The wiching hour.

A lot of stuff has happened over the past day, but I don’t have the mental faculties to recount the what, where when of the past 24 hours. So I’m not gonna write about the fantastically spoopy Halloween party I visited, or the Toronto Symphony Orchestra’s collaboration with the Orpheus Choir to perform the songs of Danny Elfman (which involved the vocal talents of my girlfriend). Instead I’m gonna write about the tuna melt I made this morning.

It was a groggy morning with a scattered headspace. My brain was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel. We’d gotten to bed around 5.30am, but had to be awake before midday. I could’ve resorted to my standard bowl of porridge (as standard as peanut butter, banana, chia seeds and nutritional yeast can be), but instead I had cravings that porridge could never hope to sate. My body needed protein, while my heart craved cheese and bread. A tuna melt could accomplish all of these needs and then some. It was decided. A tuna melt!

I grabbed the bread from the freezer, but all the slices clung precariously to one another. Sabotage! Some nefarious force out there in the aether was trying to undo my carefully plotted plan. I managed to wrench one piece from the other two, but could not for the life of my get them unstuck. My girlfriend suggested putting them in the microwave for ten seconds. I looked at her suspiciously. “But that’s the coward’s way!” I replied. She shrugged and went off to do any of the million things more important than trying to help someone who is incapable of helping themselves. I struggled for another few seconds, then put the slices in the microwave for ten seconds. After being bombarded with cosmic radiation, the slices came apart easier than they would’ve otherwise. Step one complete.

I put the mostly frozen bread in the toaster oven and set to prepping ingredients. Cheese was sliced, cabbage shredded, mushrooms chopped. Having checked on the bread, I spread layers of barbecue sauce, mushroom and cheese on one side. I tipped the contents of an olive oil tuna can into a bowl, mixing in mayonnaise and sriracha sauce. Mashing it all together, I spread it on the other slice of bread. At this point it should be glaringly obvious I don’t really know how to make tuna melts. I gazed onwards as the two slices continued to brown. Unsure of how warm the tuna needed to be, I erred on the side of caution, This was a delicate operation and precautions needed to be taken against fuck-ups most foul.

I gazed upon my works and despaired. Sitting alone on the cutting board was the shredded cabbage. At what stage did my greenery need to join the flavour medley? I desired slight crunch, but not enough to dominate the sandwich’s texture. I umm’d and ah’d for long enough to invalidate my choice. A familiar “ding” reminded me that my food was ready to go. I looked at my two separate halves, both warm and delectable. How would I smoosh them together without having food drop out? Did I pick up one pile and hope for the best? No, because I’m no quitter. I covered the cheese in cabbage, picked up the tuna half in my other hand and quickly slammed one piece into the other. Heart beating, I checked the area below this fusion for debris. Nothing. I was safe. I placed it down on the plate gingerly and applied the knife. I attempted to arrange one half artfully atop the other, but abandoned these foolhardy plans in favour of just eating the fucking sandwich. I was tired, groggy, no use in flying too close to the sun.

Mission accomplished. A delicious tuna melt that combined flavour and texture into 360° of satisfaction.

I can only hope it was as good to read about it as it was to devour it feverishly.


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