Monday, August 20, 2018

Say It, Don't Eat It...


     Food allergies...

     It seems that back in the 1970's and 80's I was kind of unique in respect to food allergies. Actually, more to the point, I was the only one I knew who had to avoid food because of food allergies.

     You see, I was born allergic to both concentrated forms of dairy, and to chocolate. No, not intolerance, the autal full blown allergy; anaphylactic shock, and everything. Yes, as in it cold be fatal.

     Now a days, though, it seems like every other person I meet has some sort of food allergy. Peanuts, bananas, fruit in general (I know a guy.), shellfish, and the list seems to grow all the time. The funny part is, you ask any of us about our allergy and we'll tell you that, of course, ours makes sense; those others are kind of wacky.

     No, gluten people; you don't count. Most of you aren't eve really allergic. But avoid bread, if you feel you must; just means there's more for me. Of course, if cheese is life, than this is not only a strange concept, it's down right alien... otherworldly, perhaps beyond the realm f your own perception.

     Rachel is in a long committed love affair with the stuff. With the exception of one cheese, I imagine there's not a mel or reason that wouldn't be better served with a hubg of the stuff. I asked her to provide a little something about cheese for this cartoon, as I can't since it is THE MOO DEATH, but she started thinking on cheese and, well, I lost her. Finally, after much cheesy thought, she had the following to say:

My relationship with cheese is deep, pure and all encompassing.

I consider myself an equal opportunity cheese lover; I love all forms and incarnations of the stuff. Bougie-fancy cheese, nacho cheese, sheep cheese, bloomy cheese, cottage cheese, cream cheese, stinky cheese, American cheese, string cheese, soft cheese, sharp cheese, hard cheese, goat cheese, cheese curd, Velveeta, spray cheese, blue cheese.... I could go on, but the above has me already worked into a fine lather....

I don't remember always having this problem, this obsession and thirst for what is, essentially, curdled milk. In college, I designed letter-pressed a book in the shape of a mouse, where I could draw, taste and rank the cheeses I met in my life. Categories included, 'taste', 'consistency', 'meltability' and a star ranking system. It still hangs on my fridge.

Charlie and I get along just fine, but I know we will never be perfectly in synch, because the thing that brings me so much joy, will literally murder him. So, even though the conversation above is fictionalized, (Charlie: Truncated from a phone conversation.) it is not beyond the scope of imagination. How CAN you make spaghetti without the cheese? What even IS that anymore? Limp noodles, in sad, red water sauce.

So, I shall celebrate my cheese, and revel in it's salted, creamy, delectable glory. And I do hope, that one day Charlie will forgive me for consuming it en-masse in front of him every chance I get.

Except Swiss. Swiss can bugger right off.

     As for me, well, do I mind being tough as nails, able to throw the heavy things, heal from all the sicknesses quick just to be thwarted by a glass of milk and a cookie? Eh, maybe a little. But then Green Lantern can be felled by an eight year old wielding a canary yellow crayon, so maybe I'm not so bad off.

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