by Roberto Montes

1 tbsp of butter (or margarine)
1 tsp of olive oil
2 slices of bread
2-3 slices of Provolone cheese
3 cremini mushrooms (cut into ears)
An indeterminate amount of Dijon mustard
An indeterminate amount of black pepper

First impale your butter onto the point of your knife and, thusly, coat a warming skillet with its skin. In another skillet dollop oil. Heat. Move towards your cut mushrooms. Admire your handiwork. (‘A regular Van Gogh, this guy’ may ring your dome throughout these proceedings. This is normal.) Lightly toss the shrooms onto the oiled belly. There will be screaming. To silence this manipulate the skillet over the stovetop in a manner that vaguely resembles what you see chefs do on TV. It should be about 4 minutes before you remember you are not a chef on TV. Perfect. The ears are now shriveled from a loss of water. You will not see the water. The water’s gone. This is one of the few remaining arguments for mysticism in the 21st century. Enjoy.

In the butterskinned skillet place a slice of bread. You will want to keep track of time and/or the state of the bread from this point forward. The benefits of keeping track of time are obvious but bring with them the horrors of age. You will want your bread to mottle with a caramel color. You will want a lot of things. You will want and want and want and you will know when the mushrooms are sufficiently cooked because they’ll appear to strain themselves listening. For anything. For just one sign. (The sign will be your pepper, the amount of which you may add to your heart’s content, though be careful not to overpower.)

Your slice of bread is now Sahara’d with color. Well done. Delicately lay the cheese atop the bread as you would your lover. Fold any overhanging edges inward as you do your affections: to keep from harm. Hold back your tears. From the tilted lip of the second skillet pour forth your fungal ears. They will bounce and settle atop the softening.   Spread (or squeeze) the Dijon mustard over their dirge. This can result in a picture if you want. If you don’t it will happen regardless as it often does.

The second slice of bread should tarpaulin the first, the cheese, the mushrooms, the pepper. Flip your sandwich over (it is now safe to call it a sandwich.) This newly-searing slice will brown at a much quicker rate, as if recalling its brother’s crimes. Once tawny, spatula it onto a pure white plate.  Use the spatula to divide the sandwich diagonally, as you’ve used so many.  Serve it to the one you love and throw your love away.

Roberto Montes is currently urging an MFA at the New School. His work is at or forthcoming from Forklift, Ohio; the Best of the Net 2011 anthology; Sixth Finch; The Good Men Project; and Vinyl Poetry among others. 


  1. YUMMY! can you make me one?
    very delicious writing!