Friday, December 25, 2015


Got home from Marin at eleven thirty. There are times when I enjoy Marin County. And obviously I also enjoy being able to smoke at work. Which is in Marin County. But today was unusual in one key regard: delicious food. Normally I do not associate Marin with food that is more than just edible.
The food to which I am exposed four days a week (in Marin) is fuel.
Decently edible, but hardly thrilling (!understatement!).
The only truly unspeakable food-item in Marin was from a gas-station convenience store three years ago. I can still vividly remember the strange meat-like sliced spackle and velveety square, as well as the peculiar substance standing in for bread.
Three years ago. What WAS that spackle?

The good news is that the stinky cheese was packed well enough that the boss never once wondered what had died in the office. It was bought on Wednesday, and when I came home I dumped that bag on my bed with the wine before heading out again to purchase bumwad at Walgreens. One does not want to head into the weekend without enough bumwad for two people. This is especially true when the person whose task it is to ensure a sufficiency of bumwad is  A)  working in Marin, except on his days off, and  B)  it might rain any day.
Both 'no bumwad' and 'soggy bumwad' are equally depressing.

When I came home with my papery purchases, the apartment and my bed smelled foetid. So I bunged it into the refrigerator. Which, at seven A.M. on Christmas Eve morning, had acquired a completely unique good lord what is that reek personality.
I packed it into another plastic bag before rushing out the door.

It wafted a ripeness on the way over, which was more noticeable after work, despite my having been around cigar smokers all day.
It had made progress in those few hours.

And was warmly received at the dinner party when it arrived.
A cheese capable of making new friends.
It had social polish.

The bad news is a resurgence of gout. Due to seafood (crabs and clams). And possibly too much cheese. But it was worth it.


Met a small dog whom I had not seen there before. Intelligent and likable, but single-mindedly obsessing about the smells of food being prepared, as well as the wonderful odour of the "fromage perfide", barely out of reach.
He was too well-behaved to jump on the coffee table while humans were about, so we made sure to remove all the cheeses when dinner started.
I am sure he felt horribly cheated when he discovered that.
He had an air of sour grapes when I saw him next.
Especially as he could still smell it.

That cheese defined malolience.
It was richly puzzolent.

I hope that his Christmas day will be abundantly cheesy.

And everyone else's too.

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1 comment:

gastrnomically amphibious said...

It was equally foetid, and delicious, on Christmas night.

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