Queso FUN-dido!

I love cheese. It’s a passion that ignited a long time ago but has grown exponentially since I visited Otto Pizzeria, one of Mario Batali’s restaurants that serves its cheese platter with side dishes of stewed apricots with chili flakes, truffle infused honey, and brandied cherries. Combining these sides with an assortment of cheeses (usually an assortment of 3, always the Coach Triple Creme goat cheese and the Parmigiano Reggiano, plus one more, usually a special cheese of the day) is easily the richest, most satisfying meal I could want. I’ve asked, and they don’t bottle up their cheese condiments, so I just have to keep going and going and going to Otto. That has resulted in sightings of Mario himself, Crocs and all, his children, and Kevin Bacon. Because of my passion for cheese I am zero degrees from the man to whom every human being ever is connected. Thank you, cheese.

Now I also live a block from Brooklyn Cheese Mecca (I like to believe they knew I lived nearby and chose the location just for me), Stinky Brooklyn. They have two cheeses, Cob Hill and Monte Enebro, that are Cheese Companion’s and my go-to cheeses, and they sell truffled honey – I did the old Christmas switcheroo and gave Cheese Companion a jar as a gift, knowing I’d use it as much if not more than him.

Today I was browsing the Murray’s Cheese Shop blog (yes, I read a cheese blog. I have also looked into the fromagerie internships at Artisanal, I know, I have problems…but as much as I love cheese, I can’t work for it for free) and saw this Italian commercial they posted for Parmegiano Reggiano. I love the metallic outfits and the hunched over garlic. I wish Americans felt strongly enough to sing about cheese in commercials! Pa pa pa, pa parmagiano re re re re re reggiano! To me, parm is as useful a condiment as salt or mustard, so the fact that there’s a commercial for it seems unnecessary, but still, I’m so glad it’s here.

    • Dad
    • March 29th, 2007

    It must be genetic!! I love cheese (from cheese curls that stain my fingers to Pecorino) but perhaps I love even more singing garlic, peppers, and assorted veggies in shiny suits singing in Italian. Does that make me weird? The acorn don’t fall far from the tree, girl.

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