Grilled Cheese Atrocity

Yaay! It’s time for another childhood culinary atrocity! This time, I’m sharing with you the special grilled cheese sandwich I “invented” in high school!

Well, what kinds of foods did you proudly “invent” when you were first making your own food?

I’ve been revisiting some of my formerly favorite foods that I used to make for myself when I was a youth. Before I had heard of health foods. Before I had ever eaten at a Chinese restaurant. Back when pizza and spaghetti were “ethnic” foods.

The Requisite Digression

Yeahhhhh . . . back when Taco Bell was a spicy new fast-food place for us midwesterners. Its menu board had pronunciation helps like “EN-CHI-REE-TOH” and “TAH-COH.” Remember when Taco Bell’s taco sauce came in small plastic tubs with a peel-off, foil lid? Remember when they added a second flavor of taco sauce, “Hot”? Then, they started to put the sauce into the kind of packets they’re using today, only without the silly catch-phrases? Back when the corporate colors were brown, red, orange, and yellow? Well, this "recipe" dates back to about that time. Yes, you young things, back when I was young, there were only two sauces at Taco Bell: Mild and Hot! And we liked it! This was way before “Fire,” “Wild,” “Diablo,” “Fire-Roasted,” and “Green.”

And while we’re reminiscing, I’d like to say a few words about “authenticity” and Taco Bell. I understand the urge to pillory Taco Bell for being an inauthentic non-Mexican ripoff of true Mexican cuisine. It’s not Mexican. I don’t think it claims to be authentic. It is essentially fast-food junk food with garbage cheese, but . . . for many of us in the Midwest, it was the first time we ever had food that was spicy, that burned our mouths. It taught us the words taco and burrito. It wasn’t great food or even really good, but it helped us discover the cuisine. It was like Kenny G to jazz, or Boone’s Farm to wine; it was our gateway drug.

I’d also like to point out that, unless you like to cook for yourself, if you live in a small town in the Midwest, Taco Bell may indeed offer the best "Mexican" food for miles. This was especially the case in the 1980s and before. Even today, many of the so-called Mexican restaurants are worse than Taco Bell. The Bell’s basic tacos still stand up pretty well against some of the stuff I’ve had in midwestern Mexican joints. Honestly, I think midwestern Mexican restaurateurs know that a majority of their customers prefer seas of cheesy beans and gloppy, fatty meats, with sweet, ketchup-like salsa. And Taco Bell can be better than that.

Also, among fast-food places, Taco Bell is about the only one that offers anything besides salads and French fries for vegetarians to eat. And "Mexican-inspired" fast food can be much tastier than the standard ol' burger and fries.

Which leads me back to my topic. My sandwich has very, very little to do with Mexican food. Nothing, in fact. But Taco Bell Hot sauce is a key ingredient.

So hang on to your stomach, here we go!

Taco-Bell-Hot-Sauce Grilled Cheese Atrocity

For one sandwich, you will need:

• 2 slices of sandwich bread (the plain white stuff)
• 2 packets of Taco Bell Hot taco sauce (not any other flavor)
• About 4–5 hamburger dill pickle slices (Heinz preferred)
• 2 slices of mild or medium cheddar cheese
• Margarine or butter (for frying)

Spread the Taco Bell Hot taco sauce onto one of the slices of bread. Top with sliced cheese, then add the pickle slices. Cover with the other slice of bread.

Heat a skillet, add a pat of margarine or butter into the skillet; when it’s melted, heat the sandwich on the buttery skillet. Flip. Cook until toasted. You can eat it now, or . . .

Bonus points: In high school, I used to make this in the evening, then pack it up in aluminum foil and carry it to school for lunch the next day. So try this: let the sandwich cool on the counter, then wrap it in foil or a sandwich bag. Refrigerate overnight. Eat cold, or at room temperature, as if it had to sit in your locker until lunchtime. It’s actually better this way, after it’s rested and solidified somewhat. I’m not sure why, but it’s the same principle as enjoying a cold slice of pizza or a piece of cold fried chicken. It might be because, being more solid, the sandwich seems more substantial. It’s also tidier to eat, now that it’s not gooey and drippy.

What is it that makes this work? On paper, it’s an atrocity: dill pickles and taco sauce. It must have something to do with the specific flavor of the Taco Bell Hot sauce. My guess is that the smooth, mild cheese melds whatever flavors the pickles and taco sauce have that can harmonize. The distinctive flavors of Taco Bell Hot sauce include plenty of cumin with onion and garlic powders, and I think those go especially well with something in the pickles. Maybe it’s the garlic, or maybe the vinegar . . . or maybe it’s just a salt festival. But try some other hot sauces, and you’ll see it just doesn’t work right.

