Tomato Jam and Mozzarella Panini

The school year began on Wednesday and I stood behind the plexiglass and looked at twelve students — twelve, not twenty-five, because hybrid means half the class at a time — and their masked faces looked back at me and I said, "Good morning. I'm Mrs. Feldman. I've been teaching English in this building since before most of your parents graduated from high school. We are going to read books together and we are going to think about what we read and we are going to do this behind masks and plexiglass and it's going to be strange and it's going to be fine and the first book is 'To Kill a Mockingbird,' which is about courage, which seems relevant." Nobody said anything. Twelve pairs of eyes above twelve masks. Then a boy in the back — masked, distant, barely audible — said, "My mom had you." I said, "What's your name?" He said, "Marcus Rivera." I said, "I had your mother in 1998. She wrote an excellent essay about Gatsby. Tell her I said hello." He nodded. The class began.

Teaching in a mask is an act of endurance. My voice, which I have always projected with the authority of a woman who does not believe in microphones, is muffled and strained by the end of the day. My glasses fog. The plexiglass creates a barrier that is physical and psychological — I cannot walk among the desks, I cannot lean over a student's shoulder, I cannot do the things that make teaching intimate and human and effective. But I can read. I can assign. I can listen. I can hold up a book and say, "This matters," and they can hear me, even through the mask, because conviction carries through fabric and plastic and six feet of institutional air. Conviction always carries.

I came home on Wednesday and sat at the kitchen table and put my head down for ten minutes. Not sleeping. Resting. The particular exhaustion of a sixty-three-year-old woman who has just taught four classes behind a mask and a shield and who is also going home to care for a sixty-nine-year-old man with Alzheimer's, and the two jobs are not compatible, and neither one is optional, and the only solution is to do both and to rest for ten minutes between them and then to stand up and make dinner. I made grilled cheese sandwiches. Not gourmet. Not Ashkenazi. Not blog-worthy. But the bread was good and the cheese was sharp and Marvin ate his and said, "More, please," and I made him another, and the making of a second grilled cheese for a man who is still hungry is, on this particular Wednesday, in this particular year, the most important thing I have done all day.

The grilled cheese I made that Wednesday was plain and honest and exactly right — but this panini is what I make when I have ten minutes more and a jar of tomato jam in the refrigerator and I want the same comfort with a little more intention behind it. Good bread, good cheese, something bright and sweet to cut through it: that’s really all any of us need at the end of a hard day. If Marvin asks for a second one, I consider that the highest possible review.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

4 slices thick-cut rustic bread (sourdough or ciabatta)
4 oz fresh mozzarella, sliced 1/4 inch thick
3 tablespoons tomato jam (store-bought or homemade)
1 tablespoon fresh basil leaves, torn
1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/4 teaspoon flaky sea salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

Heat the pan. Preheat a panini press, cast-iron skillet, or grill pan over medium heat. If using a skillet, have a heavy pot or foil-wrapped brick ready to press the sandwich.
Assemble the sandwiches. Spread tomato jam evenly on one side of each of two bread slices. Layer the mozzarella over the jam, season with salt and pepper, and scatter the torn basil on top. Close each sandwich with a second slice of bread.
Butter the outside. Spread softened butter evenly on both exterior sides of each assembled sandwich.
Press and cook. Place sandwiches in the panini press or skillet. If using a skillet, set the heavy pot on top to press. Cook 3—4 minutes per side, or until the bread is deep golden and the mozzarella has fully melted. In a panini press, cook 4—5 minutes total.
Rest and slice. Remove from heat, let rest one minute, then slice diagonally and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tomato Jam and Mozzarella Panini — The Second Sandwich That Mattered Most