Lactic Noms Coming To Me Soonest!

Me and cheese go way back.  BFF.  Not even imaginary BFF’s like the way me and Camille Paglia hang out or Victor Davis Hanson and I chat Greek hoplite formations over beer.  Cheese actually has a relationship with me.

Or, more precisely, I with it.

Like with Chocolate, my other multi-complexly compounded BFF, I am no longer satisfied with processed cheese that shows up in the Giant cheese case.  That stuff makes me sad.  And not hungry.

Nancy’s Camembert spread on a piece of fresh baguette is nirvana.  My sister, a cheese philistine, says she can taste the floor of the barn.  Whatever.  That sheep’s cheese is wonderfully fragrant, spready and delicious.  Spread on toast so that the cheese melts slightly…oh, baby.  Talk cheesey to me.

But, there is another cheese that causes my eyes to roll back in my head even more, it’s Mt. Townsend’s Trailhead.   The website calls it a mountain cheese.  I call it happiness in hard milk.  I got to visit the cows that produce the milk used to make my happiness the cheese.  Dungeness Valley Creamery is right across the street from my nephew’s farm.  Last year and the year before I visited Sequim, Washington to play with family.  The highlight of my visit, besides family of course, was a visit to Nash’s farm and the Diary across the street.  I attempted to get my family to let me stay with the cows.  They wouldn’t.  But I did play with them as much as I could.  (Not much.)

I ended up buying extra cheese to take home with me, I got a Seastack and two chunks of Trailhead.  While the  Seastack is really amazing, the Trailhead is even more so.  It’s nutty in a really good way.

Not nutty the way I am.

Anywho, this year my Sequim family is heading this way and have promised to bring me my happiness cheese.

I am happy.

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1 Response to Lactic Noms Coming To Me Soonest!

  1. Phelps says:


    “Oh, yes sir.”

    “Magnifique! I’ll have that.”

    “Ahhh, it’s a bit runny.”

    “No matter! Fetch it forth tout de suite!”

    “It’s actually very runny, sir.”

    “I don’t care how fucking runny it is, I’ll take it.”

    “aaaaaaaaaaaah… the cat’s eaten it.”

    “Has he.”

    “She, sir.”

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