your fate is my toilet

steamed pork bun with guacamole by torito tapas bar at 1000 tastes of toronto (luminato)

rating: Jack Li's Grilled Mac & Cheese Adventures / 10.0

JACK LI'S

GRILLED MAC & CHEESE

ADVENTURES

ADVISORY: ladies, i do feel somewhat obliged to pass this cautionary exhortation onto you. it may a necessary precaution to assume some sort of seated position for the length of this bewitching saga, or any sort of position that leaves you in close proximity to the ground for that matter. to be rather frank, our story's hero could make the most glacial and unfeeling of women swoon in helpless giddiness and bliss. (and this of course goes for our more boy-crazy male readers as well.)

this telling tale begins, ascends wildly, and emphatically resolves with our gallant though charmingly amiable protagonist, Jack Li. Monsieur Li is in fact a more developed and higher evolved form of the human being, Jet Li, and has ~70% more muscle mass and mental processing power. plus, he regularly donates to charities and local community initiatives. his name derives from the pop vernacular term 'jacked', meaning 'muscular' or 'thewy', henceforth from which we procure the name, 'Jack.' yet such an introduction is a little superfluous in my humble opinion as most of this detail will become unyieldingly palpable in the paragraphs to come.

this may be a very quaint and suspectfully dubious story to good average folk such as yourself, who have never experienced occasions involving a sea of flesh eating creatures, talking walls, and/or tiny cannibalistic pieces of food, but i assure you this tale has been recounted in the very strictest tradition of non-fictional story-telling methods. i am but a mere witness to this monumental series of events, yet it is my duty to ensure you this thrilling romance is 'essentially' based on a true story. some details may be ever so slightly 'exaggerated' for the simple sake of continuity and/or dramatic effect. i do not apologize in advanced. alright, with such formalities aside, i would like to take this opportunity to begin.

the air outside; it whipped bitterly around, back and forth, whispering curses and various vulgarities in the cryptic way it does on winter evenings such as these. but one would not even notice such a thing when tucked away in the cozy comforts of a warmly lit kitchen lofted up onto the second floor of an old Kingston residency. our noble hero, Jack, was huddled under the glow of an open refrigerator door situated on the quieter side of his mysterious gastronomical laboratory. 

you see, one would not call it a 'gastronomical laboratory' if only afforded a few simple glances in its direction; because at surface, it did seem like another rather plain and modest kitchen hunkering about the degenerating student ghetto -- firmly resolute in its unwavering unprepossession. but if one peered closely enough, one would eventually observe this modest seeming kitchen to be a very cleverly disguised sanctuary chock-full of some of modern civilization's most sophisticated and technologically progressive kitchen equipment. 

for example, what appeared to be a simple electric oven was in fact an edgy and hip food dance-hall that hosted some of the region's wildest food parties. various well-regarded circles of foods and food groups would often come from thousands of miles away to dance and dance their night away until heated, perspired, and ripened to the perfect degree of sweetness and/or savoury grandeur. this was the case for nearly every other appliance in the kitchen, each possessing its own unique and bewildering quality. and the open refrigerator before our half-crouched hero Jack at the moment was was most definitely no different.

yet this refrigerator's main attribute of exceptional noteworthiness was a little portentous, even threatening, on occasion. you see, it served as a sort of portal to some wondrous -- and up to this point -- undiscovered dimension of the universe. like many other objects of affection in the life of any average human being, it brought both the perfectly congenial and perfectly petrifying of endowments, depending on its ever fickle mood swings. in simpler terms it was a brutally temperamental thing. unfortunately for Jack's case, it was a leaning a little closer to 'petrifying' on this particular occasion.

now let us slip for a moment into the deep and intricate folds of Jack's mind. a very simple objective had formed at this point within the depths of our hero's psyche; it was one that eventually comes to every upright member of humanity in his or her own good time: 'make grilled cheese with macaroni & cheese IMMEDIATELY! if you do not you will suffer a violently brutal death of starvation' this would explain why Jack was frantically pulling out such an assortment of delightful culinary treats from the chilled shelves of this peculiar refrigerator: delicately bagged slices of naturally enriched heritage whole wheat ancient thousand-grain flax seed raw animal blood bread, free-range vegetarian gluten free slices of processed cheese, wholesomely vegan macrobiotic cow butter produced 100% with green renewable energy, and boxes of organic hand-crafted artisan microwavable kraft dinner (mac & cheese). all of these fine epicurean indulgences haphazardly strewn across the kitchen table -- to be quite frank and forward, it would not take a brilliant academic to rationalize this was undoubtedly a dark and foreboding omen.

it began as a very slight and easily dismissible scratching noise. like an ever so subtle 'creaking' that exists at some faint boundary between reality and the imagination. but such a muted and discreet beginning can only make for a that much more startling and deadly occurrence. 

