I love foods that evolve with the cook, that are simple enough to be embraced early but improved upon indefinitely. Consider the grilled cheese sandwich.

Grilled cheese is one of the first things I remember piloting on the stove. Three Kraft singles cheese-product slices between limp pieces of processed white bread slathered in spreadable margarine. At least one side was guaranteed to have been burnt but the cheese was always gooey and pulled apart for a layer of crushed potato chips, all washed down with a pint of milk.

The grown up version retains these basics, slightly improvised. Let’s start with the bread, no spongy wonder stuff, whole grain at the least, preferably with some nuts and grains you can see. Better still, a fresh boule of rosemary or olive bread with a heavy hand of salt baked across the top, sliced thick but not too thick to keep the cheese from melting.

And what of the cheese? Nothing that qualifies itself as a “product” or comes preshredded with added chemicals and emulsifiers, you want a block of cheese. I like two kinds, white extra sharp and yellow sharp, though honestly I can’t suss out the difference. Mild cheeses like provolone and mozzarella will work if you don’t like the tang of real, sharp cheddar but they’re also kind of missing the point. Chop off a manageable hunk and shred it with a microplane or box shredder. Seriously, shred the cheese, it makes all the difference. I like to add a few extras like thinly sliced avocado or tomatoes when they’re in season, a thin spread of dijon or a smear of anchovy, garlic or sundried tomato paste. Just a little, you don’t want to overwhelm the rest of the sandwich.

My method of assembly is a bit unorthodox but solves a few problems for me. One, I use olive oil ¹, not butter, largely because it’s easier to work with. I also cook on grill pan with raised edges (this model from Lodge is cheap and will last forever with a little attention) not a griddle or skillet, which lets me keep the sandwich on the heat long enough to melt the cheese but not burn the bread. Grill lines I can handle, a shingle of carbon, no thanks. And I sprinkle the top with a little kosher salt and a few grinds of black pepper just for kicks.

It goes like this. Preheat your grill pan over medium high heat. Fill a teaspoon with olive oil then pour it across one side of each piece of bread, using the bottom of the spoon to spread it evenly. Flip the bread over and layer one piece with about half of your mixture of shredded cheeses, top with any extra filler, then the rest of the cheese. If you’re using a spread, thinly knife it across the other piece of bread then flip it to assemble the sandwich. Use a spatula to move it from your work area to your heated pan. Don’t worry about bits of shredded cheese that fall into the pan, those are one of the great joys of this whole endeavor and should be savored once they crisp up.

I top mine with a pot lid to improvise a panini press. About three minutes after it’s been on, flip with your spatula, taking care not to disassemble the whole operation mid flip. Another few minutes and it should be ready to go. Cut in half and plate with a sliced apple or a green salad. These days, I replace that pint of milk with a crisp pale ale.

1. Astute readers will note that I previously said that I don’t cook with olive oil and, as a rule, I don’t. The nice thing about rules, especially of thumb, is how fun they are to break. I’ve tried canola oil, I simply prefer the olive. ↩

Neven’s Note

You know what I like on my grilled cheese? A bit of cayenne pepper over the cheese, or a layer of mustard under it. The former goes real nice with a bit of super-thinly sliced shallot (or, hey, onion) grilled right into the side of the bread. Butter-glue it onto the slice about halfway through or it’ll burn.

If you like your grilled sandwich crispy on the outside - and why wouldn’t you - do use olive oil, like Jim Says. It’ll produce a crispier surface than butter. Butter contains water, which will not helping crisping. Oil, of course, contains no water!

And for the record, Jim is crazy when he says not to use white bread. It’s the ideal choice for sandwiches of all sorts; my taste buds just get puzzled by combinations of seedy grains and cheese or meat.

Boiled potatoes, that’s all they are. The reason I name then in Italian is that they deserve a bit of fancying-up, because they’re a good vehicle for discussion of simple ingredients, and because this recipe, like all the best ones, is based on a memory. The memory is of my Sardinian uncle Salvatore eating this three-ingredient dish as an afternoon snack. At twelve-year old, I was horrified. As an adult, I understand.

So, potatoes. What to do with them? Many foods have one “dominant dimension”, a spectrum from A to B; “dry” versus “sweet” wine, for instance. For potatoes, the most important such dimension is starchiness vs. waxiness.

Starchy potatoes are typically seen as “bakers”; they’re dry, mealy, and fluffy when cooked, so these are the guys you’ll want to bake, mash, or fry. Look for Russet, Idaho, or Baking potatoes in your store.

Waxy potatoes are higher in sugar and lower in starch. They hold their shape better than starchies, so you’ll want to use them on the grill, in soups, in salads, and when boiling (as in this recipe). They’ll usually be sold as Red or Yellow potatoes. (Yukon Golds fall in the middle of the spectrum; new potatoes are young versions of any of these, but typically Red ones.)

When boiling potatoes for most any preparation, start them in cold water; don’t wait for the boil to throw them in. They’ll cook more evenly, and faster. Cover the potatoes by 1 inch of water; add a tablespoon of salt; bring to a boil on high, cover and turn down to medium-low; simmer, stirring lightly a few times, for 10-20 minutes.

To test the doneness of your potatoes, you could just poke them, but given a sharp enough knife, this may be misleading (an uncooked potato could give in to easily to a Global blade.) Instead, attempt to lift them out of the water once you’ve poked: they shouldn’t hang on to the knife at all if they’re plate-ready. When they pass this test, drain them carefully and put them back in the (now dry) pot. Then do this wacky thing: Place a clean dish towel over the pot and cover it for a few minutes. What you’re doing here is helping to dry the potatoes a little more without shaking or otherwise upsetting them; that might break them up. The towel will absorb steam and you’ll have moist but not water-logged spuds (It took me this long to use the word spud?)

Next, peel the potatoes (if you want - I do), cut them in half or in quarters, and pour on the olive oil. Salt with fleur de sel. Enjoy as a snack, or as a side to a fish dinner. Salt and fat, helping a simple vegetable taste its best. That’s easy and tasty, and you can make it.