Life’s great sources of debate. Religion. Politics. Sports. Fashion. The Monster’s eating habits. They are endlessly causing rifts in the fabric of humanity and our desire to live freely and peacefully amongst each other.
The Monster will readily admit his eating preferences don’t make a whit of sense. Never had coffee/love coffee flavored food. Don’t like bananas/seek out items with the very essence of banana. Hate olives/worship olive oil. And then there is cheese.
Why is it The Monster loves pizza? Dreams about chicken parmigiano? Always orders French onion soup? But cannot possibly stand to be in the same zip code as a cheese cart? Will run away all trembly and scared and hide from Cheetos? Despises the very notion of cheese and wine despite growing up in a family who made its coin in a vintner’s profession?
In this case temperature and texture are apparently the culprits. Room temperature cheese is a scary, smelly mass of pure, unadultered dairy. A foul, curdled hunk of raunchiness. Everything about it screams cheese/Cheese/CHEESE.
But heat those bad boys up and it’s no longer cheese, it’s wonderfully gooey awesomeness that somehow The Monster has conquered his fear of. Even reveled in. Sure there are moments when the “cheese factor” creeps in and a dish must be put down before gag reflex wins out but those are few and far between.
Certain varieties, irrespective of temperature are verboten. Stinky cheese and moldy cheese and processed cheese never find there way down The Monster’s gullet. Words like crumbled and blue and fermented are wholly anathema.
So while you enjoy your cheese any which way you like and argue your politics and defend your horrible new coat, perhaps feel pity for The Monster who can only take his cheese in heated up globs of disguised dairy.