I’m all starry-eyed. Yes, I am. Forget Cheese aka Monsieur Fromage. I’ve discovered new horizons that tickle my fancy and stir up my soul. Yes, if cheese be the food of love, play on, maestro…, I’ve found Mr
I love Cheese. Aye, the Cheese that is the very essence of cholesterol. But shush, not a word to dear doc. I’m definitely not sharing my happy news with him…as yet. If ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise (or dead). Okay. I promise to stay within limitations. But, as they say, joy knows no bounds.
Many handsome cheeses have warmed my heart, ’tis true, tempted my spirit, whilst some, alas, beguiled my trusting soul. Therefore, I shall name, but just a few.
Too aged, rather yellowish in complexion. A good traveller, but slightly nutty and salty. Quite sharp and firm, therefore, a wee bit unfriendly. Always wore a coat of red, day and night, night and day…most irritating. Good bye, Edam.
What a strange orangish complexion? Apparently, with age does become sweeter, tinged by caramel (now that, I adore). Spoke excellent Dutch. Confessed that a cousin ‘cheese’, or “Brandnetelkaas” is a gouda that contains stinging nettles. Oh? Ouch. Best to keep away. Afscheid.
Very English, with impeccable grammar. Oddly enough, wafted a strong smell, and sported a rather strange blue complexion. Had delicate blue veins radiating from the centre…centre of what, I have yet to find out. Always munching at celery and biting into pears…the ‘crunch-crunch’ drove me bonkers/bananas.
Aye, sharp and firm. Depending on the day and mood, wore a yellow to off-white complexion. Quite a popular figure; originating from the English village of Cheddar (the namesake) in Somerset, South West England. Professed to live in a cave in Cheddar Gorge. Hence, the antiquated mannerisms. Fare thee well.
Sigh. With a name like ‘di bufalo‘, one would have pictured a bronzed Mediterranean figure basking lazily in the warm sunshine. But, no…had a white complexion with a humungous appetite for pizza, pasta and lasagne. Waistline? Don’t even go there.
With so many different traits, it was difficult to distinguish the real Wenslydale. At times, Blue Wensleydale was predominant, while on other days Mature Wensleydale appeared, leaving Oak Smoked Wensleydale and Yorkshire Wensleydale to take over on odd days. Mind-boggling, is it not?
Si, another Italiano. Came from southwest of Milan, adorned a creamy, milky white complexion. Amiable, but shamelessly overfriendly with summer fruits and Tiramisu. Roving eyes. So, we parted ways. Arrivederci.
Oui, from France. Soft, and pale in colour. Delightful, with delectable taste. Cousin Camembert is a welcome companion on special occasions. Yes, I’m staying with Brie, my Monsieur Fromage. Besides, we speak the same language…French. C’est la vie, mon ami!
© Maloquacious, 2011.
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