Jack was pulling out the last of the gluten-free processed cheese when a tiny thump rattled against the inside of the refrigerator wall, followed by a strange series of heavy breathing noises. more thumps followed in quick succession and the air suddenly felt punctuated by a hundred little nasally staccato breaths. disconcerted, Jack whirled back towards the refrigerator door, which at this point was swinging wildly back and forth as a sea of creatures came tumbling out uncontrollably all over the dim glow of the kitchen floor below. the colour rushed from his face as he stared at what appeared to be thousands of clinically depressed mini-elephants pouring out by the tens onto the linoleum flooring in front of him -- all of them marching clumsily about in a deranged and half-excited manner. by their peculiar gait, one could easily deduce these creatures were a strange zombie species: mini flesh-eating elephant zombies that could collectively devour a human being whole.

some had already gathered around Jack's feet thrusting their weight against his legs, slowly picking at his pants with their teeth. Jack effortlessly kicked them away (because he is such a strong and brave human being) and valorously threw himself up onto the dinner table with a strangely collected calm. His mind raced in composured zen -- logically, sequentially, and finally arrived at the last experience he had at a 'twinkie addiction counseling self-help group.' he had learned there the sacred rites to make any form of zombie disappear at will. in that moment he was uncertain, first and foremost, why he had ever attended a 'twinkie addiction self-help group' meeting (since he was such a perfect human being that never succumbed to the normal weaknesses of humanity: i.e. eating twinkies). and secondly, why he had learned this magical rite at a meeting involving twinkies. these two unreconcilable questions did not slow him however, as he began to spin furiously around in a circle, hands pressed firmly against his cheeks, and scream,

"EAT MY SHORTS YOU STUPID ZOMBIE

H TO THE IZZ-O, V TO THE IZZ-A

NOT GUILTY!

HE WHO DOES NOT FEEL ME 

IS NOT REAL TO ME!

THEREFORE HE DOESN'T EXIST

SO POOF... VAMOOSE SON OF A WITCH"

you could hear the collective gasp the moment before the entire multitude of them collapsed into eternal non-existence. it was a surreal moment, even for our heroic and relatively composed protagonist. but he did not waste any more time as he grabbed the ancient heritage thousand-grain bread and spread the vegan cow butter and microwaved the artisan kraft dinner macaroni and cheese. all in one fluid motion -- in all frankness it was a sacrament of beauty and grace.

the process was repetitive but worked to great wonders. a well oiled machine. microwave the butter: 15 seconds. spread on two slices. three scoops of mac&cheese, slice of processed cheese, and close the deal: bread slice. minutes passed, and there was a great mountain of sandwiches prepared to go on the grilling adventure of a lifetime. and of course, there was no one on this planet with more license to grill than our story's hero, Jack Li. 

yet something strange had been going on since he had screamed that ancient rite into the stale air of his gastronomical laboratory. some dimensional shifting none too different than any of Sartre's paradigm shifting shenanigans. at this point, Jack had fired up the stove top and his pan was already out and oiled. he was no more than a few seconds away from throwing the first sandwich right onto the searing pan in front of him, when a thunderous voice boomed from behind. he slowly circled around and saw a gigantic mouth stretched across the kitchen wall across from him. he stared at the mouth a little bewildered but still collected and cool as usual; because in all honesty Jack Li is our generation's James Dean if only much more altruistic and intellectual and cultured.

the mouth and the way it settled its lips downward appeared poignant in some way. in the same manner, it opened slowly to say its first coherent words: "how can you call this grilled cheese, Jack? i personally do not understand." its voice was deep and harmonically rich: it seemed to fill the entire room -- to the point it felt a little difficult to breathe. "what i mean jack is i don't see a grill, and even if there were to be a grill i do not see how you would be able to grill the cheese. so why would anyone call it grilled cheese?"

Jack stared at the mouth pensively, partially aware that the mouth had no ability to stare back at him. "hey mouth," Jack retorted, "shut up."

"i-- i  -- well i'm sorry, Jack. that's awfully rude, i feel. but what i meant---"

"hey no! listen to me mouth. shut up and stop making such a confusing fuss! your questions are poisoning to society. why diminish something as beautiful and spiritually enriching as grilled cheese with questions that undermine its existential validity. i see no use in that. what did grilled cheese ever do to you to receive such personal attacks against its very identity? and how about the millions of confused children? what will they to do when they discover grilled cheese is not actually grilled cheese but a pan-fried, or at best griddle-heated, bread with cheese shoved in between. are you so arrogant and full of yourself that you'd be willing to ruin grilled cheese for EVERYONE??? SHUT UP!!!"

"oh," the mouth apologized. "i uh-- i -- yeah to be honest, i never thought about it that way. i guess i was just trying to make a little conversation. i just need someone to talk to, you know? being a wall can be very lonesome at times."

"oh---," Jack looked down towards the floor a little surprised. "i mean -- yeah i can understand that. i'm sorry for being so feverish and hostile towards you. it's nothing personal really. i um -- yeah, i can put you in contact with my friend's therapist if you want. he's apparently very good. he does house visits too which seems ideal for you, considering you are a wall and all."

"really, Jack? you'd do that for me? i -- i don't know what to say." the mouth showed creases of relief at the fringes of its cheek. "this really does mean a lot to me, Jack. i'd really appreciate that."

