The Big Cheese

For years I showed up at parties with my famous artichoke dip.

But then I learned that cheese boards were all the rage, and thought, well, that sounds fun and easy!

(Spoiler Alert: It’s not. The cheese circuit is cutthroat. And I mean that literally. Show up with an overcooked Brie, and these women will cut you with a cheese spreader.)

A few years back I arrived at the neighborhood Christmas party with my first cheese plate, which consisted of cheddar cubes, salami slices, and Ritz crackers.

“A Lunchable… how nice,” Chelsea, my neighbor and Soon-To-Be-Cheese-Rival, said, wiping Ritz dust from my shoulder.

This was followed by several of the women gasping in horror, “She cut her cheese in cubes!”

My cheese plate Lunchable was given to the dog.

Chelsea then unveiled her masterpiece: A charcuterie board filled with TRIANGULAR cheeses, fancy meats, assorted nuts, fresh figs and sesame crackers.

I vowed then and there that I would learn all about charcuterie.

Also, how to pronounce it.

The following year, I brought a spread of trendy cheese, prosciutto, and socially acceptable crackers.

“Manchego! Asiago! Gouda!” I introduced my star-studded cheese lineup.

The room went deathly quiet.

“Asiago without Lemon Curd?” Chelsea pointed a cheese spreader at me. “Do you even know about jam pairings?”

Those were fighting words.

“And where’s the Havarti?” someone asked. “It’s not a party without Havarti.”

I smacked myself with my own Gouda. 

The time had come to step up my cheese game.

Entering the 2019 party, I presented an assortment of well-aged cheeses with perfectly paired jams, surrounded by the finest accoutrements.

Oohs and aahs reverberated throughout the room.

I was in mid-bow when I realized the accolades weren’t for me.

Chelsea had taken cheese to the next level. 

Literally.

She had constructed a Charcuterie Chateau, which included a prosciutto-wrapped chimney, olive-lined roof, and Parmesan snowflakes descending from above.

Was Chelsea pumping Parmesan through her vents?

 Son of a bi***!

“Yours is nice too.” Chelsea smiled at my one-dimensional display. 

There is no shaming like cheese shaming.

But…

If she can make a cabin, I will build a village.

I had no choice but to borrow on our (non-cheese) house to pay for a multi-cheese complex.

Was I supposed to just let Chelsea out-cheese me yet again?

Exactly!

That year, I strutted into the party with a masterpiece.

“Ta-dah!” I announced, unveiling my Village de Fromage.

Eyes rolled.

Does no one say ta-dah anymore?

The women were too busy chanting, “10-9-8…” as a Charcuterie New Year’s Eve ball dropped from the ceiling.

“Ta-dah!” Chelsea called.

Everyone applauded her aeronautical ball of cheese.

I stood deflated, like overcooked Brie.

But if you think I gave up, you’re crazy.

Chelsea, that evil cheese genius, only made me stronger, and this past year, I did it!

My kids weren’t happy about it, but when they stood in the middle of that party, covered head to toe in an assortment of the finest meats and cheeses, attached by toothpicks, the crowd went wild.

My oldest daughter, Quincey, whined about being “lactose intolerant,” but that pimento in her mouth shushed her right up. 

Same with Parker, when she complained about the toothpicks.

Had these kids never heard of acupuncture?

The guests gushed as they nibbled well-aged gouda off my children’s limbs.

Chelsea cursed herself for not having kids and began slathering her Labradoodle in Gorgonzola.

I exchanged looks with the other women, and I know we were all thinking the same thing.

Too far, Chelsea, too far.