Ordinary Americans might argue there isn’t much to be said about cheese. That it comes in but two colors, white and orange, and is individually wrapped for convenience, as all fine foods should be.
Charlize Theron painted yellow-orange for her Academy Award-winning role in the classic movie about cheese, "Muenster."
But the average American is an unwashed creature best left to simple-minded activities like watching The Housewives of New Jersey or dabbling in Tea Party politics, rather than cutting into a subject as deep as cheese. Indeed, where cheese is concerned, I confess I am mortified to count myself among the citizens of this otherwise good and free land. For we are pathetically cheese disabled, yet foolishly proud of it, as if sporting a vacant look in one’s eyes when presented with a wedge of Stilton is a mark of cultural superiority, when in fact it’s an unfortunate sign that we’re an errant branch on the evolutionary tree that probably ought to be pruned and sawed into kindling for the overall health of the plant.
In truth, volumes could be filled with information about the complexities of cheese.
It is one of our oldest foods, for example.
Historians believe it was invented 6,000 to 8,000 years ago in the Middle East, and that the occasion of its birth was likely accidental: Perhaps a Sumerian goat herder sat in the shade to drink a refreshing swig of milk from a flask fashioned from the stomach of one of his animals but chugged a mouthful of curds and whey instead thanks to the miraculous and admittedly nauseating interaction of heat, bacteria and belly enzymes that combine to make cheese. Or maybe it was a creation born of necessity, a desperate and thankfully successful attempt to preserve the nutritionally precious yet easily spoiled milk of domesticated animals like cows, sheep and goats.
“A cheese may disappoint. It may be dull, it may be naive, it may be oversophisticated. Yet it remains cheese, milk’s leap toward immortality,” quipped Clifton Fadiman, the former senior editor of the acclaimed children’s publication, Cricket Magazine. Fadiman was an American who wasn’t a recognized authority on cheese, and I don’t know why he felt compelled to say anything about it at all. But I like his quote because it’s both honest and appropriately grand, and he was awarded the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters in 1993, which means he is infinitely more credible when it comes to opining about foodstuffs than, say, my uncle Earl, who subsisted largely on a diet of beer and cigarettes.
However cheese came into existence, it caught on almost as quickly as procreation, or, in a closely related development, the fermentation of grain and grape.
Today, there are about half as many varieties of cheese in the world as there are stars visible to the naked eye in the unclouded, urban night sky — some 1,000 in all. All of them share only the slightest lineage with Kraft American singles, which aren’t cheese at all, but a wondrous alchemy of milk and other ingredients processed in gleaming, stainless-steel factories to resemble cheese, if cheese shone slickly like freshly minted plastic, or was rubbery enough to be rolled into tubes and breathed through like a straw.
This is what real cheese looks like, people.
Real cheeses are as incompatible with American cheese as Russia and transparent government. They range from the bitter tang of English cheddar and the ammoniated creaminess of French Camembert to the nutty-sweetness of a Swiss Emmentaler and the biscuit-like, sun-dried Mongolian Byaslag made from yak milk.
However popular American cheese is — who among us hasn’t eaten it grilled between dual slices of buttered Wonder Bread, or melted in a “cup” of toasted bologna ceremoniously laid on an open-faced sandwich? — real cheeses aren’t made by chemists and served in perfectly uniform squares of bland acceptability. Real cheese is not the palate’s equivalent of Mitt Romney. Real cheeses are the pantry’s caterpillar and butterfly — repugnance metamorphasized.
My own relationship to cheese is quite positive.
Yes, there are cheeses I avoid — the gamier goat and sheep varieties like Roquefort, for example. And I’d never consider taking a bite of Spain’s infamous Casu Marzu, which is illegal in the United States because it’s ideally served while it’s still squirming with live maggots, the alternative to eating maggots alive being even less palatable, not to mention potentially fatal.
But I relish a well-aged Feta, Gruyère or Gouda, not to mention a Blue, Havarti or Parmigiano. Mozzarella is great on pizza, and Provelone on a sandwich. I once ate a Brie that was melted to pudding-like consistency in the center of a fresh-baked loaf of French bread, and considered it so tasty that I’d happily take it in place of a night of wild abandon with Charlize Theron, mostly because Charlize never calls me and my wife would emasculate me if she did, but at least partly because it was that good.
So if you’re American or you behave like an American and your experience of cheese is limited to the orange glop slopped on your nachos or the tasteless sliver hanging over the edge of a Quarter Pounder, then I urge you to visit your local specialty grocer and sample a bite of cheese that comes wrapped in cloth, or is protected by an airtight layer of wax, or is even, God forbid, hidden under an intimidating layer of mold.
Be bold.
Let the scales of darkness fall from your eyes — or in this case, tongue — so you might experience a brave new world of ancient culinary delights.
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I hate myself.
Why?
