Cheers to cheese

I love cheese. I really love cheese.

Members of my family do too. My nephew’s first word was uttered while we sat around the table together. ‘Cheese!’ Clapping and applauding him on his effort, his mum retrieved a golden block from the fridge and we celebrated his first understandable sound with slices all round.

Unfortunately, we misunderstood.

Later that day when we were again around the table, he lifted his plastic-lidded cup into the air and said ‘cheers!’ Which actually sounds a lot like cheese to excitable ears.

The cheese did taste good though.

I was gifted cheese for my birthday. Nothing unusual about that, you might think. Except I was allowed to choose how much and what from our local delicatessen. Freedom of choice and open-ended (within reason). My giver knows me too well.

I marched into the store, past exotic pastas, illustrious chocolates, truffle this and truffle that, to the back. To the cheese fridge. As I stood at the glass doors, peering in with anticipation and excitement, I started to shake. Like a puppy realising it’s about to be fed. Mouth watering and speechless, I gazed in wonder. This was my chance to go to another country with my tastebuds in the driver’s seat. And me sitting behind, wide-eyed and smiling.

I was awoken from my cheesy fantasy by the shop assistant. In fact, I physically jumped when she stood beside me offering assistance. I declined and waited instead for the different cheeses to call out to me from the fridge. I reached in and modestly chose four different wedges. In one swoop, I went to France, Holland, South Australia and Italy.

Then I left the shop with my new, well-travelled friends in tow. Homewards to devour and enjoy. Ah, the pleasure and simplicity of cheese.

Cheers.