Having had to resolve my late night cravings, I went to have a meeting with the refrigerator at 5 am.
It is early in the morning and I apparently follow food schedules very strictly, the best name of the meal at the given time is breakfast.
Speaking of, the last time I had a one was when I “woke up” from a no sleep sleep with a sour throat and blocked air channels. God bless the maid that made me a bowl of sweet cornflakes with hot milk to prepare my tummy for the pain relief tablets then.
Back into my kitchen, I got overwhelmed with the things it had to offer, different white cheeses, fruits, fresh mangoes, tomato, nutella, many fresh farm eggs that kept calling my name, and a cup that looked like it’s holding chocolate but turned to have some local detox solution famously known as hulool. It smelled like a shock.
I had a toast bread sandwich in my mind, maybe club, wanted egg, but it is not a good idea, someone in my head replied.
As always with me and my many choices to make, the exit strategy was a simple cheese sandwich.
Cool-lookingly, I threw the toast bread in the pan and while some time miss-management occurred on the pan’s behalf, the toasts got burned and toasted my dumb thumb instead.
I wanted something close to a breast chicken but not chicken and very easy to make, but not chicken. So the perfect match is a kraft cheese (almarai in our case as mom always believed best) that tasted like melted salty gooey substance and a sprinkle of sesame and zatar to bring back stability to the sandwich while adding some depth to it.
So again I threw away the burned pair of toast bread, and in another and didn’t burn my thumb. Spread the cheese, toast it again properly and enjoy. It was as good as salt.