Word: Turophile

turophile

[too r-uh-fahyl, tyoo r-, tur-]

noun

1. a connoisseur or lover of cheese.

***************************

“What is that?” Victoria asked.

               One hand was pointed at the pan filled with pasta and bright yellow sauce.  She pointed at the wrist, while keeping the rest of the arm close to her body, supported by her other arm, which was wrapped around her body.  Her look spoke of scorn at everything the dish was.

               “Mac and cheese.” Tony answered.  He chose not to respond to the manner in which the question was asked.

               “Mac and cheese, you say?  As in that…base dish macaroni and cheese, am I correct?”  Tony nodded.  “And where, pray tell, is the cheese, exactly?”

               “It’s in the sauce on the pasta.” Tony was more curious why his house guest would ask such an obvious question.

               “You mean to tell me that that yellow…sludge is cheese?” Victoria asked, moving her pointing finger in small circles in the general direction of the still steaming pan.

               “Yup.”

               Victoria scoffed.  “That is not cheese.” She said simply.

               “Yes it is.  Let’s see, sharp cheddar—”

               “Cheddar!” The lanky woman looked like she was about to faint at the very mention of the word.  “Do you mean to poison my child and I?”

               “What?”

               “My apparently not-so-good man, cheddar can hardly be called cheese.  Why, it is as much cheese as a hot dog is a steak.  Oh yes, they contain the same rough base ingredients, and perhaps even some production methods, but one can hardly call a hot dog a steak, now can one?”

               “Uh, no?”

               “Precisely.  And yet you mean to tell me that cheddar is a real cheese?”

               “Well, yeah.”

               “Oh, you poor, misguided soul.” She said, clasping her hand to her heart.  “You have no idea.  The world has claimed another innocent victim.  Next you’ll tell me that you consider, ugh, Velveeta to be cheese.”

               “Eh, more like cheese adjacent, really.  If it helps, there’s none of that stuff in here.”

               “Oh?  Well, I suppose that’s…something then.  Is there any real cheese in that…monstrosity?”

               “Uh, well, there’s cheddar—”

               “I don’t count…that.”

               “Okay.  Well, I’ve also got Monetary and Coby Jack in there.”

               “Ugh, American made cheeses.  It makes me weep that such things are even allowed for public consumption.”

               “Hey now!  You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

               Victoria let out a long, exaggerated sigh as she looked as Tony with a mixture of scorn and pity.  Tony had not been aware that those two could be mixed at all.  And yet, there it was.

               “Oh, you poor, deluded man, you.  You have no idea what real cheese even is, do you?  Let me educate you.  Nothing made in the US can be considered a real cheese—”

               “Cheddar comes from England.”  Tony said with a slight curl of his lips.  Victoria froze with her mouth hanging open.

               “What?”

               “Yeah.  Cheddar originated in England.  Sure, a lot of what we get here comes from Vermont and Wisconsin and stuff, but it definitely started in England.”

               Victoria looked unsure of herself.  “Well now, that just cannot be correct.”

               Tony was already pulling out his phone to show her.  Her eyes scanned the information and widened the more she read.

               “But…but cheddar is a base cheese.  Hardly worth being called cheese at all.” She said, much less certain. 

               “Really?  Because there’ve been cheddar cheeses that win all kinds of awards for fine cheese.  Here, look.”

               Once again, Victoria read with defeat in her eyes.

               “No, no.  This…this can’t be true.  It just…it just can’t.” She said.  It looked like a core part of her being had been forcibly removed.  “I mean, the US made American cheese.  How could they do anything right?”

               “American cheese isn’t the end all be all of what our fine nation produces.”

               Tony collected a plate, a fork, and a large serving spoon.  He plated a fairly small portion of his mac and cheese and placed it at the nearby table.  She stared at the pile of yellow pasta with a mixture of emotions coloring her face.

               “Now, why don’t you have a seat and try some.  If you honestly hate it, then we’ll talk more.  If you like it though, well, maybe the world of cheese is a bit bigger than you think it is.”

***********************
Who doesn't love a good mac and cheese?  I know I do.  

Also, this.  Enjoy!