So before I start this post, I just want to point out that I did a little housekeeping. I categorized all of my posts for an easier reading experience, you know, on the off-chance that someone new comes along and wants to read all of my cool shit. And I rearranged the sidebar a little, just for the hell of it. Nothing too drastic, it just makes me feel good to be organized, and I’ve been putting this off.
Anyways, onwards and upwards to more pressing matters. D and I made our big move to the city in May. We take the subway to work every day. Right beside the subway is this awesome looking restaurant called The Construction Site, and it specializes in grilled cheese sandwiches. We’ve walked by it hundreds of times, and we’ve talked about going there just about every weekend since we moved here. But for some reason whenever we’d go out to eat it just wouldn’t occur to us.
I had a really fucking delicious grilled cheese sandwich in the summer when The Magpie and I had lunch in Kensington Market one day. A crispy, cheesy, yummy sandwich on a sunny afternoon, that’s the ticket.
That sandwich was amazing. Especially compared to the crap I’m expected to ingest at home. I don’t really know how it’s possible that I ate this amazing fucking sandwich in the summer and then went for months without trying the place right down the street from my apartment. Like, what the eff brain? How could you let this happen? Oh, it’s tummy’s fault? Hmm, well I’ll be having words with her too, rest assured. That bitch is gonna pay for this.
Many months went by since that incredible sandwich in the market happened to me. But finally on a cold and blustery day in January, it occurred to us. We should have totally awesome grilled cheeses this weekend. Yes, yes we should. We work hard, and we deserve a decent grilled cheese sandwich for a change dammit!
So we bundled up on Saturday afternoon and went for a little stroll to that grilled cheese place that always looked so awesome, but for some reason we never went in. We pushed the glass door open and walked into what has to be one of the cleanest restaurants I’ve ever seen. Spick-and-span. This little adventure was off to a great start already. The menu was enticing, with lots of options. But I’m a classic kind of girl. I dig simplicity, and there’s comfort in the familiar. So that’s what I ordered, The Classic. Aged cheddar on french white bread, it’s a guaranteed slam dunk. D followed suit on the sandwich, which was surprising because he usually loves to mix it up.
So we were just a couple of classics. Out for a classic Saturday afternoon stroll, stopping in for our classic sandwiches. It was a classic Smash and D day.
The dude behind the counter fired up our sandwiches with a smile, and our mouths watered. It would take a few minutes, as all masterpieces do. So we sat down to wait at an enormous table with double-wide chairs. I’m not a double-wide person per say, but I like to stretch out. I haven’t even eaten yet and I’m totally sold on this place. They have all the secrets to success cracked: clean restaurant, good service, assumed excellent food, and double-wide chairs. That’s how you do it!
Then the dude brought two square cardboard boxes and set them in front of us. Ah, the sandwiches had arrived. I’m so friggen excited just remembering this moment you guys, it was like opening a perfect little present. One that you’d picked out for yourself on behalf of a hapless significant other and forgotten about. We looked across the table at each other excitedly, anticipating greatness. We opened the lids.
Daaaamn, that is one fine lookin’ sandwich. I almost didn’t want to eat it, it was too perfect.
Before putting the sandwich to the grill, the bread had been sprinkled with what I’m guessing was a parmesan cheese blend. It added to the crispness of the bread and the flavour of the sandwich immensely. My first bite, a lovingly long cruuuunch into the bread. An instant explosion of awesome on my taste buds. It’s a good thing I was sitting down, my legs surely would have given out otherwise. And I wasn’t even drunk when I was eating this thing, this is my totally sober recollection of it. Damn, that’s good sandwich!
The chips were incredible too. They were warm. What the eff? They warmed my chips? Holy shit this place is amazing! They warmed my freakin’ chips, that’s so rad! They were crunchy, kettle-cooked little slices of perfection, liberally seasoned with rosemary. What an absolute delight.
As we ate, we could hear another customer talking to the sandwich dude, asking questions about the food. He told her that everything they serve is organic. The bread, the cheese, the chips, the other meats and ingredients. Everything is organic. I’m not very particular about this when it comes to my food, but for those of you who are, then this is great news! These guys give a shit about the food they’re serving, and it shows. The taste is incomparable to any other grilled cheese I’ve ever had. That one in the market was hella good too, but these places are apples and oranges.
You must eat here. As soon as you possibly can. You will not regret it, I’d stake my whole reputation on this recommendation. Do it. Do it. DO IT!
I can’t believe it took us this long to eat here. We’re such idiots! All those wasted months of grilled cheese consumption. Oh, and now I’ve made it a goal to eat more meals at home like some chump. I guess I can make an exception for this place. For those Saturdays when I’m feeling classic.