THE CHEESE AND THE FURY
by Tanya Grace Reyes

The water had not yet begun to boil. Gouda MacLaren eyed the ochre tea kettle warily and took down his favorite Elvis mug with shaking hands. Siting at his rusty t.v. tray, he wondered how many nights of his life were going to be like this; desperate, fearful, waiting. A glance at the clock told him that tonight would be no different, and he swiveled the faithful mug around on the surface of the old Monet print which decorated his tray.

Gouda was not an ugly man, in fact, he was quite handsome in his own little Glaswegian way. However, after the day was done, when all the city moved towards homes and into arms and nearer goals and dreams, Gouda shuffled miserably to his cold water flat and spent his nights brewing kettle after kettle of tea, and waiting for something to happen. He was not hoping for anything in particular; the lottery, say, or a luminous-eyed, large breasted lover, but just something that would make him feel he had begun to live.

The kettle was whistling now, and Gouda rose, almost as if the last of his will were directed into that movement, he rose wearily to interrupt its song.

He almost didn't hear the telephone, so absorbed was he in his tea mission. In mid stride towards the stove, he swiveled without hesitation and picked up the phone, as though he had been practicing for this moment for ever.

"Hello?" ventured Gouda.

"Why Gouda," a husky feminine voice responded, "you sound as if you could use some cheese."

"Pardon?"

"My little Gouda, my own true one....yes, some ricotta would be de-lic-i-oous! MMMMMMmmmmm. Or perhaps your tastes run wild, perhaps you would like some Lllimburrrr-ger" the voice purred convincingly.

"Yes!" cried Gouda, knowing he did not know at all what he was saying, "Yes! Cheese! That would be swell ma'am! Please, tell me more!"

"Well, Gouda, what would you like me to tell you? Would you like me to say that I've never known such a cheesey big man in my whole life? That your cheese is the best?", The voice was becoming exponentially more sexy.

Gouda hardly knew what to say. He was overwhelmed with feelings he had never known, and little patterns began to appear before his eyes, he felt faint, he grasped the edge of a nearby bookshelf.

"Gouda? Are you there?"

"Yes,..." he whispered huskily.

"Gouda, I have to leave you now.."

"No!!!" he burst out desperately.

"I'm afraid I must," she breathed softly, "but I want you to remember what I say."

"Yes, anything......" his blood was feverously shooting through his veins, a small snake of perspiration moved towards the small of his back. He felt on the verge of something, almost to a zenith of a foreign mountain, he knew not where he was or even his name. He simply knew the voice, the cheese, it was all to him now.

"Muenster...." she said quietly.

"Oh, that's right..." he murmured.

"Prrrrr-ovolone" she said it with a faint accent, memories of a Tuscan hillside flashed through his mind, though he'd never been, his brain was reeling, intoxicated.

"and......."

"What?" Gouda asked miserably ecstatic.

"and....."

"Oh God, say it!" he screamed.

"MMMMMMMMOZZERRELLA....." no sooner had she finished than the line went dead.

Gouda realized he was on the cold linoleum floor and boiling water was shooting all over the kitchen, burning his body, even as the screeching kettle and insidious dial tone burnt his ears. He lay there for a while. Then he stood up and smashed the Elvis mug. On his way out, he stopped to dab on some Ralph Lauren.


THE DALAI LAMA EATS YAK CHEESE
by Jack Monterey

Samuel said, "Here's some cheese." He pulled a bag out of the cheese drawer in the fridge, tossed it onto the counter and said, "Slice it up."

I scrutinized several unevenly sized and shaped hunks of cheese while Samuel began toasting English muffins. We had gone to a party at a guy named Vic's girlfriend's house. I had met Vic a couple times before, Samuel considered him a friend. It was one thirty in the morning and we knew a cheese snack would settle our stomachs before bed. We had spent most of the party in separate rooms and were rehashing the evening.

Suddenly, Samuel said, "I got some weird vibes tonight.

I said, "Yeah I had a negative experience there."

Samuel said, "Really?", worrying that I hadn't had a good time.

I said, "What's up with this cheese?", noticing what appeared to be white and green mold on the yellow cheese.

Samuel said, "Oh it's supposed to be like that. It's Huntsman, a layered cheese with sharp and blue cheese."

I looked closer and realized that he was right. As usual, Samuel's comprehensive knowledge of cheese had a calming effect on me. I told him what happened as I sliced the cheese.

