I was originally going to write a post about how a grilled cheese sandwich is just the thing on a disappointingly cold and rainy summer’s day. Certainly it is, but it occurred to me that because of the weather I’d opted for the nice warm grilled cheese in place of a cold ham and Swiss with American mustard, or a tuna salad with Hellman’s mayo. It further occurred to me that this was only relevant because when I crave a grilled cheese sandwich, it can only be a Kraft Singles Fake Cheese sandwich – and as with the ham and swiss or the tuna salad – on white bread. It finally occurred to me that all of the above involve, for me at least, “processed food.”

Now I’m not a huge cheese fan, but I’m not wedded to Kraft Scary Cheese. In fact, I do adore a melting Camembert (or even Brie), or slim wedges of Parmesan stuffed into a pitted date, or a good blue cheese paired with pears and walnuts and endive. I can even be rendered giggling lubricious by a cheese fondue.

It’s just that when it comes to the sandwich mentioned above, I can bear no other cheese than Kraft. I call it Kraft because I can think of no other name for those luridly orange squares individually wrapped in plastic. In both Canada and the UK, said product cannot even legally be called cheese; instead it’s labeled as “Processed Cheese Food Product.” A quick peruse of the ingredients on the packet leaves me in little doubt as to why this is so. Firstly because there is a list of ingredients at all, and secondly because only 60% of the slice is actual cheese. (I must confess that I was mildly surprised to discover that actual cheese figured on the ingredient list at all.)

It’s probably because it’s what I remember from my childhood grilled cheese sandwiches that I love the Scary Cheese sandwich so, because I have attempted grilled sandwiches with cheese of far more legitimate provenance, and never found them to be in the slightest bit appealing. The cheese is always too salty, or creamy, or cloying, or doesn’t melt into the requisite squiginess. Or, and I think that this may be the crux of the matter, they just taste too damn posh. A good cheese demands a good bread, and so what is to me a gloriously basic lunch or snack becomes that little bit too much of an enterprise and investment. Incidentally, I feel quite the same way about Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

So it is for me with tuna salad. I make my own, and rely on Hellman’s mayo (Light, if you must know, not so much because I watch my weight, but just in case someone else in my family wants some, and they generally are) for the binding agent. Now I suppose I could make my own mayonnaise for this, but frankly I’ve tried a tuna salad made this way, and found the flavour of the mayo far too overbearing. Perhaps more relevantly, I never make just enough tuna salad for one sandwich (usually it’s lunch for the week), so fridge or not, I quite frankly rely on the preservatives in bought mayo to keep degeneration at bay. At any rate, it’s the tuna one should taste in a tuna salad sandwich, perked up with lemon, and spring onions and (my personal fav) chopped sour pickles, all mixed with enough mayo to make a satisfyingly sludgy paste. It’s also worth pointing out here that I’m hardly going to be catching and cooking my own tuna for this sandwich. Nope, it is of course canned tuna (in spring water for choice, but brined will do), so it really doesn’t demand the effort of homemade mayo.

So it is also with American mustard for me. Now in truth all Mustards are processed, unless you’re talking about just using the seeds as in Punjabi cookery. But, perhaps because of its shocking yellow color with packaging to match, American mustard seems somehow less legitimate than its European counterparts. One’s first glance at that blazing sunshine squirting onto your plate, and immediately questions as to the presence of any natural ingredients spring to mind. With a Squeezee bottle of French’s in front of me, I can – in the face of the very presence of the word Squeezee – offer some reassurance. The color comes from Turmeric, a spice that is a staple of Indian cookery, and has been used for centuries as a colouring agent (and healing spice) across several cultures. On the basis of the ingredients list, it seems not to contain any scarily chemical binding agents, just a variation of mustard seeds, spirit vinegar, salt, etc.

But still it feels like Processed Crap to me, and I love it for just that reason. As with the Scary Cheese and the Hellman’s mayo, I only use it in certain contexts, most of which in this case pertain to white bread or ham, which must itself be considered one of the most processed of all meats. After all, ham is cured, smoked, boiled, and baked, and really only then considered fit for the palate. And we think no less of ham for this. My favourite application of American mustard involves a ham and Swiss cheese sandwich on white bread. The ham and Swiss must be dry in the bread, and the mustard dolloped onto the side of the plate for dipping. English mustard or Dijon are far too sharp for this (though adding a slice or two of a sharp green peeled apple to the sandwich and slathering generously with Dijon mustard on Artisan bread is sheer heaven- but this is what I mean about investment and enterprise) , and Swedish or German mustard are far too sweet. American mustard hits just the right balance for me, and I quite like discovering a bit later that I’ve got a small but lurid yellow stain at the corner of my mouth; a reminder of the solitary sandwich I enjoyed.

Which is ultimately my point. The sandwiches (tuna salad occasionally aside) are solitary pleasures of mine. I do not prepare them for others, and would certainly never push them like cheap drugs on anyone else. And, regardless of whether they comfort me through childhood reminiscence or simply because I love the way they taste, I love the way they taste. They comfort me as only the food I can make without much effort and with a sure knowledge of their pleasures can. I eat well, and only occasionally turn to these when I require a sure-fire hit of easy pleasure (such as on a grimly cold and wet Summer’s day).

Which, in it’s turn, speaks for the further actual legitimateness of these processed products. They (and I) can afford to hang around until they’re needed and desired once again.