Comfort Cheese

I, rather innocently, posted something to / twitter / Facebook. The canonical text is:

signs you've spent too much time in the upper midwest: sometimes when stressed, you impulse buy cheese

I spent three years in Wisconsin--southern Wisconsin--for college. Ever since then I've related to cheese differently.

So here's what happened:

I was shopping, Mostly minding my own business when I passed the cheese display. Not the fancy cheese display, you know, but the one next to the designer coffee creamers, and the pre-made baking doughs.

And, pretty much before I realized what had happened, I scooped up a half pound of store-brand mozzarella. I don't think I even stopped the cart.

In the parking lot, I realized what had happened. I had cheese at home. A half pound of Munster--and pretty nice Munster I thought, though I've not met a Munster I didn't like--waited for me in the fridge at home. The reason why I got it? Easy:

A few weeks ago, I was in Philadelphia staying with a friend who grew up in the Twin Cities and we had the most amazing mozzarella for dinner. I looked up after my second slice and said. "Wow, we're so Midwestern." It was undeniably true. A friend from the east cost, immediately confirmed for us that she thought we were weird. But it was amazing cheese. And we didn't

As for my little block of cheese: it too was amazing. Not quite as good, I suppose, but it was refreshing and in a weird way it reminded me of home.

The people on Facebook also responded with a rather active little thread. Morris dancers from Minnesota. Contra Dancers from St. Louis. Classmates from College. Perhaps my experience wasn't uncommon.

Cheese. Who would have thought it.

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