"yeah don't mention it. i uh -- it'd be great if you did shut up now though -- i don't mean it in any disrespectful sort of way, but i uh -- i just need to cook some grilled cheese. in silence, for like concentration."

"yah, okay Jack. no problem. thanks again. you are a very good human being. i think grilled cheese is a good name."

a gentle crackling surfaced once more, and the rich aroma of burning buttered bread followed close behind it. one mountain shrank and another grew into a perfectly blackened batch of grilled mac & cheese sandwiches -- a shining monument to peace and good will. all seemed well and still and finally peaceful in this once quiet but recently awakened Kingston residency. but if one were to be sentient enough, one could feel this tale was not quite over. at least not yet.

the batch of grilled mac & cheese sandwiches sat patiently on the kitchen counter as the table was set and the wine was poured and the house servants attended to their posts. the dinner bell rang and Jack sat perched at the head of the dining table -- his labour of love placed before him. it was difficult for him to conceal his joy as he sat there smiling -- a winsome blanket of accomplishment adorned about him -- all seemed too perfectly well, until he heard the cry before him. it was a communal cry, all in unison, so muffled one would think it was seeping from some insane constituent of one's head. (the same portion of the mind that sometimes thinks 'the truman show' was a tricky way to distract one from the fact that one's life is exactly the same as that truman character's.) but these muffled screams were real -- as real as Jack Li himself (and Jack Li is a VERY real dude).

Jack stared at horror at the plate in front of him. he noticed one of the grilled cheese sandwiches was a little more restless than the others. he swiftly removed it from the pile -- very quickly as to not disturb the others and set it on his dinner plate before him. "what is your deal?" Jack asked the sandwich.

"i'm like this cannibal grilled cheese sandwich. i really can't help it to be honest. i eat other grilled cheese sandwiches."

"that is horrific!"

"yeah i know. i am a really horrible sandwich. i'm very desperate you know? i'm really searching for redemption, sir. is there compassion in your heart to help me."

"hmm. say i were to cut you in half and then eat you. might you find some sort of redemption in that."

"maybe. i'm not sure -- since i'd be dead and all. but maybe the idea that i would die with good intentions could be a little redeeming --- "

the grilled cheese sandwich sighed, there was an aura of deep anxiety around it.

"Jack?"

"yah?"

"do you think grilled mac & cheese sandwiches go to heaven when they die?"

the clock in the next room ticked quietly to itself and the remnants of kitchen smoke began clearing out from the air. "i don't know to be honest, sandwich. but if i were in charge, i'd make sure you'd get a pass into heaven."

"yeah? really Jack? even though i am a cannibal grilled mac & cheese sandwich?"

"crap, i actually forgot about that." Jack stared sadly at the floor for a moment. "i think i would. you seem like you are really -- like you do really want to become a better sandwich. like you are genuinely searching for redemption. you're also a pretty nice sandwich in general."

"i could be just saying stuff, you know? like to win your favour. i mean i know i'm going to die anyways, like every other sandwich. this could be my last minute way to reconcile everything so i can die with peace of mind or something. it could be very selfish."

"well the fact that you want to die properly means something to me."

"thanks Jack"

"i have one last question for you, sandwich."

"mhmm Jack."

"why did you do it? why did you try to eat those other grilled mac & cheese sandwiches?"

there was a heavy silence in the room -- one that seemed to drown out even the restless winter gusts heaving around outside. "they tasted so good Jack." the sandwich was weeping uncontrollably, drops of butter condensed around it as it shook in horrifying sorrow. "you know, Jack. there are somethings in life that are so good, so perfect. things that smell so good, that taste so good, that look so good, that sound so good. that are so good. they seem so perfect and spiritually moving, Jack. they blind you, you know? they make you do crazy things. sometimes those crazy things are actually quite selfless and loving. and sometimes they are so incredibly selfish." 

it paused for a moment trying to collect itself looking for somewhere to continue. "you know Jack, the tragic thing is selfishness seems to be such a fundamental flaw and and fundamental necessity -- both at the same time. imagine all the things this planet would not have if selfishness did not exist. 'self' -- it is the great motivator, isn't it Jack? but also imagine all the things we wouldn't want, or even need, if we were completely selfless. if we did not constantly feel the need to care for ourselves. if we did not constantly feel the need to be wanted. if we did not constantly feel the need to be loved. would we all cease to be human? would we be no better than inanimate objects? would we all be like me? a grilled cheese sandwich. a cold blooded cannibal. an unfeeling inanimate object with no ability to feel desires or emotion. completely numb and dead."

"wait, i'm really confused," Jack interrupted. "are you a human being or an inanimate grilled mac & cheese sandwich? i mean -- are you selfish or selfless?"

"Jack, just do it right now. take the knife and do it before it's too late."

Jack took the knife and made a clean diagonal slice. he slowly took the sandwich and put it in his mouth. the moments passed slowly. a strange melange of pleasure and sadness filled the room around him. the wind blew bitterly outside and the mountain of sandwiches sat silently in front of him. dead and unmoving.