As a youngster, I really liked the book "I Am The Cheese" by Robert Cormier. I think it's time for a re-read. As I recall, "The Chocolate War", also by Robert Cormier, was pretty good too. Those books, along with "A Separate Peace" (John Knowles), "Catcher in the Rye" (Jerome David Salinger), and the major Hollywood movies "School Ties" (Brendan Fraser) and "Dead Poets Society" (Robert Sean Leonard) made me so glad I never had to attend an elite all boys prep school on the East Coast. Based on the above evidence, it just seems like those places were hotbeds of misery that specialized in producing teenage souls blackened like little pieces of charred toast. Also the death rate at such schools seems to be alarmingly high. On the other hand, the popular television program "The Facts of Life" and the novel "The Bell Jar" made it seem like elite girls schools on the East Coast were really fun places where everyone roller-skated around and made out with charismatic British poets. MY NAME IS: Leslie Katherine Albrecht
In Asia, there is no cheese. lka
When are we going to talk about Velveeta? I was just online visiting the Kraft Foods Interactive Kitchen, and I noticed some really cool recipes using Velveeta. Like one called "Golden Sauce". Also, Velveeta has other uses, such as: my dad used a block of Velveeta to teach our dog, Pepsi, to sit & shake. And when are we going to talk about QUESO? Oh my god, there's something called Cheese Fudge and you can make it with Velveeta. Things are looking up. lka
I haven't done the dish loop in months … perhaps since before the New Year. Is that possible? In any case, I never expected to have such a terrible time with it. My PR is in the high 48's, and, in comparison, this one (54:44) just seems pathetic. I should probably subtract 3 or so minutes from the time, though, because I had to run down to the secret entrance after getting to the Stanford Street gate a couple of minutes after 5pm. So this one was really in the 51 range, though that still sucks in comparison. I was in pain for some of the run, as my new Adidas big-boys were killing my feet while I was at the dish. And it was a beautiful day, not that I was even noticing that.
Sooner or later, the gods of gouda will deliver a cheese that I don't like, but it hasn't happened yet. This youthful goat gouda is more light-hearted than its 2- or 4‑year cousins, the sorts with the sneaky creamy-slash-salty bite that roots you to your chair like you're James Bond in Moonraker, stuck in the centrifuge, face contorting. The two-month is a more playful cheese. It's lighter, less serious, and fresher. If cheeses were relatives, you'd ask the 2- and 4‑year goudas for advice in matters of the heart, but you'd take the two-month to a bar because it would help you meet girls. This particular gouda is just goaty enough to be satisfying when eaten with a Fuji apple after a short evening run and, like its elder cousins, it should always be washed down with dark beer.
This occupied Rainbow's special little Cheese-of-the-Day table a while ago, and I still feel conflicted about it. I tasted it and I liked it enough to buy a brick of it. But when I ate a slice on Ryvita, I noticed that it has a somewhat disconcerting nose, and a weird, gummy texture. Still, it intrigued me, like a girl who somehow isn't my type but has some enchanting quality that makes me wonder what the hell my type is, and what, for that matter, attraction is, and why the universe seems so random when it comes to these things. So I've nibbled at the Vasterbotten for three weeks now, and still there's over half the brick left. So I'm wondering whether I should just call the whole thing off, just end it all RIGHT NOW. Is anyone listening to me out there? Is there any rhyme or reason to any of this? I JUST WANT SOME KIND OF SIGN. Are you there, God?
Upon first tasting this cheese at Rainbow, I ignored the posted rules and REUSED my tasting toothpick five times. Okay, nine, maybe ten times. This nutty, salty cheese was made to be eaten with something green. Kale works, and so do green beans. Am I reserving a spot in my safe room's mini-fridge for a wedge of the Moose? Maybe. It depends on how well it melts in a quesadilla.
News flash: Parmesan cheese is not just for sprinkling on pizza. While its tasteless, soulless paremsan cousins became condiments, Reggianno kept its feet on the ground and its head in the game. Namely, it kept its taste and texture real, so real, in fact, that people who sprinkle it on pizza should be thrown in fucking jail. Seriously. It should be eaten alone. Okay, maybe on a light cracker; maybe with a touch of olive oil, but it should always — ALWAYS — be eaten late at night, in a dark kitchen, after a long evening out.
Don't bogart the Fog, my friend. On the evolutionary ladder of cream cheese, this kind Northern Californian nug is the most highly evolved, a hairless biped with ESP among mass-market subspecies with brow ridges and saggital crests. Pay special attention to the stripe of green that accentuates the creamy white body like piping on a tracksuit.
It's flaky, but full of life, like a good yoga teacher. It's also salty, which makes it more like a good yoga teacher from New York. Added bonuses: it's got a very distinguised dark orange color, and it's very stylishly packaged in a simple black rind. A handy accessory in the evening.