Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

Charles and Ashley got new ultrasound pictures today (again EXPLICIT photos), and were not very pleased with them. I must admit that the translucency of a fetus can, indeed, be disconcerting.

Charles took it upon himself to draw an alternative, more “precise” version.

Portrait of a First Daughter (in utero) by Her Loving Father

What can I say? At least she’s opaque in his version. Ah – and they’ve opted for the highly-evolved new-fangled triped child with the ultra sleek super-digited dominant hand.

I think this explains a great deal about my family.

Evidently, it’s ‘all Greek’ to Movable Type™ 3.16. My past entries have inexplicably morphed so that every apostrophe, dash, accent grave, accent egu and all quotation marks have turned into various combinations of epsilons, trademark symbols, and “a’s” with umlauts and those little “accent” hats. I thought for a moment it was IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet), but the trademark symbols belied that conclusion. I manually corrected several of my most recent entries, but if anyone has clever tricks by which I might employ some variety of Universal correction, I’m all ears.

JUST A SUGGESTION

Do not, no matter how tempting, get slightly tearful and use the term verklempt at a job interview.* If you do make the ever-so regrettable blunder of saying it once – whatever you do – DO NOT REPEAT IT. It might be especially disastrous if you reiterate the expression as your “parting shot” while walking out the door. You will become “unforgettable” in the WRONG way.

*Steer clear of it in Utah, at least – especially in West Valley City. (G)oy Weh!!!

P.S. And a super-festive Cinco di Mayo a usted hacia fuera allí.

Yesterday I dropped a bag of groceries on my bare feet. Had it been anyone else in the whole WIDE WORLD, it might have been a parcel of marshmallows, bunches of parsley and ten or so Kool-Aid™ packets – perhaps several teensy fluffy pillows? ‘Twas I, though, so it was a bag full of one-pound tin cans (at least nine). The sailor-like invectives flew in a blue cloud about the kitchen, as I bemoaned the inferior quality of those damn grocery sacks with handles and how they break at the most inconvenient moments. And I did the dance of the bruised (must be said as two syllables in Shakespearean fashion) feet. Yes, it might seem illogical or contraindicated to dance on your bruised (remember- two syllables) feet, but one cannot help it. Woe is me.

Here’s the best part: The bag did not break. I, through my extraordinary and UNEQUALLED talent, had managed to empty the bag’s contents on my feet, WITHOUT BREAKING A THING! I’m magic, a little. Some day I will learn to use my powers for good (like Oprah).

Introducing my new fetus niece:

She’s a DANCER (see that high kick?)

Visit Purple Monkey Dishwasher and you can see additional fetal photos (WARNING: Some of the photos are EXPLICIT; in fact, they are all NUDE), as well as a picture of Charles and Ashley’s soon-to-be Kansas home (and their tractor?).

SPIDER ON THE COMPUTER DESK RIGHT WHERE I WAS ONLY MERE SECONDS AGO LEANING MY… MYSELF! That is downright SWAGGERING EFFRONTERY! It is simply unpardonable and to be punished immediately by death. *Squish.* Sorry, Jodi!

AND something has bitten me on the ankle! What if it was the bite of the dreaded brown recluse, which has a necrotizing effect on human tissue? My elder sister will forevermore wear on her body a testament to the results of such a bite; she is, I kid you not, missing a little chunk of flesh from her back! And don’t forget the gangrene lady who DIED from such a bite!

The “easy” identification of the brown recluse is supposed to be comforting. There is a violin or “fiddle”-shaped marking on the cephalothorax of these spiders (which is why they are often referred to as “fiddle-back” spiders in the South), but this marking can be faint (arbitrarily), especially if the spider has just molted. Thanks. Ever so helpful.

But wait:

The most definitive physical feature of recluse spiders is their eyes: most spiders have eight eyes that typically are arranged in two rows of four but recluse spiders have six equal-sized eyes arranged in three pairs, called dyads. There is a dyad at the front of the cephalothorax (the first main body part to which the legs attach) and another dyad on each side further back. (Thank you, University of California Statewide Integrated Pest Management Program. You seem to think you know a lot even though the Brown Recluse DOES NOT LIVE IN CALIFORNIA.)

What in the hell are you supposed to do precisely? Nicely ask the possibly deadly spider to hold still so you can get up RIGHT NEXT TO IT and count its little eyeballs – one, two, three, four, five… – and see if they are in the appropriate pattern of three dyads? That’s so reassuring to those of us who are myopic. PHEW! Eight eyes! It’s just a Hobo Spider…which…which also has a horrific necrotizing bite…RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!!!!!

