grilled_cheese-878

UrbanDaddy - You know how this game is played. Meet in a crowded public place. Read the paper, pull your fedora down and wait for your contact to arrive. And then—the handoff. An unmarked brown paper bag, filled with 2¼ ounces of… pure grilled cheese. Welcome to Bread.Butter.Cheese., a covert grilled cheese dealership operating out of an apartment and making drops in the tiny East Village park on First and First, starting today. The process is simple. Almost too simple: you’ll text or dial The Man (we’ll call him Ronnie), and leave a message telling him how you like your grilled cheese. Ronnie posts his “inventory” of daily specials here, but he’s a resourceful chap and can do everything from your basic Wonder Bread with Kraft Singles to a buttery Spanish Malvarosa layered with caramelized onions and raw jalapeños (remember, there’s no such thing as purity in grilled cheese). You’ll get a text back with a delivery time—like any good dealer, he operates around the clock—and then, a normal-looking guy will approach cautiously. You’ll give him the nod and hand over a small quantity of unmarked bills. He will pass you the bag. Then he will disappear. And should Ronnie take a shine to your grilled cheese order, you may find as a bonus a can of beer or tiny airplane bottle of whiskey in the brown bag along with your sandwich.

Yo there’s always a market for just about anything when it comes to making food for KFC. I have not cooked a meal for myself in about 3 and a half years. I’m not even slightly exagerrating. I have eaten take out or ordered delivery since the day I moved out of my parents house. I got the guys at Atomic Wings and Defonte’s on speed dial. I place my order and they’re like “Ohhh what up KFC??” Any time I can make a simple phone call and someone else will make food for me, I’m down.

That being said, there is not a fucking chance you’ll catch me apart of some exclusive underground grilled cheese club. This has got to be the most obnoxious trendy bullshit I’ve ever seen. You can only order your grilled cheese through text and then you gotta pick it up at the drop off point like I’m picking up an eighth? No fuckin thanks, Ronnie. We’re talking about two pieces of bread and a fuckin slice of cheese. I’ll order that shit from the diner and have it delivered right to my freaking door from a midget delivery man. You wanna start importing a legit cheesesteak or something - straight from Philly with a roll from the Conshohocken Bakery, some shredded rib eye steak and some cheese whiz – then I’ll text you and wait in the rain at the nexus of the universe First and First all night long. But even KFC would buy a loaf on Wonder Bread and some Kraft singles and grill up my own Grilled Cheese before I ever texted these ass clowns.

PS – My dad calls them “toasted cheeses” and I want to punch him square in the face every time he says that.