Because I agreed to participate in 30 Days of Writing, a competitive blogging meme sponsored by my good friends Nicky and Mike at We Work For Cheese. This post is my first entry for it, and I hope you enjoyed it. But I have to tell you that I just finished doing 30 Days of Photographs with my good friend Ziva over at Ziva’s Inferno and, speaking honestly, I’m tired. I don’t know if I can last 30 days.
At least there are no rules. That means this may be my first and last post for 30 Days of Writing, and it also means I don’t have to feel bad about not listing the names of the other people who are participating in this competition just because Nicky and Mike failed to send me a complete list. I’d call them scofflaws, but if there aren’t any rules to break, then they didn’t do anything wrong and there’s no joy to be had in mocking them.
It’s hard to be a rebel when there’s nothing to rebel against, right?
Ok, first off, I just sent you an email about linking to the others. I know, it should have been sent days ago but whatever. Deal with it!
Secondly, this post is fantastic. I’m awarding you 0 points for it because I am a spiteful bitch who is jealous of your talent. Dammit, man, do you have to be good at everything?
Lastly, I am awarding Charlize Theron 5,000 points for that photo. Yowza.
Oh, and what’s with the “I don’t know if I can do this… I’m tired” bullshit? Don’t you know that writing is the cure for boredom?
Writing is the cure for boredom? Who said that? They must have been drunk, or fixing their childhood radio, or spending time with their friends. There is no cure for boredom, you just have to sit in your recliner and grumble about it until it passes.
Women! I’ll never understand them.
Oh, did I say writing? I meant drinking. And shoe shopping. And naked pictures of Charlize Theron.
Okay, now you’re making some sense to me.
Which is a little disturbing, actually.
“Melted in a “cup” of toasted bologna ceremoniously laid on an open-faced sandwich”. I think I’ll pass.
Great post, however. You may want to pace yourself, though. There’s 29 more days to go.
*Psst!* I’ll tell you a secret: That bologna-cup thingy is damn tasty.
Okay, this was waaaay too long. If your next post is this long, I’m not reading it. Unless you post another nude photo of Charlize Theron, of course. Yum! The cheese, not so much.
Seriously, though, very well written and said, Michael. You sure have a talent for this writing thing.
Who knew I had so much to say about cheese? I certainly didn’t. But I eat cheese nearly every day, and the words flowed like the effluent of fondue.
Eww.
Anyway, I thank you for your kind words.
I don’t buy American cheese. It’s a waste of calories. It does melt well on a grilled cheese. So does gruyere.
(I have no idea what that bologna thing is you’re talking about though.) My mama didn’t buy it though. And she also made me mac and cheese with gouda.
Hell, they have generic brand sliced cheeses now. And they don’t expire for months. I typically have a whole drawer in the fridge of just sliced cheeses.
And lest we forget wine and cheese. And goat cheese rolled in herbs, with a little pancetta. I might need to go to the Fresh Market later.
There’s one exception. I have no idea what velveeta is made of. It’s certainly not cheese. But I love it so much. I wish CG was still around. She might could defend American cheese.
Velveeta is basically American cheese cubed. Neither one of them is cheese, just milk and such processed into something that resembles cheese. They aren’t even allowed to call it cheese, but have to insert a word like “processed” into the description. I don’t mind the taste of it so much, but it seems wrong, CG’s opinion notwithstanding.
I love gouda, too, Liz, and recently ate quite a bit of it in a fondue. I love a fondue. Maybe it’s the mixing of wine and cheese, or the freedom that individual dipping brings, or the social aspect of the shared meal. I’m not sure. But I always feel happier after a good fondue.
I buy Velveeta Shells and Cheese in bulk at Sams Club while drinking a cherry Icee the size of my head. And then listen to “I’m proud to be an American” on the way home. In my huge truck.
I promise I voted for Obama.
It’s okay if you didn’t. I’m not sure it makes any difference anymore.
Velveeta shells. I’m so hungry now.
“ammoniated creaminess”?
“Casu Marzu”?
Maggots?
Thank-you for such a great piece of cheesiness that makes me NEVER want to eat cheese again.
Seriously, this was fantastic and knowledgeable! However, I prefer to stay in my UNevolutionized state of eating Pepper Jack or Cheddar. At least I don’t glory in Kraft American Cheese slices.
Blech.
Oh, a slice of Pepper Jack sounds good right about now. Assuming you mean Pepper Jack the cheese and not Pepper Jack the Pirate. I’ve never been fond of pirate.
I could eat pepperjack everyday.
I have cheese almost every day, and I eat a pepper of some kind almost everyday. So really, when you think about it, Pepper Jack would make my life a lot more convenient.
Now I want Mexican.
What, you’re not satisfied with Jeff?
Well played, Sir.
Heh heh.
And don’t forget the most important pepper… Dr. Pepper. (Diet, of course.)
I’m thirsty now.
Good god, man, that looks like a long post. Personally, I didn’t make it past that picture of Charlize Theron.
To tell you the truth, Mike, it’s all Lorem Ipsum text after that picture of Charlize. I often do that, knowing that people won’t read anything but will be impressed with the sheer length of what they see.
always impressed by length…
See, it works!
