Cheeseblog sounds like a stifled sneeze. Try it: cheeseblog! See?
One nice thing about not eating cheese is not having to scrape cheese off all the dishes and, consequently, not getting slimy bits of melted, scraped off cheese all over the kitchen sink, dishcloth, etc. The dishes I wash now become clean with just a splash of water and the best of wishes.
One not nice thing about not eating cheese is the complete blank my mind draws when I attempt to decide what to eat for lunch or dinner. Breakfast, of course, is not the place for cheese, unless one is into omelettes and this one is not. Lunch, though, if one allows oneself to become so hungry that one is practically fainting, can be simply made with a cheese melt. Cheese on toast. Cheesetoast! A wonderful cheesetoast recipe was shared with me at a blog called mindfluff but now the recipe is gone. It was milk + onions + cheese + salt & pepper all mixed up together, then spread on toast that had already been toasted, then put in the toaster oven on broil, then some parmesan sprinkled on top and the whole thing crisped up. The day I made it, I didn’t have any milk, so I used caesar salad dressing instead and MAN that was tasty. Anyway. I can’t eat that now. Yesterday instead of a cheese melt, I ate a ham sandwich. Just ham. How uncivilized!
It was not always thus. When I was a small child, I hated cheese, except on pizza. If I got a cheeseburger by mistake at McYuckie’s, I would take the cheese off. I was a dedicated anti-cheeser.
In my teens, I discovered nachos and ate them for weeks at a time. Cheddar, of course. But still melted. I didn’t eat cheese that was cold. At wine and cheese parties, I stuck to the wine. Parmesan for pasta, mozza for pizza, cheddar for nachos.
In 1993 I got my first real job. In a cheese shop. At first it was a funny story that I worked in a cheese shop and could answer the questions of customers about all of the 250 varieties of cheese, but never actually ate or tasted any of it. I knew – and still, sadly, keep in my brain – the differences between Cheshire and Lancashire cheddars, Reggiano and Padano parmesans, French and Canadian Brie. Your best bet for a basic blue cheese, why Roquefort is so expensive, why Gjetost is brown and yes, it sort of tastes like peanut butter.
Sometime in the second year working in a cheese shop (cheeseshop! bless you!) I moved out of my parents’ place and begain paying rent, tuition, bills. Working around food came in handy – I got staff discounts on cheese and cold cuts and because I worked in a public market, I could make a cheap, good lunch with a $0.50 bagel and a slice or two of ham and cheese. Then I started taking advantage of the discounts. First I took home old cheddar, mozzarella, parmesan. But along the way, I also ventured into spiced gouda (with cumin and caraway seed), jalapeno havarti, and – horror! – creamcheeses. By the time I stopped working at the cheeseshop, I was dependent on cheese. Unfortunately I was also unemployed and suddenly sans discount. Cheese is expensive: something I had never had to consider.
For several years I lived in various stages of financial woe. Once a month or so, I’d scrape together some change or forgo a night of beer and buy a block of cheap cheddar. I would eat a tiny bit each day until it was gone. It lived under lock and key so my roommates wouldn’t eat it. I often travelled an extra few stops on the bus to go to the grocery store that had the cheapest old cheddar in the neighbourhood.
One day, I found myself carrying paper money again. With two incomes and one set of bills, the money in my pocket no longer jingled. I could afford cheese! I could afford several kinds of cheese at a time!! I could buy real parmesan again, not the dusty stuff in the can!!!
This realization brings us to today, to this week, where my ability to purchase and consume as much cheese as my body can handle took over all reason and restraint. And so, I attempt to find some balance between the cheese orgy of the last few years and the picky little kid, scraping any scrap of cheese into the garbage. There must be a middle ground and when I am firmly and happily planted upon it, I will send postcards to all of you.