Cheese Whore, That's Me!

It's official. I am a cheese whore and proud of it.

My friend Susan and I became best friends one night when we were going to go out to dinner. It was a little past the normal dinner hour and we hadn't really picked a place to go. We met at Common Grounds (a coffee spot in the Highlands). A nice folksy hip part of Denver. A plethora of nice little intimate restaurants and boutique stores jammed into a two block radius around 32nd and Lowell.

"Where do you want to go? What are you in the mood for?" she queried. "I don't know but I'd like to try someplace I've never been...but I'm not really that hungry. I would like to visit with you, someplace where we can hear each other, maybe have some cheese and wine. That would be good. ", I rattled.

A smile filled her face. She chuckled, "Have you ever been to St. Kilians?" "No, what's that?, I reply. "Come with me.", she beckoned.

We cross the street to a little place that from the outside looks like a pub. As we enter, we are greeted warmly by a grey headed man in his 40s. "How can I help you", he asks. I am mesmerized. Cheese, glorious cheese fills the glass fronted display. Creamy triple cream from France, a hard pale yellow with brown rind Manchego from Spain, veiny blue cheese from Portugal, a short wide round of brie from France, a firm tangy Cachel Blue from Ireland, a creamy round log of white bliss goat cheese from Greece, and at least another two dozen I'd never seen or heard of before.

In that moment, I was in heaven. Heaven on earth. Pavlov's dogs had nothing on me, as I began to drool. Susan giggled and a love affair began. It was safe to admit that I was content with some good bread and some cheese for dinner. Like kids in a candy shop we each chose one we knew we liked already and then we each chose one neither one of us had tried before.

Ah, a fellow cheese whore. Nirvana. Susan asks for her card. Seems as though serious cheese aficionados keep track of the cheeses they've purchased in the past. We cradled our purchases and thought of where we could go to get good bread. The Denver Bread Company was close but alas it was late. "I have some good bread and wine at home." Susan offered. "I'm in", I exclaimed.

We spread out our bounty on her wooden cutting board, chunks of thick hearty bread, a juicy sliced pear, and some walnuts. A bottle of wine, comfy chairs and food of the Gods. Three hours later we emerged from our stupor. Conversation flowed freely and time disappeared.

A pact was formed. Someone who loved cheese as much as I. A tradition was born that night that serves us even now. When the time comes for indulging -- there's nothing better than picking out two or three cheeses, grabbing a loaf of bread, and calling your friend.

"Hey, I've got some gooooood cheese. Sure hope you are available cause I could use some help eating it. I'm coming over. You better call me and let me know if it's not a good time cause otherwise I'll be there in five." When you get there they're on the porch with the wine ready and let you know that you have perfect timing.

You know you are a cheese whore when, you want to smear Cambozola all over your body and have your husband taste you.

Yup, I'm a cheese whore.