"About ten thirty, I was sitting on the couch and I started fading. All the accumulated sleep deprivation caught up to me. Getting up at four thirty in the morning every day this week. I felt like I was levitating when I stood still and hallucinating when I rubbed my eyes. The room was full of people and noise, but I was nodding off. I went outside and stood on the porch. I closed my eyes and took several deep, measured breaths of cold air, something I saw Tibetans do when they were tired or losing focus. I found it helpful on the longest days of my trek. Anyway, Nemo was there on the porch with his girlfriend. You know who I mean?"

"Omen backwards."

"What?"

"Omen backwards." Samuel said again. "That's what I said when he introduced himself. 'Nemo is omen backwards.' Don't make the slices so thick, they won't melt before the muffins burn."

"So many ways to cut the cheese." I snickered. "As many ways as there are people."

Samuel's normally dry sense of humor became Mojave-like when discussing cheese.

"I think Nemo has heard that 'omen' remark a few thousand times too many in his life." Samuel said, completely ignoring the sophomoric humor of my remark and redirecting the discussion to his favor.

"Oh yeah," I went on, "So anyway, Nemo suddenly turns toward me and says, 'I gotta tell you, man, you're bothering me right now.' I said, 'What?' I was so sleepy I thought I must have misunderstood. He said, 'You're too close and behind me.' It was a small porch, but his touchiness seemed uncalled for. I put my hands up, shrugged him off, and walked away. I leaned up against a tree, still not awake. Nemo came over and apologized. I appreciated that, but it was like he didn't mean it. Like he was defensive, justifying his behavior. Do these slices look better?"

Samuel nodded his approval.

I continued, "I tried to tell him about my half-way theory. In Thailand, I would swim every day in the ocean, straight out from shore and back. I always wanted to return to the beach perfectly tired, but not exhausted. Every swim I had to make a decision, is this the half-way point? Is this? And so on. It was always a bit of a gamble. I tried to explain this, but I was so sleepy, all I could say was, 'I've passed the half-way point.'"

"Wait a minute," Samuel interrupted, "were you wearing a tweed coat tonight?"

I said, "Yeah."

"Did anyone do this to you?" Samuel asked excitedly as he brushed my ribs with the back of his hand.

I was bewildered, Nemo had done this very thing as we stood by ourselves near the street.

I said, "Nemo patted my coat on my left side here. He said, 'I don't think...(pat pat)...well maybe you are.' Then he walked away without any explanation. I kept thinking he felt guilty for his behavior and I wondered about his spirituality, his upbringing. Why he would feel guilt, and why would he react so strangely to his guilt."

"He thought you were a cop." Samuel stated, matter-of-factly. The toaster oven dinged. Samuel spread spaghetti sauce on the English muffins and put the "perfect" cheese slices on top. He said, "This light stuff is Gouda and this is goat cheese." He put everything back in the toaster oven and turned on the broiler.

I said, "You think he was checking me for a gun? I could never be a cop. That job is so much about confrontation, anger, dominance. Things I walk away from and come back to later when they cool down. Maybe he felt my wallet. My wallet is kind of heavy. I've got a stone in there my father brought back from Venezuela and a knotted string blessed by the Dalai Lama. Did you know Tibetans eat yak cheese?"

"Yak cheese." He said, "Does the Dalai Lama eat Yak cheese?"

In the seven years of our friendship, Samuel had never asked me a question about cheese. I said, "He must."

"Hmm...," Samuel muttered, "When I was down in the basement Nemo came down, approached Vic, and they began speaking rather intently, I thought, under the circumstances. I wasn't paying that close of attention, but I saw Nemo pat Vic's chest and I heard the word 'heat' and "the guy in the tweed coat". It was the second time I had seen Vic and Nemo speak and both times what struck me was that I had never seen Vic appear so serious. Is the cheese melted yet?"

"Not yet," I assured him.

"I began concocting this elaborate scenario, that Vic and Nemo were supposed to do a drug deal, and that Nemo was becoming paranoid that a cop was there. I remember thinking 'Who is wearing a tweed coat upstairs? Who could this guy Nemo think is carrying a gun?' If I had had any idea that they were referring to you, I think I would have burst out laughing on the spot."

