Dutch Parrano

This cheese is the When Har­ry Met Sal­ly of high-end cheese — white-bread, straight-for­ward, and ade­quate­ly sat­is­fy­ing for 63% of men and women between ages 27 and 46. You can bring it to a din­ner par­ty full of strangers, and sat­is­fy both the cheeserati and the cheese-obliv­i­ous. You can also men­tion its name at that same din­ner par­ty, and have an ade­quate­ly inter­est­ing con­ver­sa­tion per­haps punc­tu­at­ed by mild wit­ti­cisms and/or mediocre analo­gies. Many of us may have a soft-spot for Dutch Par­ra­no, and we may be ashamed of it. But at the same time most are quick to point out its unde­ni­able — though not over­whelm­ing — strengths. It's pleas­ant­ly salty. It nips at the tongue, slight­ly. One can place it on a fan­cy crack­er, or a melt it inside a que­sadil­la, or eat it by itself. It doesn't mind. It's easy. Some­times, we like easy things. Dutch Par­ra­no reminds us that it's okay to like easy things, and to freely dis­cuss them with strangers, and to save our ener­gy for the more chal­leng­ing things, like com­pli­cat­ed, demand­ing French cheeses that have been aged in caves.

One reply on “Dutch Parrano”

First of all, I think When Har­ry Met Sal­ly is under­rat­ed by cer­tain peo­ple, and that Dutch Par­ra­no can­not claim to have the for­ma­tive influ­ence on dat­ing and rela­tion­ship atti­tudes that WHMS has had on many of my gen­er­a­tion. BUT I will say that Dutch Par­ra­no has a cer­tain oili­ness to it if you let it sit too long with­out refrig­er­a­tion, an oili­ness that might be akin to how WHMS makes you feel when you real­ize how influ­en­tial it has been. A sort of dis­mayed eeewww and a resolve to not buy/rent that one again.

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