Take it to the Fridge.
A six-pack, a single malt ( make that a double ) then an assault, an attack on the fridge, was always going to be trouble.
Find me a fork, a triple pronged threat, spear me some pork and don’t forget the brie… toasted.
You see I’m roasted, and need me some eats, some savoury treats or anything else that the Fridge has hosted.
Mm, that door swings wide like a bright smile ( cos there’s a little light inside all the while).
Squeaking it open, I’m loping towards the cheese, easing my hip against the frame and freakin’ as I squeeze my palm past the mouldy tomato shame, and take aim at the brie-balm.
Successful retrieval, and I’m calm.
Now, bread bread, what was it the man said? “I knead bread like I need a holy mind read.”
Two slices will suffice, posted angrily in the toaster like bad bills forever unpaid. In five mins they’ll pop, crusty and sooty like Dolly Kincaid.
An obligatory scrape of excess carbon, on with the brie, an anticipatory salival release then dress with basil lychee and yellow pepper, oh sweet yellow pepper: the Prince of foods.
Grilled. Flavour distilled. Savour; fulfilled.