I think I read about this twist on traditional grilled cheese in a recent Bon Appetit. Instead of using butter for the outer sides of the sandwich, they suggested using mayonnaise.

Naturally, I was curious. Would the mayonnaise make the sandwich taste different? Would it get the bread as toasty-crisp as butter does?

Turns out, the flavor is excellent, but I would never guess my grilled cheese had mayonnaise on the outside. (And since the skillet gets a light butter greasing before adding the sandwiches, there is still some butter flavor.)

But even though there’s not a noticeable improvement to flavor, I discovered a couple practical benefits to using mayo:

1. Mayonnaise is way easier to spread. No more ripping up the bread with firm butter!
2. Mayonnaise provides complete bread surface area coverage which translates into uniform golden toasty goodness.

These benefits have me sold. I have been making my grilled cheese with mayonnaise ever since.

A Better Grilled Cheese Sandwich

the bread:
Any kind works, but I’m partial to a sturdy artisan bread like my homemade sourdough. And not whole grains, please. The whiter the better.

the cheese:
A good, melty kind, whatever you like, and a lot of it. Seriously. Pack it in there. (The sandwich in the pictures did not have enough cheese.)

add-ins (optional):
If using add-ins like ham or roasted tomatoes: put a layer of cheese, then the add-in, and then another layer of cheese. This way the melty cheese will bind everything together most spectacularly.

the mayonnaise:
A thin coating on the outside pieces of bread. Full-fat, of course.


the butter:
Just a tad.

the process: 
Make sure the skillet is fairly hot before adding the sandwiches and then turn the heat down to medium. Take your time—the longer the better. Ten minutes? Fifteen? Rotate the sandwiches to get them evenly toasted.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.2.14), when the studies end, on pins and needles, the quotidian (6.3.13), meat market, chocobananos, of a sun-filled evening, the best chocolate ice cream ever, sour cream ice cream, on hold, and hypothesizing.    

This same time, years previous: in her element, the race we saw, a bunch of stuff, on the subject of grade level, showtime!, small pasta with spinach and bacon, down to the river to chill, three reds fruit crumble, barbecued pork ribs, open-faced radish sandwich, and fresh strawberry cream pie.       

Late Sunday afternoon, my whole family—or those of us who are living on our local “commune” (we missed you, Little Bro et al!)—got together for a doggy roast.

We sat in the shade of the giant evergreens on the grassy hill in my brother’s backyard, and roasted hot dogs and ate not-quite-cooked-all-the-way potato salad (from yours truly) and spinach salad and weird pickles (again, from me). Along with everything else she contributed, my sister-in-law cracked open a jar of pickled onions with cilantro that totally rocked my dog. Why have I not done this before? And there was ice cream, too, of course.

We lolled about on our blankets and teetering-over lawn chairs and talked about mortgages and dentists and retirement accounts (we’re an exciting bunch) while the kids blew bubbles, rode trikes and bikes, bugged us, picked peas from the garden, and jumped over bushes they weren’t supposed to jump over.

My older son hung out with the adults the entire time, but my older daughter disappeared into the car with a book. After a while I called her back over and gave her orders to “be sociable.” She complied for a bit, but soon sidled off to read again. Does this mean she’s officially a bookworm? I think yes.

Just after sunset, we hurried home to do the first strawberry picking. I hulled the berries at the kitchen sink while the kids (and Papa!) played a made-up game of trampoline dodgeball in the early dark.

This same time, years previous: losing my footing, the quotidian (5.27.13), spicy cabbage, the quotidian (5.28.12), one dead mouse, the ways we play, just the tip, and rhubarb tea and rhubarb tart.