Thursday, January 28, 2010

A Nice Cheese Sandwich


Now that I’ve frightened everyone away with the previous post, there’s only one thing to do: decommission my errant soul by encasing all manifestations of its reckless mortal romp inside a selection of robustly secured underground cryogenic bunkers.


Sounds too complicated.

A cheese sandwich, then — but not anything with cranberries in it.

[At this point, there is an interlude of some minutes. For you, too, there could be an interlude before you read on, if you choose. That way we’d be interlude buddies — albeit asynchronously. So, yes, while I’m away preparing my sandwich, why not take a moment or two to snack on a chocolate bar, make yourself a cup of tea, or fill in a couple of crossword clues? Anything, anything will do. You have my permission. Go crazy]

Back now, avec sarn.

Mmmmmm. Very nice.

Nice cheese.

Soft — but not so soft you wonder if you’re eating soup, some kind of weird sandwich-form soup, complete with croutons.

It’s very tasty bread too, with nuts and seeds and none of the slivers of millers’ fingernails you normally find in a wholemeal bouldeure rustique.

And the second mouthful is as wholesome and yummy as the first!

I’d recommend this to anyone in NATO employed as a potential meeter and greeter of alien hordes from beyond. One look at this baby, and all manner of intergalactic conflicts could be nipped in the bud. Plus, it would make great business for the thousands of cheese blokes worldwide* — and safeguard the future of cattle as a species too. The way things are going, by 2050 all the poor mookes will have been slaughtered to cut down on methane emissions, but if we can hook up with a bunch of aliens, their milk can be farmed off-world with no harm done to the polar bears. They could even power the furnaces of entire galaxies where methane is in short supply — assuming, of course, that the whole alien/off-world Stilton thing comes about before equality-enhancing brain implants for cattle, and therefore, the bovine equivalent of suffragettes. The last thing we want is a pressure group consisting of synaptically superior cattle whose democratic rights fuel an unstoppable bum gas apocalypse. So we’ve got to get the timing of all this exactly right. And of course, those aliens have got to invade when we’re ready for them. Anyhow, nice cheese...

I’m on to the second sandwich now (by which I mean the second triangle of a straight two slice composition, and not anything fancy like you see at dinner parties, typically with eggs or pureed rhino heart) — and this is going down like a synchronised high diving squad bombing into a pool of virgin olive oil. While I was adjusting my stance for the slice de resistance during the making of this sarn, it occurred to me that I might have made a mistake by omitting pickle, but something of the warm glow of Complete Sandwich Competence now ripples from my flesh, igniting sticky notes and exposed body hairs with equal gusto. It doesn't need it.

Very, very nice.

This is the sort of cheese sandwich that could win medals.

Several medals.

If I wasn’t chomping the last mouthful right now, I’d enter it in one of those high falutin’ sandwich contests. Correction: if I hadn’t eaten any of it, that’s what I’d have done. No-one ever won a high falutin’ sandwich contest with something chomped down to the last bite. It’s the cheese, see? Making me go silly.

And do you know what? I’d wear them. The medals, I mean. To the shops, to work, to everywhere — dangled from my lapel with hand-embroidered braids, and possibly photos of the sandwich itself.

All done now.

Goodness, that was a treat.

I could’ve gone with the nachos, or a classic Whirl Rice Krispies straight from the Packet, but I made the right decision — about the absence of pickle, the method of slicing, everything.

I feel a sated man.

And yes, I put that in for innuendo value, folks. Plus, people rarely consider the sated men of the world when making plans for the future. That’s why there’s no Sated Men Lane on the motorway. So hurry up with this one, all you politicians, it’s a powder keg out there.

Mmmmmm. Very nice.

And such a decorative napkin.


Just right.

* or whatever the technical term is for the people who grow all the cheese


fairyhedgehog said...

I love your grasp of the cheese-growing process.

Do you know, you nearly seduced me into eating chocolate while I was cooking dinner with your interlude buddies idea.