Hello, my name is Kate and I am an arachnophobic.

But can you really BLAME ME? We have such festive spiders here (I forgot to mention the Black Widow – hurrah – and the Yellow Sac Spider, Tarantulas, and MORE). And the most treacherous ones prefer to lurk in piles of things or hide in your laundry or sneak up your bedskirt!!! If you don’t think that’s quite disturbing enough, please take a look at this article from the American College of Physicians. Apparently, there was enough confusion that the ACP-ASIM felt the need to help doctors tell between the bite of the Brown Recluse and CUTANEOUS ANTHRAX. Good grief – don’t tell me spider bites are nothing to worry about when a major health organization includes them in a discussion of BIOTERRORISM. By the way, take a look at photos (which I will not be posting); I think you will agree that cutaneous anthrax looks a lot more innocuous than the spider bite.

Huzzah! You delve into some of the myriad unsorted emails in your box and your may uncover TREASURE. Here’s another lovely James Lileks tidbit (I say that like someone is going to remember the Lileks’ Ode I included in 2003):

Mmmmm. Man. That’s the other benefit of Atkins: cheese is no longer The Enemy. I’ve started exploring the options. I’ve always been cheese-curious, to be frank. But it’s a daunting world, and sometimes you commit to a wedge at the store only to find you don’t like it when you get it home. But this Irish cheddar – when I die, I want to be filled with this cheese. I want people to see the box lowered in the earth and think there goes a man who is great with cheese. If I’m going to feed the worms I might as well give them a banquet instead of sawdust and formadehyde. . . [NOTE: Yes, that should be “formaldehyde” – It’s nice that I’m not the only one to make spelling mistakes.]

Mmmm. Man. Wow.

(Thanks again, Grettir, for the heads up.)

I’m realizing that I should have included a bigger section of that 2003 Lileks’ (Lileks’s????? I never can decide.) piece. Well, tomorrow is another day; AS GOD IS MY WITNESS, I SHALL NEVER GO HUNGRY AGAIN!

That’s too sad (and misquoted, I think?) to even include an attribution. Ugh.

Boy, Howdy – it’s a good thing to check one’s OWN links once in a while. There, just sitting nonchalantly in the right-hand menu bar, I have a link to Cheese.com. This site has a database of 652 cheeses from forty-eight countries (yes, even Iceland makes notable cheese). It’s just festive fromage fun!!! I’d say the main drawback of the site is that they don’t have pictures of the various cheeses in their database; you must use your dairy imagination. However, you can play the “find the funniest name of a cheese” game (it’s sweeping the nation – don’t kid yourself). Go to the “Alphabetical listing of Cheeses” and browse away. Here are a few that made me laugh (at least in the wee hours of the morning) and their descriptions:

• Aromes au Gene de Marc: [French] Traditional, unpasteurized, natural-rind cheese made from cow’s and goat’s milk. It has a small round shape. The white rind has some moulds. The cheese is made in various wine-making areas, some two or three months after the grapes have been pressed. The cheese has a strong, bittersweet, yeasty taste and aroma. When young, the cheese is moist and creamy. With age , the cheese becomes hard and flaky, with a pungent taste. It should be eaten with wine.

  So this is a traditional fromage that stinks of “Gene of Marc” or Gene or Marc,” which, according to the description have a “strong, bittersweet, yeasty taste and aroma?” It’s true that my French is less than adequate, but it certainly sounds like that’s what it means. I must agree that anything that has such an odor of men MUST be eaten with wine. OODLES of wine.

• Bra: [Italian] Traditional, unpasteurized, hard cheese which has a round shape. The cheese is named after place where it was originally sold. There exist two types of Bra. The traditional, hard version that ripens for three to six months. The color darkens and the flavor intensifies. The other type is sold young, at 45 days, when the paste is still soft. This version is made from pasteurized milk. Bra is used as a table cheese, but also for grating and melting.

  A cheese with a “round shape” named “bra.” Need I say more?

• Pant ys Gawn: Pant ys Gawn is a Welsh cheese from the region called Monmouthshire. It ranks among vegetarian cheeses and is made from goat’s milk. This small, delightful cheese has a fresh, citrus flavour with a tantalizing suggestion of tarragon. There are several varieties of the cheese, with mixed herbs, cracked black peppercorns, and garlic and chives. It is a table cheese suitable for snacks, grilling, spreading or in salads.

