Wednesday, June 14, 2017

This one is pretty cheesy...

This is me cutting the cheese.
I bought some cheese over the weekend. 11.6 pounds to be specific. It was not the first time and it won't be the last, but it caused a bit of a stir at the check out counter of my current bulk cheese supplier.

My parents always bought provolone cheese in bulk from a place called Washington Importing in Washington, PA. When I moved out on my own, a basket of huge cheeses became a customary Christmas gift. 12 lbs of provolone, 6 lbs of Parmesan and a stick of pepperoni made the first six months of the year very merry.

I think that I must really be grown up now. I have to buy my own cheese. And it annoys me to purchase provolone in little deli counter chunks. It stifles spontaneous pizza making to always wonder whether there's going to be enough shredded provolone.

Leaning Tower of Cheese-a
I found Frankferd Farms a year or so ago. It was about two years too late to save me from the starvation brought on by my LEAP diet. (That really worked by the way, my tummy has not made washing machine sounds in years.) It turns out there is a glorious warehouse filled with gluten-free and soy-free goodies just a short drive from my house.

I read their catalog cover to cover and discovered they have cheese too! Bulk cheese!

Julia and I went on a Saturday morning to get spelt noodles (not gluten-free, but still not bothersome to my sort-of-wheat-sensitive digestive system) and provolone. 

I carried my giant stick of cheese around like a baby until it was time to pass it off to be weighed. The check-out process at Frankferd is pretty old school. Each item has to be located in the computer system and entered on an invoice. It took a few minutes.
Zip locked and ready for the freezer.
"11.6 pounds of provolone," the guy announced. "That's a lot of cheese."
"Yeah, I like cheese," I said.
"I just hope Dad doesn't steal it," Julia added.

Then I thought I should tell the Frankferd guy about how I once dreamed that my husband packed up all the cheese from our freezer and took it on a business trip.

I told him this story so he wouldn't think I was weird. Or that my husband is some sort of cheese thief.

"I can tell your cheese is very important to you," the Frankferd man said.

He was very polite. We exchanged cheesy jokes. I got the impression non-restaurant-owning people don't typically go for the jumbo cheese stick. Or dream about it.

I wondered later if this is some sort of hereditary malfunction. Will Julia some day seek out a purveyor of giant cheeses? Will I give my adult child loads of Christmas cheeses? Have I passed on some rare sort of dairy hoarding trait?

Only time will tell. Until then, I can make as many cheese pizzas as I want. I'm living the dream.