Formal restriction begets a level of ingenuity unknown to less rigorous arts: think of the sonnet. Gastronomically speaking, the same holds true. Take a classic and reinvent it - surprise diners not by straying outside its definition, but by digging within its confines for undiscovered interpretations - and you'll likely strike gold. And now, as winter grows long and the cold-weather favorites we once anticipated have, through repetition, lost some of their luster, the time for reinvention is at hand. The subject: grilled cheese. Bread, cheese, and fat are all you need, and some specimens below stop right there to no ill effect. Others add their own twist (not always intentionally).
But first, whence came the original? In the cookbooks of ancient Rome you may find the first recipes for cooked combinations of bread and cheese. In America, grilled cheese is one of the first best things since sliced bread, emerging as a quick, economical favorite shortly after the advent of American cheese and white sandwich bread in the 20's. Tomato soup has been its companion since the 1940's, a decade or more before a second slice of bread became standard.
Though by definition built with the humblest varieties of bread and cheese, this sandwich is the poster child for the artisanal cheese and bread trends. Try these and try your own - brie and blue, for instance, are creamy substitutes for cheddar, and pair well with add-ins like fruit preserves.
Pace yourself, though. Legend has it that overindulgence in Welsh rabbit (rarebit), the Brits' version of the sandwich, can cause nightmares. (Dinner and a movie? Check out the 1906 film "Dreams of a Rarebit Fiend" by Edwin S. Porter.)
Starry Nites Café
Large, thin slices of bakery sourdough or rye with your choice of American, cheddar, provolone, or Swiss. The sturdy bread provides a good grip on its contents, but there was little or no butter or other fat to seal in its moisture. Know what you're getting: this is a toasted cheese, whose dry, crackery exterior only hardens as it cools (crust lovers, beware!). An unexpected, though insufficient, solution - my overdressed side salad's vinaigrette seeped into the bread. ($6; 696 University Ave., 271-2630)
Highland Park Diner
The importance of the bread-to-cheese ratio cannot be overstated. At this Swillburg institution, Texas toast offers a crisp, glistening crust and pillowy bite of bread before yielding up its oozy, white-American center. Ravenous? The Triple Grilled Cheese - American, cheddar, and Swiss with tomato and bacon - is hefty and well-balanced. ($3.50 & $6; 960 S. Clinton Ave. 461-5040)
Gitsis Texas Hots
I'm no snob; processed cheese is just fine for this sandwich - but only if it's melted. Gitsis smooshes tepid plastic slabs between almost-charred slices of Wonderbread that tastes faintly of ham; there's a tuna melt variation for the thrill-seekers out there. Reserve this one for the end of a night of heavy drinking at The Sports Page. ($3; 600 Monroe Ave., 271-8260)
Java Joe's
Here bread is eschewed in favor of a soft roll, pressed on the grill with your choice of cheese. The whole sandwich arrived at the counter somewhat tepid, not quite melted, and thoroughly greasy, the roll's slick surface lacking bread's absorbency. ($3; at the Public Market, 428-6907)
Orange Glory
Orange Glory rotates beyond-basic lunch fare on a regular basis. Grilled cheese isn't on the chalkboard menu here, but it should be. The obliging folks at Orange Glory combined an excellent sourdough, Swiss, and cherry tomatoes into a generous, if slightly under-browned, specimen. I'd skip the tomatoes next time: they'll burn your tongue. The best part? For $1, a fennel-spiked green bean salad and a lemon cookie offset some of the sandwich's greasiness. ($6; 240 East Ave., 232-7340)
Open Face
No plastic cheese here: choose from three variations on the classic 'wich, all made with havarti on white, wheat, or sourdough. The Toasted Cheese's crunchy confetti of French-fried onions prevents proper sealing with very messy results - don't order this one on a date. Toasted Olive introduces a pungent, tasty smear of tapenade; a third version caters to the starch fiends, piling yam crisps on top. This South Wedge sandwich shop has upped the ante where ingredients are concerned, but care in preparation was not up to the same level: noticeable gobs of unmelted butter lingered on the bread. ($5 & $6; 651 South Ave, 232-3050)
James Brown's Place
A classic setting in which to enjoy the American classic. Though it arrived at the table seconds after flipping off the griddle, it could have been crisper outside; a stray slice of green onion inside must've snuck over from a neighbor on the busy griddle. The grilled ham and cheese got a thumbs-up for sealing its meat between slices of cheese. ($3 & $4; 1356 Culver Road, 288-4250)
Penguin Restaurant
Is that Mom back there in the kitchen? This one is reminiscent of many an after-school snack. It is crisp and airy with just enough cheese to ooze out the sides a bit, golden outside but not too buttery. If only the side of gloppy rotini salad had been a cup of tomato soup! ($2; 785 E. Main St., 442-4172)
Where's your favorite place for grilled cheese? Discuss at rochestercitynewspaper.com/dining.
Correcting ourselves
In the February 6 review of Max Chophouse, we misspelled the name of proprietor Tony Gullace.