I should probably state for the record that J writes for a food magazine and is passionately devoted to the pleasures of the table, a passion I share.
A: So if you had to give one up, what would you give up, butter or cheese?
5 whole minutes pass during which I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
J:*wild eyed* Oh my god, I really don’t know; this is hard!
2 more minutes pass.....
J: Ok, butter because I suppose there is always margarine…but it’s so not the same…
To J, an ode to cheese.
How many odes to the cow are sung?
More honour is bestowed on the moon,
that languid autumn Gouda
eaten by hungry shadows.
But cheese is taste, the moon is dust
and I’m buttering up to the real thing,
that warm fuzzy mouthed feeling
that can’t be found in low fat singles
A real cheese is like a real man
gives your lips something to remember.
Matured, blue veined or cream;
A fine cheese talks back to the olive.
Even rotten sandshoe types
Crumbling in sealed Tupperware,
walk themselves into nights of wine,
turn crackers into soft music.
I am never bored in this marketplace
I like to peel back rinds and taste.
My unfettered senses praise the cow
my bones know her as mother.
From Knifing the Ice by Jude Aquilina.