A meditation on goat cheese

That's right, goat cheese.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, but I'm seriously lame. Like, really lame. Like, have nothing better to write about on my blog than my personal feelings on goat cheese lame. I quote John McCain when I say: my friends, if you can't handle the lame, get out of the blog.*

On to the cheese.

I am slowly coming to (and stubbornly resisting) the realization that I don't really like goat cheese. I keep trying to like it; I often order things with it in restaurants with the idea that if I just keep eating it, I will somehow grow to love it. However, this does not seem to be the case. My taste buds could morph into goatherds, and I still would not like this cheese. It just tastes so ... goat-y. I think some delusional part of my brain thinks that because I like being cultured** in general and eating fancy cheese in particular, I should like this specific type of cheese, and I only have to try harder next time to make it work.

I am ashamed of this confession. If you were ever to ask me about this in public, I would say you made it all up; that's how deep my denial is. So the next time we are eating together in a restaurant or at a fancy dinner party, and you see me eating goat cheese (which will happen with more frequency than you probably even realize right now -- that shiznit is everywhere), you can smile with the sweet Schadenfreude of knowing my internal conflict.

Weird, right?

*That may be more of an approximation than an actual quote.

**Ha! Cultured! Cheese! Get it? See, LAME.