The Galloping Gourmand, Chapter I, Verses 1-5

Times of melancholy evoke strange behaviors. This is such a time. This is such a behavior.

We are all well aware of the difficulties in cleaning a George Foreman grill. Not one to be beaten, I started running my finger between the ridges, ostensibly to clear them of that delectable charred substance which inhabits them after we have grilled a pork chop or a burger or steak or a chicken breast. But we all know where that finger went next. And then it was slices of bread doing the deed!! Could it get worse?

It did.

I noticed what had collected in the tray beneath the grill .... schmalz!!! Sweet goddess of clogged arteries .... schmalz.

I'm lost, so lost.

[James Roscoe]

Who is your next of kin?

[Jenise]

But we all know where that finger went next.

The worst part isn't what's on the grill but where that finger had been before!

We dare not ask.

But we all know where that finger went next.

The worst part isn't what's on the grill but where that finger had been before!

We dare not ask.

Suicide through cholesterol, yes. Unsanitary, no. Of course, I dip it in a 10% Clorox solution and wipe it off with an alcohol rub before I go for the grease. I was considering latex gloves, but they melt when I touch the still heated grill.