Saturday morning. Mr.Q is out buying cat food so they don't eat us in our sleep, the greedy beasts. I have the place to myself, and can do anything I want. Anything. Secret things, all juicy and luscious.
French bread, lightly toasted; a thin slip of mayo, some 1-year-old white cheddar, and thick, messy slices of a "black" tomato the size of a baby's head. Dust it all with a hint of fresh-ground sea salt. Let eyes roll back into head while eating, to enhance the experience. Consider hiding the other half of the tomato, for a repeat performance tomorrow.
(Hey, I shared the pear, didn't I?)