Cheese sandwiches for breakfast anyone? Oh yes—and this simple-to-make chewy and crunchy cheese melt combo is the sandwich of choice. Chewy mozzarella, crunchy fresh green peppers and onions, spicy pepperoni, and Italian seasonings deliciously stacked on buttery English muffin rounds make breaking your night's fast a pleasure.
Melted Cheese Sandwich
6 English muffins, store-bought or hand-baked
1 tbsp. butter, softened
12 slices (1-oz each) mozzarella cheese
1 sweet onion
1 large green pepper
6 oz. sliced pepperoni
Split each muffin and lightly butter the outer side. Place one-half of each muffin buttered-side down in frying pan.
Top each muffin half with 1 slice of mozzarella, 1 sweet onion ring, 1 green pepper ring, and 1 ounce of pepperoni. Season to taste with garlic salt and Italian seasoning. Add another layer of mozzarella. Place remaining half of muffin on top, buttered-side up.
Fry sandwiches in covered skillet, turning once, until cheese melts and sandwich is heated through. Remove from heat and serve immediately.
While you're devouring your delicious breakfast, we invite you to enjoy an excerpt from our allegorical short story.
Ivy League walked into my office as I cracked the spine on an old murder book. I identified her immediately, courtesy of my mythical detecting skills. Well, those and her cute little uptilted nose, which I recognized from news reports about a recent gruesome killing.
She said, "I want you to find out who's behind the demise of Fyne Literature."
"I thought the cops already closed the book on his demise." I slapped shut the hardcover in my hand to punctuate my sentence.
I said, "Word is, your lover was done in by an explosion of serial killer potboilers."
"He was - he is - the love of my life, not my lover." She perched on the edge of the chair opposite my bargain-priced government surplus desk, and looked at the painting on the wall behind me. "You're no angel."
Apparently I wasn't the only one possessed of mythical detecting skills. The picture depicts a kneeling, white-winged warrior, weary yet steadfast as another day rises—or sets, depending on your point of view—on a ravaged city. You only need to glance at him once to know he did not weep, to know he would not, even in the midst of destruction and defeat; to know he understands war, in the way true warriors do. He knows the creed as well, the one limned by the glowing-eyed cat at his side: Show no weakness.
A grateful and talented character created the picture after I pulled her from the shadowy world where illusions take corporeal form and people merely think they can see. I can tell you horror stories, like the one depicted in that drawing, with entire civilizations reduced to smoldering ruins.
I'll spare you, and myself as well. I meet my shadow every time I plunge into the murk of those battles, and the reality is too gruesome for me to revisit, at least in the daylight hours when I have a choice.
Ed the glowing-eyed cat would say the same, if you understood his language. I'm not the angel in the painting, though my features vaguely resemble his, but Ed's real, as real as I am.
I said, "Fortunately you need a detective, not an angel."
"Yes," Ivy said. "And you meet both criteria."
I've always been a sucker for a woman who can properly pluralize ancient Greek.
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