Open Writing

Of the dazzling array of foodstuffs known to man throughout the globe, from the exotic and fragile guma guma fruit of Madagascar to the rugged roadside rutabaga, no comestible anywhere offers homo sapiens a greater variety of colors, smells, tastes, and textures than does the humble cheese - citizen, if ever there was one, of the world. Nor, few would argue, does the viand exist that permits a broader range of delectable serving possibilities, cunning seductive strategies, and/or companion dishes.

Soft or hard, white, yellow, pumpkin, or blue, cheese comes as close as any victual imaginable to being THE universal food, consumed almost everywhere in some form, readily metamorphosed from its generally abundant dairy source, and routinely achieving a quality touted by aficionados as perfection itself. Indeed, to borrow a phrase from the late Father Flannigan, there seems to be no such thing as a bad cheese. Small wonder, then, that the exquisite spongy curd is taken so much for granted by most of us.

The common dairy cow undoubtedly comes first to mind when most Americans droolingly contemplate the origin of their cheese of choice; and it is unquestionably true that a disproportionate number of American and European favorites are lovingly coaxed from the frothy harvest of your basic, garden-variety bovine (with goats running a not-so-close second).

But cheese is made available by other mammals as well, some of which may surprise even acknowledged connoisseurs (generally defined for our purposes as those occasional persons who can, with referencing, extemporize on why it is that a portion of the whey is always retained in the curd).

This select group of suitable lactiferous creatures includes camels, sheep, reindeer and elk, water buffalos, mares, llamas, and yaks. (As to the latter, the heady nectar of an extremely stout Himalayan breed popularly known as the Wide-Track Yak is reputed to be especially toothsome).

For those societies whose environments are simply too harsh for the domestication of conventional herds, other pathways to cheese have evolved, merely enhancing the popular perception that cheese is indeed the universal food. Where it is not routinely available, man, it would seem, goes about the business of making it available.

The Eskimos, for example, have long had the wonderfully delectable Muk Muk as a staple second only to blubber in their daily diet - which, some claim, accounts for the fact that dentures and braces are virtually unknown among the various Eskimo tribes (as, for that matter, are dentists).

A soft ambrosial confection spawned from the rich and pungent broth of lactating walrus females, Muk Muk has been consumed throughout the northern climes for at least two thousand years, although only in modern times has its existence been known to outsiders. Indeed, public demand for the zesty walrus cheese has become so widespread in recent years that Fedora's Snow Pit, the four-star Arctic beanery famous for its faux New York Strips (in actuality, cleverly tint-marinated, pounded blubber steaks), now features fresh Muk Muk right up there with Minced Yukon Caribou, Albatross Puddin' Pie, and Tern Liver Stew ("Leave no Tern unstoned," local hunters are urged) among its esteemed Nuggets of the Day.

The origins and unusual names of even common cheeses frequently are shrouded in mystery, not unlike some in the elite, rarified world of fine wines. Indeed, also like many international wines, the recipes and methods of producing certain cheeses have been kept under lock and key for centuries. With the advent of advanced research techniques and instant worldwide communication, however, certain long-standing myths are gradually being displaced by fact (frequently losing considerable zest in the process).

But first, according to a fascinating finding by renowned Icelandic astromomer Jorgen Ansionson, "Other than Earth, there is NO evidence - not in the entire universe! - of the existence of cheese!" He continues: "While it true that two of Twiton's moons just happen to be named Brie and Gouda, the matter is nothing more or less than highly, highly coincidental." When asked about New Zealand's Dr. Smyth-Cliff's claim of the possible existence of Tofu particles in the constellation Cygnuximus, Ansionson replied simply, "Tofu, perhaps ... cheese, not a chance!"

Concerning the names of Earth cheeses, however, Gorgonzola is a much-bandied case in point.

Legend notwithstanding, the fact is that there never was a huge monster by this name; and certainly not one whose uncontrollable digging habits turned a once-flat coniferous plain into what today is Italy's scenic Po Valley. (Godzilla, some will recall, was based on this absurd fable).

There also is a certain irony to feta cheese being the unchallenged favorite of Greeks everywhere. Many purists believe that its minimum aging time of only four days hardly befits the classical heritage passed on to humanity by the splendor that was Ancient Greece. Greeks, of course, call it nit-picking, pointing out that certain Italian red wines, for example, are rendered drinkable after only four hours! Indeed, a few Greeks add that Italy itself, "took a helluva lot longer than ancient Greece to get its friggin' act together!" The conflict, of course, continues between leaders of the two sun-blazoned nations.

The most supreme example of misinformation, of course, has always concerned swiss cheese (always with a small "s"), which quite simply is not a product of Switzerland at all.

In fact, its original name was Swish Cheese, born as the result of the exotic acoustical effect generated by the "swishing" of wind through the cheese's numerous multi-sized holes as it swung from the rafters of mud huts on the outskirts of Chengdu, China, where it is believed to have originated.

Although history is sketchy at best, we do know that the Chinese, among whom bells, wind chimes, and sundry gongs are considered heirlooms, were the first civilization anywhere to actually drill holes in their cheeses, undoubtedly seeking the pleasurable swishing sound they eventually managed to achieve with such soothing results. (A questionable Cantonese report claims that Chinese jewelers also found the holes helpful in sizing rings for soon-to-be Chinese brides. This, however, despite its fanciful folk status, is completely unsubstantiated).

In any event, it was thus that Swish Cheese was born, with the variation as we know it today apparently resulting from a linguistic peculiarity that rendered the population of central China unable to pronounce the tricky "sh" sound of western tongues.

Space limitations unfortunately preclude further examination of cheese revelations at this time. Serious students, however, are directed to the author's new cinematic piece, CHEESE: THE MOVIE, which chronicles among its startling revelations the bizarre, truly shocking lineages of Liederkranz and Burchteschnabel.