Knock! Knock! What did you say?
C-H-E-E-S-E?
What a funny thing it is. A lump of cuddled milk, but say cheese and a picture comes out great, put cheese on the plate, and the food comes out great!

Folks, don’t get cheesed off. What can I do? I am no cheese-paring when it comes to cheese selling.

In fact, the story of my cheese-fixation is long. But I will make short of it. Cheese is, like insulin to diabetes; ambrosia to my addled brain; salvation to my dying spirit. The Blue just lifts me out of the blue.

Ask the Hollanders. They discovered the gourmet’s delight centuries ago; the Yankees took to the tangy flavor quickly enough; the Italians with secret passion; the Britons with some reservation; the Chinese with consummate ease; the Spaniards with a roving eye and the French, those lucky bastards! With their basic instinct for all good things in life have been gobbling it for ages. God bless their farmers!

Paired with nuts, fruit, crackers or wine, savoring the exotic Saint Pauline or Tomme Fraiche is next to Nirvana. Truly, can anything be better than spinach creamed in Peta, melt-in-the-mouth Gouda; a cracker topped with the ripest Brie, or a pizza dripping with Mozzarella --- simply delicious.

In my humble opinion, nothing can be considered ‘rich' or `flavored' without a spattering --- if only a spattering --- of those, yummy cheesy blobs, please let me have the orange rind?

Picture a cheesecake (@*%$^) in a loose-fitting cheesecloth and it sets my heart asunder and my mind racing at super sonic speed on a hundred different planes? Will she? Won’t she?
Even the word does strange things to my constitution. Feel how it rolls off, so effortlessly from the tongue with a gentle whistling sound, C-H-E-E-S-E? Oh La, La! ….

I am not alone in serenading to this “hero amongst all fermented food products” on earth. One cheese head, Tanya Grace Reyes wrote the following ode to the Grecian variety, “Nothing is better than to sit around in my greasy brown paisley robe, eating feta…”Even the Dalai Lama, I am told gorges on it, though perhaps only the yak variety.

Honestly, it gives me goose pimples to think I may run out of my stock-in-trade, one day. I cannot face this dire prospect. So instead of giving me my daily ration of bread, Lord, please grant me my cheese. Amen.

To conclude, here’s a lactic limerick, a Love Haiku from Matt Rosenberg:
Cheddar wins my heart.
Heaven, right here in my mouth.
Please pass the crackers.