Mexican Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

August. The fireweed is at the top of the stalk — summer's clock running out, the pink flowers blooming at the peak, the signal to every Alaskan that the window is closing. When the fireweed tops out, winter is coming. Not immediately — September is buffer, October is warning, November is declaration — but the topping is the turning point, the moment when the light begins its long goodbye and the preparation for darkness begins.

I made a list of things I want to do before winter. The list is a tool — Dr. Reeves suggested it years ago, a concrete inventory of intentions that gives the approaching darkness a counterweight. The list: walk the coastal trail every morning before work. Write the cookbook proposal (the publisher is still waiting; the publisher is patient; the publisher is more patient than I deserve). Cook every recipe in Lourdes's repertoire at least once. Visit Joseph in Kodiak. Eat outside as much as possible.

The list is optimistic. The list is always optimistic in August because August in Alaska is the month of optimism, the month when the light is still generous and the cold hasn't arrived and the body hasn't yet remembered what January feels like. The list will be revised. The list is always revised. But the writing of the list is the point — the writing is the staking of a claim against the coming darkness, the written intention that says: I will not be defeated by the winter. I will cook through it. I will stand through it. I will be at the table in March.

I made grilled salmon — the last outdoor grill of the season, probably. Joseph's salmon. Charcoal. Salt. The simplicity of good fish prepared simply, the Alaskan imperative. I ate it on the balcony at 9 PM in the fading light and the light was fading but not gone and the not-gone was enough.

The charcoal was already lit — and after that last salmon came off the grate, I wasn’t ready to let the fire go out. The list on my counter said “eat outside as much as possible,” and I meant it. So I went back inside, grabbed the things I had, and put together these Mexican Grilled Cheese Sandwiches: pepper jack going molten, jalapeños cut thin, avocado pressed between bread that blistered against the grill. It’s not the recipe I planned — it never is — but it was exactly what the last evening of a dying summer called for.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

8 slices thick-cut sourdough or country white bread
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 cups shredded pepper jack cheese
1/2 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
1/4 cup pickled jalapeño slices, drained and patted dry
1 medium avocado, thinly sliced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves
1/4 cup salsa or pico de gallo, plus more for serving
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Prepare the grill or pan. Heat a grill or cast-iron skillet over medium heat. If grilling outdoors, set up a clean section of the grate over indirect heat so the bread toasts evenly without scorching.
Season the butter. In a small bowl, stir together the softened butter, cumin, and smoked paprika until fully combined. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
Build the sandwiches. Spread the seasoned butter evenly on one side of all eight bread slices. On the unbuttered side of four slices, layer the pepper jack, Monterey Jack, jalapeño slices, avocado, cilantro, and a spoonful of salsa. Top each with a second bread slice, buttered side facing out.
Grill until golden. Place sandwiches butter-side down on the grill or skillet. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes until deep golden and crisp. Carefully flip and cook another 3 to 4 minutes until the second side is golden and the cheese is fully melted.
Rest and serve. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest for 1 to 2 minutes before slicing in half. Serve immediately with extra salsa alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mexican Grilled Cheese Sandwiches — The Last Fire Before Winter