I said, "There was this time earlier by the stereo we had another run in. I was putting discs in the CD player. Nemo came over and said, 'No more of that top forty. Play some of this.' He held out the Earth, Wind and Fire. I said, 'I already put it in there.' Then he picked up the Abba and said, 'Play this next. Winner Takes All is a great song.' I said, 'Dancing Queen is better.' He said, 'Winner Takes All.' I said, 'Dancing Queen.'"

"Maybe 'Winner Takes All' is drug world code for 'I'm cool.' or maybe a lot of undercover cops like 'Dancing Queen.' Better take those out before the cheese burns."

I turned to see the cheese bubbling on top of the spaghetti sauce-covered English muffins. Samuel detests the smell of burning cheese, and I know he would not eat if the cheese was burned even a little bit. His relationship with cheese seems very complicated. I removed the muffins from the toaster oven and put them on the plates Samuel was holding.

I said, "I heard Nemo talking about his job. He said he made 'deliveries'. I was thinking UPS or something, but he wouldn't say, like it was some secret. Vic asked him if there was a lot of lifting like forty or fifty pounds and Nemo said, 'No, just like three or four pounds.' Now I think for sure he was a drug dealer. It all adds up." "It all adds up." Samuel repeated.

We took our cheese pizza muffins out to the living room and started eating. It was really good. Samuel said, "We'll have to send this recipe to CheeseNet." I nodded. We ate in assured silence.

A couple of weeks later, we ordered a real pizza to be delivered. When I opened the door it was Nemo. Pizzas were the kind of deliveries he made and he was actually a little embarrassed about it. Turns out he was held up at gun point on a delivery run and was sort of paranoid after that. I think Samuel felt bad that we had suspected Nemo and Vic of being drug dealers. First, he gave Nemo a ten dollar tip. Then, when we opened up the box, and saw that the cheese was burnt crispy black, Samuel ate four slices without saying a word.


CHEESE GRATING TIME
by James Hazzard

Sometimes when my friends and I are sitting around, you know just hanging out, and we're watching a movie and it starts to get really sentimental, like we are supposed to cry or feel deep emotions, someone will say "grate the cheese" or "cheese grating time".

It's really funny.


A CHEESE STORY
by KZIG001

I recently was on a cruise with 5 of my friends, most of which I have never spent quality time. Sit down dinner was a ritual we participated in every night.

Every night at dinner there was "assorted cheeses" plate on the menu between the main course and dessert. I thought this was strange, however I am sure this is a custom somewhere. It was even stranger when Bob ordered it on our first night.

When the plate of cheese arrived we all stared at Bob while he picked up a slice of cheese, ripped open the Zestas and went to town. He was making noises I'm sure only his wife had heard before. I have never seen anyone get off on cheese. Needless to say, we all started digging into the cheese (most of us skipped the Zestas) and while our reactions weren't quite as intense as Bob's, that plate of cheese considerably raised the enjoyment level of our dinner gathering.

Each night we ordered the "assorted cheeses" plate. We were sure we were the only table on the entire ship that did the cheese thing. We finally realized this on day 5, when they threw huge chunks of parmesan on a plate. Obviously, they never planned for anyone to actually order the "assorted cheeses" plate. All the other food served looked so prepared. The cheese plate always looked so leftover-like, especially this night. The chunks were almost as big as a fist. We couldn't cut them with the sharpest objects on our table. However, we had gotten so into the cheese thing, there was no stopping us. Like cavemen we attempted to eat these chunks, taking bites of the blocks and putting them back on the plate for the next person's choppers...and all those bad cut the cheese jokes...

By day 7 (the last dinner), our cheese leader surprised us all. He asked our waiter to bring the "assorted cheeses" plate with his dessert, instead of before. (His dessert order was apple pie a la mode. The dinner theme was American night.) He never took into consideration that his 5 travel companions had now incorporated "assorted cheeses" plate as a course in the meal. Noone, however, said anything. When dessert arrived, Bob took the cheese slices (they gave up trying to discourage our cheese order and started slicing the cheese for us again), pulled up the crust of his pie and placed the cheese inside of it. Then he ate his pie. Then he made those noises again from day 1. He finished the pie and the entire cheese plate. Although the rest of us were denied our cheese, we were all strangely as satified and lifted as we were when we had our cheese and ate it too.

Since then I have not had a cheese plate (it's a weight-gaining fear thing), although I now have a whole new respect and love for cheese. Also, I will never be at a loss for a gift for Bob. Putting the simply, cheese is fun.