Another wonderful weekend, despite itself.
The new washing machine is making me happy. It’s quiet, efficient, tidy. All my upgrades of late have been like that.
Mike liked bleu cheese this weekend. No, really, this is a major achievement. As with quite a few people I’ve known, Mike has been adamant about hating the stuff. But like a parent in denial over her child’s sexual or political orientation, I held onto a desperate, delirious hope that he could change.
And I had no part in it! Mike did it to himself when he ordered a salad with a giant chunk of Maytag bleu on top of it. He stared at it for a moment and then looked at me.
“I’ll eat it –” I started to say, reaching out with my fork to remove it from his plate.
“No.” He cut off a piece. “It’s mine.”
I gasped, clutching my fork to my chest and holding my breath.
The cheese went in his mouth. It was not immediately spat out. I waited. His expression shifted.
“Oh,” he said.
“Yes?”
“I bet that one I had as a kid was just really bad.” He took another bite. “This is really good, especially with the salad.”
Words cannot express my heart’s jubilation.
Note to bleu cheese haters: if you are presented with such a marvelous chunk as Mike was, be aware that it is probably more delicious than the chemically injected abomination you got at some luncheon line in some godforsaken cafeteria. By all means, give it a go.
I need no convincing, myself. I’ll even eat the chemical abomination if you wave it in front of me fast enough. But that’s not necessary, for I have some tender slices of Rogue creamery in my fridge that I’m going to gently spring on him at dinner Wednesday.
I can now sleep, knowing I have made note of this somewhere.
7 responses so far ↓
Is he a picky eater in general, or only with specifics like bleu cheese?
Scott was always a picky eater in general, and I always feel a thrill of triumph whenever I convince him to try something he previously stated he would never eat. So far, only olives remain a hated food after a taste. I think I messed that one up myself by insisting he try a kalamata olive instead of a more bland, generic black olive from a can.
I love bleu cheese. Bleu cheese loves me so well that it wants to hug and squeeze me, especially in my throat. Hurk!
I have to eat very little of it when I eat it, or my throat closes up. Silly mold.
Maytag bleu cheese can convert almost any blue cheese hater into an accepter.
I’m going to gently introduce Dan to it, too, as he also dislikes blue cheeses.
Muahahahaha!
Kim, he’s not a picky eater, thank goodness. He simply thought bleu cheese sucked.
Oh Gryph, I am so sorry. You have my deepest sympathy.
Tracy — you live in Oregon! Go buy some Rogue already!
Someone buy Steph a map =P
Heh
At least she hit on the correct coast!
And by Oregon I mean Washington!
-_-
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