Michael, you are either a walking encyclopedia or you have a permanent window open to wikipedia. I am always in awe of your talent for writing , but your ability to bring factual content sometimes sends me reeling.
Now take that wheel of Brie, spread some preserves on it, and cover it completely in pie crust. Then put that in the oven until the crust is just done. YUM!
Here’s the thing: I can’t remember my own phone number or my children’s birthdays, but I have what I’d describe as a sort of fuzzy photographic memory for useless facts — especially food facts — that have no bearing on life. So, for example, I watched a show a few months ago featuring the maggot cheese called Casu Marzu. And it stuck in my head (perhaps not surprisingly, given how disgusting it is), as did my experiences reading a book called The Long Walk last year that happened to mention the eating of peculiar Mongolian cheeses (and an encounter with a Yeti, by the way), a Smithsonian magazine article a few years ago about the alleged history of cheese, and some personal curiousity-satisfying research I did many years ago about the manufacture of American cheeses like Velveeta. The Fadiman quote, I admit, I Googled, but only because I felt I wanted a quote at about that point in the post and his seemed appropriate.
Anyway, this tendancy for trivia irritates me, honestly, partly because it makes me sound like an arrogant egghead when I’m not — I’m just arrogant — but I have to say that it’s sometimes helpful when I’m writing. And if it means that I’m able to impress women with length, then I consider it a bonus.
A fine piece on cheese, including some history. I liked that. Who knew cheese has owned the Earth for so long?
The sliced cheese and things like Velveeta have their place in the “cheese World.” As you said, the bologna concoction, as well as grilled cheese, it works well.
In normal settings, not so much!
Well done with this post. I enjoyed ut!
Thank you, P.J. It’s nice to meet you, although I suspect you’re not who you seem to be given that you appear to go by both P.J. and R.C. You’re in the federal witness-protection program, aren’t you?
Most excellent post and a lesson in cheese history, although I could do without the part about maggots – eeewwww.
Among the many cheeses I like, I must admit that I like American cheese, too. BUT, not the prewrapped singles (although I have eaten many slices). I like the sliced from the deli American, yellow or white, and the Kraft deli slices. No wrapping or even separator sheets. It tastes more like I remember from my childhood bologna sandwiches.
I like them, too, even the wrapped American cheese-like product. They all have a unique taste, I just like making fun of Americans because I think Americans are, by and large, the world’s idiot stepchildren.
Chalize is a goddess! Even orange, she looks gorgeous! Okay, enough about Charlize.
This post is amazing. You really do the best long posts of anybody ever. And you do your research too. I’m seriously impressed. But I will not try to be you. After all, there’s only room in this world for one MWJ! I’m going to make a grilled cheese sandwich right now!
It really is too long, but I can’t help myself.
Mike, if you don’t submit this to some food and cooking magazines, I will hunt you down and shoot a can of CheezWhiz up your ass with a bazooka. I swear I will.
Once again, you show off with your other-worldly writing skills and make the rest of us look like a slice of American Cheese after some kid has shoved it up his nose. This was a total delight to read. A total fucking delight. I adore you.
I don’t think you look like a slice of American cheese at all, Jayne. More like a small round of Gouda. A 4-ounce round, actually.
Oh, and remind me someday to tell you about what happened to me and a can of CheezWhiz during my “experimental” phase in college.
Being British, with a French grandmother, I have tasted many different cheeses over the years, but never American cheese
I must admit to not liking Gorgonzola or Brie, and maggots?
Damn, woman, between the French and British you’ve got the cheese market almost sewn up. I think about 60% of all officially recognized cheeses come from those two countries.
I award you -10 points for giving me cheese breath.
Gees.
Oops.
I meant Cheese Whiz.
That’s your new nickname.
That is my favorite nickname for myself ever, although I also really like BonyMike.
Ha! Firstly, I must applaud you on the photo caption of Charlize and her role in, “Muenster”. You punned that one right out of the park.
Secondly, you’ve better described in 900+ words what I was trying to convey in less than 250 about American cheese products when I wrote my post (I bow to thee). That you can laugh at yourself being a citizen of the country that invented (one of) the most despised cheeses on the planet (and I’m not necessarily not including the maggot infested cheese – although that might come in a close second), you can truly consider yourself a quasi-Canadian. Because, as Canadians, we make fun of ourselves. That’s what we do. And it’s funny. And so are you.
All around, this is a great post. Hope that you don’t wait too long to submit another in this ‘meme’.
Oh, and I am very honoured that you like your nickname of, “BonyMike”. I’m so verkelmpt!
I didn’t think anybody had noticed that caption. I was rather proud of it, so thank you.
I love my nickname, Double-O. BonyMike suits me.
“However cheese came into existence, it caught on almost as quickly as procreation, or, in a closely related development, the fermentation of grain and grape.”
And I love how that happened, because I really LOVE cheese!