My Lemonade Atroci-tea

I admit it: I should not be proud of this . . . but guess what? I kind of am. But this does fit into the category of “childhood culinary atrocity.” Reading it, you’re gonna go “. . . ewwww.”

But not so fast! I recently resurrected this beverage a few weeks ago, when I saw they actually still make Lipton Instant Tea. So I bought a jar! I mixed up my old formula to the best of my memory, and I found it genuinely tasty. In fact, it’s better than I remembered it, which is saying a lot.

This recipe (if you can call it that) dates back to high school, when I used to sometimes bring a lunch, including a big cup for my tea. Here’s how I would make it.

In the morning, or the night before, I prepared a lemon-tea-sugar concentrate ahead of time. I used a small (2 oz.) Tupperware “midget” condiment container for my mix, which was about 1 heaping teaspoon of Lipton Instant Tea (unsweetened), about 1 heaping teaspoon of sugar, and about 1.5 ounces of ReaLemon lemon juice. I’d shake the juice with the tea and sugar, and it would form a sludgy, muddy slurry.

The horror.

It was ugly, but it blended easily with water I’d get from a drinking fountain at school. I guess I’d bring a plastic spoon with me, one that would fit into the cup along with the little Tupperware full of my sludgy stuff. (I don’t remember getting ice at school . . . though maybe I’d get a cup of ice from Taco Bell, across the street, which is where we band kids went for lunch nearly every day.) Or maybe I did without the ice.

(BY THE WAY, I'm using some pictures of old plastic souvenir/giveaway promotional cups from 1980s Columbia in this post. . . . Like, remember when Shakespeare's cups were opaque tan?)

And yeah, it’s gotta be Lipton instant tea, not Nestea. The two taste completely different. Instant tea is, almost by definition, terrible, but of the two brands, Lipton is the only one that’s tolerable. Nestea is the devil. It just is.

No, we didn’t have Nalgene bottles or Yeti sealable cups back then. So I just used one of the ubiquitous big plastic, indestructible cups that restaurants gave out back then. Faddenhappi’s, Harpo’s, Shakespeare’s, etc. You know the type.

I usually used a Harpo's cup, for the Mizzou logo and for the fact that it was from a bar. And what's cooler than the local college bars when you're in high school?

(And gosh, remember Faddenhappi's? I loved that place. They were at 700 E. Broadway and served pizzas and loaded baked potatoes; the same toppings could work for both. They probably also served salads.)

Here’s the fun part about my humble beverage: it’s basically an instant “Arnold Palmer.” An Arnold Palmer is half lemonade and half iced tea. My version simply has less sugar and more lemon, making it extra sour. Even in high school, I liked sour drinks.

No, I would not make this for company. Never. But just for little old me?

Well, let’s say, what if it’s a busy workday, and you don’t really want to spend any time brewing up a pitcher of tea. Or maybe your air-conditioning has gone out, and you want iced tea without turning on the stove, or heating anything. Instant tea is so fast.

In graduate school, I shifted away from instant tea, forever. I made sun tea all the time when I lived in Arizona. I’d get tea in bulk from the local health-food coop. In Montana, I’d set out my jar of sun tea on the back steps. Like any good lesbian, I have kept a cabinet full of boxes of various teas, black and herbal. Until a few weeks ago, I don’t think I have ever purchased instant tea. Once I moved out of my parents’ house, I never bought instant tea.

So, now that I have a jar of powdery brown Lipton Instant Tea, I’ve had fun returning to my old concoction. I’ve been experimenting with adjusting the ratios of the various ingredients. I’ve been discovering that if you put a lot of ice in it, the ice melts and mellows whatever flavor was maybe too dominant. Taking the initial few sips certainly wakes you up. But I can sip on it all afternoon.

So that’s all. Just a little salute to my former self, before I became all “foody” and snooty.

And when you consider I've happily enjoyed dirty martinis (about which a friend of mine once said, "Don't you love them? They taste just like poison!"), this rather sour lemonade-and-iced-tea blend ain't too bad.

Now I’m trying to decide if I should “confess” to more childhood culinary atrocities. What do you think? Did you “cook” things as a juvenile that today, you’d shudder to think of?