Cheese and Brussels Sprouts

There’s this battle going on in my house. It’s pretty hilarious. I can’t stand the smell of dairy products. Cheese, milk, whatever. Most of it smells dead, or worse. Even ice cream gives me a hard time sometimes, depending on how much it smells like dairy. Whenever someone in the house has cheese, my stomach flops.

I particularly hate cheese. Cheese is like hiking-boot-soup flavored wax. It’s chalky or slimy, with no in-between. It always smells like something died, but my family fucking adores cheese. You’d think there was meth in it, or something. Maybe nicotine.

I, on the other hand, love Brussels sprouts. It’s one of the few foods I know I can buy that will be irrevocably mine. It’s amazing. It’s my favorite vegetable, and I keep eating it. Jenny always thinks something rotten is being cooked. The Boy despises Brussels sprouts, and wants nothing to do with the kitchen when I cook them.

My family just doesn’t understand what real food is. Yes, I recognize that my previous life choices, such as living as a vegan, affect my tastes. On the other hand, I’ve always liked veggies similar to Brussels sprouts, and I’ve always hated cheese. So there’s that.

I just don’t understand why anyone would eat solid fat when they can eat melty-fat in the form of butter. I mean, butter makes pastries. Butter wins. Also, you can put butter on Brussels sprouts, so that’s a dairy win, I suppose. I just wish I could buy Brussels sprouts-flavored cheese. They’d all eat the shit out of that. And I’d laugh. Of course, in that kind of world, they could take my delicious leafy balls of awesome and make them taste like feet (i.e., cheese). Then I’d be thoroughly trumped. Well played, fantasy world. Well played.