  I honestly am trying not to go for the obvious, vaguely-bawdy interpretation of everything, but this TRULY sounds like “Pant’s gone” to me. A “small, delightful cheese” to enjoy without one’s trousers? Ideal for “Pants-Free Wednesday,” perhaps.

• Quark: Traditional, creamery, vegetarian, fresh cheese made from cow’s milk. It is moist, white cheese sold in pots. It has a light taste and a smooth and soft texture. Quark simply means “curd” in German and the cheese is said to date from the Iron Age. Quark can be made from whole, skimmed or semi-skimmed milk or even buttermilk. Soft and moist, like a cross between yogurt and fromage frais, it should taste lemon-fresh. Some versions have skimmed milk powder added and can be rather gritty. This cheese ripens within a few days.

  So “quark” means “curd” auf Deutsch. I thought the astro-nuclear-physicists, or whoever makes up the super-scientific sub-atomic particle names, did, indeed, INVENT the term “Quark.” But, NO, they stole the name from a German cheese or the curd, thereof.

• Stinking Bishop: Stinking Bishop is a vegetarian cheese that comes from England, Gloucestershire. This cheese was created by Charles Martell. It is similar to Munster and is washed and rubbed with perry, an alcoholic drink made with a local variety of pear called “Stinking Bishop”. It has a meaty flavour and the fat content is 48%. The affinage takes from six to eight weeks.

  I contend that “Stinking Bishop” should be the “fromage de choix” for any self-respecting romantic assignation. (“Darling – please peel me a grape and feed me some of that delectable Stinking Bishop…”) It would be MUCH too obvious a choice to bring to any sort of church event.

• Xanadu: Old Greek cheese known from then ancient times became quite popular among southern workers in the end of 19th century. Made of feta and kasseri combining the whey of mizithra to create perfect blend. Due to its transient properties this cheese was served only aged beyond 14 months and only in semi-circular molds often dubbed geometric half-moons. Unfortunately this cheese did not catch on in the states. Heavily used by the Union to feed its troops during the Civil War Union troops quickly grew tired of the staple. After defeating the South in this epic battle Union troops forbade the consumption of xanadu cheese in the conquered south. Its production immediately declined and fell out of existence. Only recent discoveries have revealed the recipe used for this concoction. Trendy coffee shops in upstate New York have started a fad of serving xanadu cheese with special Bavarian coffees.

  I really don’t know quite what to say about this one. It would be much funnier without the somewhat depressing Civil War connection. Nontheless, if Xanadu is a cheese, and Xanadu is one of the cheesiest movies ever, where does that leave the trendy coffee shops in upstate New York? Note: I have never actually seen Xanadu in its entirety, but I had a roommate (a dear friend – even afterwards) who listened non-stop to the Xanadu soundtrack and Barry Manilow albums.

I have guilt. OOOHHHHH the guilt. But let’s limit this to my turophiliac guilt. I admit, since this IS Kate’s world of fromage, I’ve been highly remiss in the proportion of cheese entries to other entries (which may, indeed, be cheesy, but have not been about cheese often enough – an important distinction to make).

I am also wistful. Let us definitely restrict the wistfulness discussion to the Käse. I am wistful about the mélange of cheeses that make this world a fantastically colorful place – replete with savory odours, textures and flavours (gotta have that “u” or it just doesn’t do justice to smell or taste). I’ve had neither the time nor the means to access any marvelous cheese, lately, and I must reflect, every so often, on the fond memories of some of the favorite cheeses of my life: Fromage d’Affinois, blueberry Stilton, Gorgonzola, sage Derby, good Feta, Babybel, REAL mozzarella, Pecorino, Parmigiano, nice Chèvre – I could go on forever – Gruyére and Emmental in fondue (maybe with some Jarlsberg – or was it Appenzeller?), good ol’ Havarti. I don’t even remember the names of some of the best; a gift carried to me from San Francisco was almost unsurpassed – one of the cheeses had a big ol’ herby leaf right on the rind (festive AND tasty) and the other was very STRONG-smelling stuff (ash-covered, perhaps?)- both were to die for. Some friends, on different occasions, gave me some wickedly delicious Irish cheese, some lovely Italian cheese I hadn’t experienced before, and something else with a hint of cinnamon, (and truffles?) too. Those are helpful shopping tips, aren’t they? “If you have any of that cheese that has the big ol’ herby leaf right on the rind I’d like one half pound, please.” And to ask for “something strong-smelling” would be a little vague in a fromagerie. Be careful. You don’t want to end up in a “Cheese Shop“-type madcap adenture. Sorry.

