Take a bite of this cripsy and totally cheesy roast turkey and veggie panini for those chilly fall nights. Its even better with a side of completely creamy creamless tomato soup!
I’m a hormonal, nesty mess. Every few months I go through this phase where I start house hunting, turn into this faux-mommy bird where I have to nest and have a house. It’s not in the cards right now and I try to remember that we have 11 months, 12 days and 18 hours left in the one bedroom apartment I’ve had for over four years.
It’s time for an upgrade. And NONE of this is helped by the fact that I downloaded the worst app for a person with this Nesting Condition known to man – the Zillow App. What have I done to myself? It’s pure torture. Really, getting my right big toe removed would be less torturous than this. And this is voluntary!! Clearly, I’m a hormonal nesting sadist – because I can’t stop finding the next perfect starter house for Ben and I. Of course it has to have a big yard – for Ben’s imaginary 1.143 acre sized garden that he says he’ll take care of…*cough* yeah right *cough* The kitchen for me, obviously, and an open layout, with enough updated appliances, fixtures and good construction so that I’m not going to be replacing a water heater within the first six months after I move in. Thankfully I have two wonderful sounding boards in this process that attempt to keep me grounded. Ben. And my mother.
Between those two- who are neck and neck for the title of cheapest persons on the planet – my mom always acknowledges my fevered desired for a new little abode to call our own with a little “yes, dear” and a pat on my pointy head, but (rightfully) discourages us on buying anything on the west side of Washington state because, truthfully we know it’s not where we want to be. And if her rationale doesn’t work she employs the next card up her sleeve – telling me that Walter White will be my new next door neighbor – so I better get used to seeing ATF jackets floating around, or that there is a slaughter yard back behind the house, to which the urge to go rescue all the cows with rough tongues and big doe eyes would over ride my all consuming love that is a hamburger. Buzz Killington.
She knows how to kill my imaginary puppies doesn’t she? But it only comes from a good place. She realizes that Ben’s and my goal is to end up back in the wheat fields of the Palouse in the next couple of years, after establishing his new career and I can blow this popsicle stand of a job. But it’s hard to be patient when you know your dreams are just a couple of years out of reach. At least my mom keeps me grounded out of the goodness of her heart, even if she has to resort to calling my imaginary neighbors Walter White.
And yes – while she is telling me all about the horrors of my imaginary house and trying to halt my self inflicted house hunting blues she always knows how to make me feel better – with carbs. We have that in common. This sandwich is one of my favorites – and it comes straight from the Mama. It’s a staple in our house using our Calphalon 5-in-1 Panini Press and Griddle. I love that thing to pieces. And I freakin’ adore this sammich. Yeah, yeah – and my mother, too.