Grilled cheese. Toasted cheese. Comfort food. Hmmmm...toasted cheese.

A toasted cheese contest!

And...toasted cheese in literature.

'Killick! Killick, there! Bear a hand.'

Killick's voice could be heard coming nearer: 'No peace, no bleeding peace in this barky,' and as the door opened, 'Sir?'

'Toasted cheese for the Doctor, half a dozen mutton-chops for me, and a couple of bottles of the Hermitage. D'ye hear me there? Now, Stephen, give me an A.'

They tuned their strings, that pleasant tentative wailing, and as they tuned he said, 'What do you say to our old Corelli in C major?'

'With all my heart,' said Stephen, poising his bow. He paused, and fixed Jack's eye with his own: they both nodded: he brought the bow down and the cello broke into its deep noble song, followed instantly by the piercing violin, dead true to the note. The music filled the great cabin, the one speaking to the other, both twining into one, the fiddle soaring alone: they were in the very heart of the intricate sound, the close lovely reasoning, and the ship and her burdens faded far, far from their minds.

(Patrick O'Brian, Desolation Island)

Posted by: Fred Kiesche at 08:45 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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