I am obsessed with cheese. I have instigated late-night cheese raids in France, Spain, Italy, Cyprus and on both coasts of the US. I was once woken from an ungainly post-club sleep by Lorna, who really just wanted to know whether I was alright, only to assault her with a plaintive: “Why is there never any cheeeeeeese?”
I am therefore sidestepping the traditional meaning and boldly proclaiming myself a global cheese expert. Any cheese will do, I’m not fussy. I’m not keen on the blue stuff, being of the opinion that mould is never a good thing, but I can cope with strong, mild, rubbery, crumbly, soft, hard, sliced, wheeled, covered in holes…. bring it on.
Imagine my glee to discover… SQUEEZY CHEESE. I encountered it on Christmas Eve but, on opening the can, stupidly surmised that the mechanism (which I assumed worked much like an aerosol) was broken and, not wanting to appear any more the daft foreigner than usual, stepped quietly away (towards the bowl of crackers and cheese cubes).
Yesterday, my father-in-law chaperoned us on a trip into the woods to gather pieces for the end table he’s helping me make. Crackers and SQUEEZY CHEESE were on the snack menu and, not yet understanding the dangers of leaving me alone with cheddar, he gave them to us to carry.
There it was again: cheese, trapped in a can, helpless. My heart bled, as I am, after all, the head of Cheese Amnesty. I forged a cunning plan, watched that can carefully, lay in wait for the right time and, just as Hubby lifted it towards his cracker, casually enquired as to how one might liberate its dairy captive.
And the answer is: bend it a bit. Who’d have thought? There are some nuggets of knowledge that enhance one’s life forever, and nothing afterwards is ever quite the same. Patience apparently pays off, because now I know exactly how to make sure that there is never, ever no cheese. I also know how to make artistic doodlings with it. The squeezy can is empty, but I am not.
This post is dedicated to Lorna, who, after experiencing my cheese withdrawal, made sure there was a block of cheddar available every time I set foot in her flat.