Who Bogarted My Cheese?

(With apologies to Spencer Johnson.)

I love cheese. Just about any kind of cheese*. My favorite pizza is "cheese", and when I have an omelet it usually just has cheese in there with the eggs. (And, yes, I'd dispense with the eggs if I could.) While our favorite restaurant in Seattle is Palisades, The Melting Pot is a very close second. It is only by an act of supreme willpower and self-denial that I have resisted the urge to make one of Howard Taylor's Chupaquesos...

So, when Mrs. Drang texted me yesterday about her commute-from-hell, I went ahead and fixed my dinner, bangers and mash. To try and liven up the mashed potatos, I grated in some Tillamook** White Cheddar, some Mizithra, and some Ermentaller into them.

And was up all night. On reflection, I believe that the Ermentaller was a bit, um, old, even for a hard cheese that had been stored in the fridge. So today I slept late, and so far have dined on a cup of yogurt, and two slices of toast with margarine. My stomach is still achey, my throat is raw--Sparrowbane looks at me funny, I'm a bit old to have my voice breaking!--and I am having doubts about being able to make either the Tea Party protest in Olympia or Amateur Radio Field Day tomorrow.

Blech.


* Although I may as well eat a big bowl of All Bran in prune juice as put some Maytag Blue on a salad...
**I laugh at those California-versus-Wisconsin Who-has-the-best-cheese? ads. Oregon, you dolts.