I actually feel sorry for cheese. On one hand it’s so delicious, no one can resist it. On the other hand, it tries to kill you. I’m sure it feels torn between delighting you and murdering you.
I’m a self-confessed lover of cheese….love it. However I’ve been told dairy does NOT agree with my blood type. (Huh?) I’m sure when I look at a piece of cheese it’s not saying…
Last night I was making dinner. (Monday night’s dinner is hardly exciting.) And as I was rushing around, I dumped a huge lot of grated cheese into my dish. “So?” I hear you saying. Well it happens my usual happy, let me delight you cheese had turned on me. It was peppered with tiny spores of destruction.
Don’t get me wrong, during my very poor London living days, I was known for scraping off tiny spots of mould on my bread to have some toast. And it didn’t kill me. But I figured I couldn’t really justify mixing it into my dish when I had a perfectly good fresh bag of cheese in the fridge. So I managed to remove said murderous plot from our dinner.
Despite its continual attempts at making me sick, grossing me out and letting me down, I still love you cheese. You will never turn my love for you.