No one else could make a plain cheese sandwich so exciting.

jinksy said...

So - now I know - the scent was CHEESE! What could be funnier?

Ann said...

It was Rabbit Hole day, wasn't it...not week? LOL

That was some sandwich!

fairyhedgehog said...

It's always Rabbit Hole Day in here. Isn't it?

Whirlochre said...

Knowledge of the cheese growing process is a sign of culture, me duck. As for the chocolate — I know you girls. Any excuse. Any.

I'm sure a custard pie could give any roulade a run for its money — but not on this occasion.

Ann & Hogahula-hog-hog-ahula
To clarify: it's "back to normal" time...

Kerrie said...

Thank you, I had a Turkish Delight in the interlude.

Whirlochre said...

I wonder — does Turkish Delight melt in a Turkish bath?

Maybe that's why they invented Kendal Mint Cake...

sex scenes at starbucks said...

My daughter just wore her soccer medal to school the other day.

"It says I got 2nd place, right here on the back," she explained. "And I was four."

So there you go. Sensible like a cheese sandwich.

Kiersten White said...

I had a waffle during our interlude. But then immediately was left longing for cheese melted between toasted bread.

Curse you, Whirl. CURSE YOU. I have neither cheese nor bread in the house.

Again, curse you.

However, if aliens do ever decide to invade, I nominate you chief Liaison. Yours are the only preparatory thoughts that seem to make any sense.

Whirlochre said...

It's like I always say — If you've got it, trumpet it. But if you haven't got a trumpet, use a flute or a drum. If you're out of those there's always a kazoo. And if things really get bad, you can whistle, shout or use sign language.

Please feel free to quote me on that one.

Was this waffle aided and abetted in its preparation by items from the Haunted Fridge, I wonder?

And — no bread or cheese? What kind of fad diet are you on? Leprechaun pastry and yeti milk?

McKoala said...

Whirl, um, hate to say it, but, um, get a life...

Bernita said...

"slivers of millers’ fingernails"
Usually slivers of my fingernails decorate my salads...oh and a bit of knuckle skin.

"sensible as a cheese sandwich." I am so going to steal that line.

Whirlochre said...

Um, hate to say it, but, um, get lost...

Slivers of body parts are such a great source of protein.

writtenwyrdd said...

I do love cheese in just about any form. Oddly, I like it with fruit and after the anti-cranberry post I tried extra sharp cheddar with 1) dried cranberries (not bad); 2) dried pineapple (meh); and dried dates (yum!). The result is that cranberries will do, but dried dates are quite good with cheese. I don't think I'll be throwing a party with cheese and dried dates for dessert, though.

Whirlochre said...


I do love cheese in just about any form

Sounds like you're something of an enthusiast. I'd love to see your CD collection.

And isn't it funny — blind as I may be, in many respects, I don't much care for dates.

latvialovedoll1877 said...

u want it hot? igot it hot. way to a mans hart is thru stomerk. i mak beutiful pastry for you. crumbly filo u choose. garantee u wont be dissaponted. hot hot hot

Robin S. said...

The last thing we want is a pressure group consisting of synaptically superior cattle whose democratic rights fuel an unstoppable bum gas apocalypse.

Christ, Whirl, it was worth the whole reading time (and the flick to the cranberry post-Christmas glomified post)just to have a read of that one perfect sentence...

not that the rest wasn't damn good, too.

Robin S. said...

P.S. What the hell's the deal with the latvia love doll? Doesn't that chick know, you're already taken, (en masse)?

And my word ver is: redab.

Whirlochre said...

The great thing about seeing double after having flogged my arse off today working on many similarly perfect sentences is that currently, there are four of you...

writtenwyrdd said...

Oooooh...Latvian lovedoll AND cheese!

Whirl, I have about 440 CDs. About anything but Korean Opera or Rap. Okay, one or two rappish R&Bs.

Whirlochre said...

No Korean opera?

Next you'll be telling me you've no Vietnamese hardcore thrash folk unplugged.

Or Elvis!