Bonding over perilous cheese experiences

This Thursday past, I had an appointment to go to with my orthopedist, so I left work and went home for a bit of lunch before I went to the purgatory known as a doctor’s waiting room.

I heated up some canned soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich.  Due to a recent ridiculous foray into the cheese area of Whole Foods, I walked away with raw milk, cave-aged Emmenthaler cheese.  It sounded exciting, and for eight bucks for a sizable block, it had better be.

Well, I guess the cave-aged technique doesn’t sit well with my stomach.  Since I’m lactose-intolerant, I can tolerate a certain amount of cheese, so I wasn’t worried about the amount in a grilled cheese sandwich much.  So it was surprising that I couldn’t finish either the soup or the sandwich.

And then… it began.

My stomach made rumbling similar to what might have been heard on the streets of Pompeii moments before disaster.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t eat.  I just wanted to curl up until my stomach was done rioting against me.  I had to call the doctor’s office and let them know I wasn’t going to be able to make it.  So I called and left a message, and yes, I did mention I made a poor cheese choice for lunch that day.

Within the hour, I got a call back from one of the staff members in charge of the appointments.  She called me back quickly, not to reschedule, but to relate her *own* bad experience with what she deemed some “stinky cheese” at a wine tasting event.  She told me, “Oh, I completely understand!  That cheese was so good, but I did not feel good the next day!”

So, Kat from the doctor’s office and I bonded over the phone with our cheese-eating mishaps.  It’s just one of those ways food can bring strangers closer together.

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