A confession: I love cheese. I’m almost Dutch that way – it’s not really a meal unless there’s a cheese product involved. I am happiest standing at the kitchen counter dipping pretzel sticks into flavored cream cheese. In fact, that’s what I had for lunch the other day. I think about most food (outside of cookies) in terms of whether or not it can be considered a cheese-bearing vehicle.
I give you this information so that you’ll understand the magnitude of the bargain I made with my mother (from whom I learned my love of du fromage ). I’d been telling her that she should cut down on cheese because I’ve heard that cheese and dairy can contribute to inflammation and she’s got wicked arthritis, and because she’s been trying to lose weight. So damned if she didn’t call me on my challenge and say, basically, that she’d go cheese-free if I would.
Okay, it’s not quite Sophie’s choice, but still: love of cheese or love of mother?
Mom won. I tossed out the remains of the cream cheese this morning; my lunch was salsa and ham and Wasa (a combination that would’ve been vastly improved with a slab o’cheddar); I can’t even think about dinner.
I told the boys this morning about the bargain I’d made with grandma about going cheese-less and asked them who they thought would crack first. Without missing a beat, they both said “you, Mommy, no way you’re going to make it.” Lovely, their faith in me, isn’t it?
So. An entire month without cheese. We’ll see.
I can always take solace in yogurt, I guess. I agreed to cut out cheese, not dairy, after all. I mean, I love my mom, but I’m not crazy.