A friend and I agreed the personality of the sandwich changes with each person who prepares it, and today we felt something was a little less than parfait with our Haloum Grille. Folks at Le Pick Up seemed stressed . The longest wait ever, and our lunches sat around too long. Temperature of the cheese is important to experiencing haloumi’s firm the texture and the release of its saltiness, and I prefer when it’s grilled directly before entering the sandwich. Creamy spicy slaw of red cabbage, carrot, and kale soothes the major crust burn associated with the crispy multigrain toast. Ideally it’s the bread that should be soft and the haloumi that gets to shine as the crispy grilled champ that it is. Nevertheless, we stayed for hours at the back picnic tables, chatted with the servers, overheard some drama about the evening closing procedure, broke a dish, and spilled a coffee. A good day.
True
to culinary fashion in queer circles, the grilled cheese sandwich at Montreal's Cagibi was accompanied by a
mini salad with grated beet and pumpkin seeds. The soggy appearance of the side pickle, perhaps not so much, but a sign of things to come: from wholesome lesbionic salad to crispy grilled seedy bread, that bracketed an also soggy marriage of cheddar and mozza cheese, pesto and
tomato. By soggy marriage don't mean to evoke anti-assimiliationist critiques of the institution, but I do mean complete integration into a unified and
undistiguishable new flavour. This is probably satisfying, like porridge, or
baby food, but not particularly refined or exciting. It does in a pinch, but other cooks, like my new fuck buddy, have revived this old standby far beyond the pleasure of easy and comforting.
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