold my soul to the corporate devil

But I still make the best grilled cheese sandwich ever.

Okay, so I won't actually claim that title, but I will say that my version is a lot better than the one you'll get off the menu.

And I didn't completely sell my soul, either... I just made some adjustments. Like suffering through prepackaged, frozen soups in exchange for a relatively normal schedule and most weekends to myself. A rare accommodation, at best. And there's yet hope for me, as I likewise upped my title to that of Catering Coordinator (or catering manager, if I feel like inflating my ego a bit).

Even so, I can sometimes find an oasis in the desert of culinary sedation.

Often enough, this comes in the form of the previously mentioned grilled cheese sandwich.

How does one dig around the dregs to find something worth writing home about? Don't think about it too much. Keep it simple, and keep it good.

So if you work in a bakery cafe, start with bread. That, at least, you can trust. Sourdough, in particular. I'm a fan of good sourdough. Sourdough has soul. I've never tried making my own starter, though it's simple in principle - it's just creating an environment where yeast can grow naturally, so that you don't have to add commercial yeast.

I have, in the past, made bread using a wet primer. The idea is to mix in yeast with the sugar and some water to allow the yeast to grow a bit before you mix the rest together. The added time allows for the yeast to... well... do yeastly things. Remember that this is a living, breathing (at least to an extent) creature. The various processes that the extra few hours allow add substantial flavors to the end product.

A sourdough starter is akin to this process, with just an extra handful of awesome thrown in for additional epic level quality.

So we have the base, time for a little sauce action. Dry bread is sad bread, as far as I'm concerned. Unless it's a crouton. And even then it should be coated in dressing.

Spicy mustard does the trick here. I could try for some of the fancier spreads, like sun-dried tomato pesto, but honestly if I'm going to go for something that complicated, I'd rather make it myself. Of course, that may make me sound a bit heretical, as the mustard had to come from somewhere too, but I've seen and tasted the fresh form. And as with most of everything else, it's just better that way.

Now we're on to cheese selection. Which, sadly, is a bit lacking. I could attempt to sneak some fresh mozzarella out of the walk-in, but I'd probably be hunted down. So I settle for swiss. Not that swiss is what I'd call "settling". Provolone would be nice. A mix would be better. Freshly sliced would trump it all. But I can't do much about that. And it's still pretty good cheese.

And now to make this more than just your average sandwich.

We start with tomatoes. Just a couple of slices on each side, to add a little moisture and flavor. Some fresh basil, if no one forgot to order it. Maybe some thin sliced avocado if I'm feeling particularly frisky. And I am, usually. And, of course, salt and pepper. I like flavor, go figure.

Layer everything between the swiss, and you've got the start of something beautiful.

If no one higher up than my GM is around, I can get away with throwing this bad boy into one of the rack ovens for a few minutes. Without that luxury, I'm stuck with the panini press, which if you're willing to sit around for 10 minutes or so, will actually start to melt the cheese. Why someone would shell out multiple thousands of dollars for a contraption that can be equally rivaled by a pair of hot bricks I may never know. I guess they really like those grill marks.

In any case, let it sit for a while, and you're in business. It could be better. It could enjoy the company of some kalamata olives, of which I could find on premisis. It could have some herb butter to actually slather on the bread.

But hey, if you're in the middle of the desert, you shouldn't be holding out for Dasani.

A pepper by any other name...

Is a completely different pepper, apparently.



I don't know who had the bright idea of renaming peppers once you've applied some sort of cookery to them (what's that, a smoked jalepeno? Noooo friend, *that* is a chipotle!).



Then again, we do it with meats too (I guess 'bacon' has a better ring to it than 'cold-smoked pork belly strips').



It's probably just the language barrier (you'd think a minor in Spanish would have prepared me to remember a few choice words), but I always have to think before I speak when talking about (or attempting to talk about, at least) peppers.



Of course, I can't stay mad long at something that yeilds such delicious spices and flavors. I've always been a fan of paprika. Granted, I've never really used it much (although it does make some delicious croutons at work, combined with a few other seasonings). Just for the record, paprika is a spice of dried sweet chilies. It has a very characterful aroma that makes me want to sit and ponder over the culinary possibilities.



Speaking of sweet chilies, though, I have to wonder - just how many aren't sweet? Now I know most people would classify most as "hot" rather than... well... anything else... but even those that will send you running toward the nearest fire hydrant generally have some sweetness to them. Peppers are, afterall, technically a fruit. Go figure.



Both the hottest (or rather, spiciest) and suprisingly sweetest (that is to say, most suprisingly sweet, not necessarily the sweetest) pepper I've ever eaten is the jabanero. Mind you, it was a very, very small piece, but when prepared for such I have somewhat of a tolerance for the Chuck Norris-style round-house kick to the throat that these things tend to provide. If you snuck one into my milkshake, then maybe I'd start to cry (or maybe not... keep reading).



So yes, there was a distinct burning sensation, but looking past that (or tasting past that, rather) I could actually taste the flavor and sweetness of the pepper. Of course, for those of you who aren't either Catholic or masochistic and like to enjoy the finer things in life (like dinner), there are ways around the heat. Namely, a sharp knife (and maybe a pair of disposable gloves).



See now, all that heat is packed into the seeds and inner membrane of the pepper; the flesh is actually very flavorful and sweet. So, if you want the flavor without the pain, all you have to do is cut out said seeds and membrane (that is, the weird looking white-ish stuff running along the insides of the peppers). This may not be completely foolproof (especially on some of the really fiesty ones), but it will definitely reduce the tears that follow.



And please, please please please, PLEASE - wash your hands. Twice. Okay, once will do it, but do it well. After fiddling with those seeds and pepper-insides and whatsuch, clean your hands, the knife, the cutting board, the cat that brushed by while you were working, all of it. Trust me, you do not want to clean out a jalepeno, forget about it, then rub your eyes. Unless, of course, you really *are* a masochist. Even then, though, I'd suggest working up to it. Maybe start with hot sewing needles first. Just trust me, you don't want those burnination chemicals to get spread around in unwanted places.



Also, if you find yourself in a nasty spot where one-too-many peppers got dropped in the pot and your tastebuds are being ravaged as a result, fear not; there is a cure. Sort of. It's been tested before (by other people, who get paid to do this sort of thing) and you'd be surprised by what works.



Chugging water is pretty useless - those chemicals that cause all the burn aren't water soluble - they're actually alcohol-soluble.

But don't let that make you think you have an excuse to down a six-pack (although it'd probably take that much). Unless you're reaching for grain alcohol, the content will be too low to do you much good before you're passed out anyway.

So what's the solution? Milk.

Yeah, I know, I thought it was weird too. Something in there binds with the burny stuff, and all other sorts of scientific things that I would only confuse you and myself by getting into. Long story short, if you swish some milk and spit it out, it should take the heat out with it.



Huzzah. The beast is dead. Long live the king.



So fear not, gentle readers, for the peppers before you can be calmed. Or not, maybe you like spicy. Either way, go forth and enjoy.