Cheese

I read somewhere about a Native American tribe, I think it was, who called themselves something like the “deer people” because their entire diet and way of live depended on the deer they killed, consumed, and used for clothing, blankets, and other sundry items. Literally, they were what they ate and since pretty much all they ate was deer, it was reasonable to conclude that they were deer; hence, the moniker.

If that’s the right way to think about things (and who am I to dispute the wisdom of tribal elders?) then I guess I should be called something like a “cheese people,” since the major part of my diet involves cheese, specifically Tillamook Vintage White Extra-Sharp Cheddar, available in your grocer’s cooler at about thirteen bucks for a giant-sized brick.

I’m “oversharing,” natch, to admit it, but so what? Often is the day I have a couple slices with jelly on toast for breakfast, a couple more on warmed bread with tomato, mayo and mustard for lunch, and then snack on small squares with crackers during the cocktail hour. All I’m missing, I guess, would be to make a stylish jerkin out of the plastic wrapper it comes in and I’d be right up there with those legendary “deer people” when it comes to using the entire “animal.”

“Cheese people,” indeed.

Now, this isn’t to say that I don’t consume anything else whatsoever than fermented cow pus; there’s coffee, of course, and beer, too. But I’ll bet if they did one of those tests on my hair follicles or whatever—the one that Michael Pollan talks about which indicate that basically, your average American is made of the same thing as a corn chip—they’d discover that I have about the same molecular structure as a grilled cheese sandwich.

It would be a nice chewy one, though, on good bread, with some iced coffee to wash it down, just like the one I’m about to make.