All those froofy-sounding French gruyeres tend to inspire patriotic disgust for the very sincere self-importance of everything French, even though they rarely disappoint, taste-wise. My problem with this gruyere is that it demands too much from me. I look at it in my little cheese drawer, and it practically demands that it be served in a particular way, at a particular time of day, with a particular attitude, on a particular platter: "Eh! Monsieur! You're not going to slice me on zis cutting board, are you? The one on which you just sliced zat apple?" Umm, yeah, I didn't buy you so that you could make me feel inadequate. What is preventing me from grating you into a fine powder and feeding you to the yappy American mongrel with which I live? Eh? Eh? In any case, I sometimes appreciate the extra work involved in making this cheese happy. So what if it doesn't go well with Lagunitas Dog Town Pale Ale and MTV 10-Spot shows?