If, by chance, you fancy some actual cheese information, as opposed to the incoherent recollections of a negligent (yet still UNABASHED) turophile, here’s a site that’s truly educational: CheeseNet. It has a World Cheese Index (pretty basic cheeses, but nicely descriptive), Cheese Literature (I’m going to have to get some more cheese poetry), and “Ask Dr. Cheese!” (he could have done a MUCH better job talking about fondue, but “Dr. Cheese” is, I admit, a pretty cool moniker).

Ah – and FYI, the “Cheese of the Day” for Friday, April 22, 2005, is:

Montasio

I do have one imperative point to make. You must never, EVER forget the notable French proverb:

S’il qui mange du fromage, si’l ne le fait, il enrage.*

*He who does not eat cheese will go mad.

Usually, a “Fact of the Day” text message will merely cause me to remark, “Hmm,” or “That’s interesting,” or “That’s too stupid to even qualify as a FACT,” or “HOW MANY TIMES AM I GOING TO RECEIVE THE SAME MUSHROOM-COLLECTING TIP!” But one day last week I actually received a “Fact of the Day” message that left me exclaiming, “And then what????” It is the very first cliffhanger “Fact” I’ve received. Here ’tis:

An old folk custom for selecting a husband from several suitors involved taking onions and writing each suitor’s name individually on each.

And then? AND?? Why ONIONS???? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THE ONIONS????? I do not like this. I know that my cellular phone provider is not going to resolve this question. I PAY for these “facts,” and don’t think that I should have to spend my valuable time (I know, I know, but please don’t crush my little fantasy world) Googling and doing other very scientific research to find the answer. Not going to do it. I think I shall just open this up to the vast knowledge out there in cyberspace and have my readers contribute possible solutions (I know that puts quite a bit of pressure on the three or four of you, but, after all, you are a bunch of smarty pants).

While you ponder the abovementioned query, perhaps you might also consider these great mysteries:

• Why, when I emptied its pockets to launder my jeans jacket did I find a little pile of Canadian money? I should tell you that I’ve never TAKEN that jacket to Canada; in fact, I don’t think I owned it the last time I went to Canada. Besides, since it was February of last year I wouldn’t have considered wearing something not made of wool or down or a super-scientific high-tech fabric of considerable warmth. In other words, IT WAS VERY, VERY COLD.
• Why do spiders get in my bed????? That violates the arachnid code of any abode in which I choose to reside. My bedroom is sanctified, NON-SPIDERY space. And it’s one thing if they try to hide in laundry that I’ve left on the floor for a long time or in a far corner on the ceiling; this is an infringement of the rules, but NOT the egregious and unforgivable infraction aforementioned. Getting in the bed is conceited FLOUTING of the arachnid code. I am not a violent person, but such a violation results in an immediate death sentence. And the very suspiciously-poisonous looking specimen hanging from the canopy right above my head last night – the freakin’ HUGE specimen, I might add – didn’t even get the swift and merciful squishing that a less smug, brash relative might have. I shook it into a plastic bag (eeeeeew), made sure the top of the bag was secure, shook the bag very thoroughly so the little beast would stay at the bottom (yuck!), sang the spider song – which is gloomy yet poignant- (always sung in a minor key: “Spider, Spider, Everywhere a Spider” and so on), and then I dumped it into the commode (recoiling shiver!!!), cursed it and FLUSHED IT TO THE SEWER UNDERWORLD (which I figure is not unlike the mythical river Styx, “The River of Hate!!!!!!” or one those other rivers around Hades). HAH! You’d think this would teach spiders to stay in NATURE like they just SHOULD!
• Why am I just a little tiddly bit arachnophobic? Spiders are supposed to eat the flies and mosquitoes, but spiders or no spiders, I don’t think there would be much of a fly or mosquito problem IN MY BED. And spiders are filthy!!! Spider bites are notoriously, hideously dirty and easily infected. That’s just…ookey. And if you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you the story of the woman in my sister’s neighborhood who thought that the spider bite was no big deal and treated it herself with some sort of poultice. By the time she realized it really WAS a big deal she had gangrene and had to have her leg amputated. And then she DIED anyway. That is a true story.

Never mind that last one; I believe I have answered my OWN question.