​I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEIZE

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese

Wisdom Wherever You Find It
 
Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.  G.K. Chesterton
 
He was serious. Well, sort of. G.K. Chesterton was one of those English literary figures whose popularity somewhat mystifies Americans. Mostly, he wrote and spoke about serious stuff – politics, values, Catholic faith, Jews (don’t ask). His essay on cheese bemoaned the lack of attention to it in ancient and modern literature, including poetry. A man of considerable girth and questionable style, most of the essay described his adventures eating cheese and bemoaning restaurants in London that believed biscuits (we call them cookies) were a better snack than, um, cheese.
 
Maybe he was trying to be funny – you’d have to ask a mid-century fusty Brit to know. But this week in particular (I write this on the cusp of Purim, arguably the precursor to Mardi Gras), I take issue. Not merely in poetry, but everywhere, the cheese never stands alone. Especially in America.
 
Currently on television, you can see a commercial for a popular mayonnaise that highlights the name Brie, identifying a famous actress who is about to become part of a sandwich. Late night television boasts the popular star who is the offspring of Colby and Camembert, first name Stephen. Everybody loves Ray Romano. Linda Ronstadt had a huge hit with “You’re No Gouda.”  Robert Blake starred in the police drama “Burrata.” Emily Litella often called Chevy Chase “Cheddar Cheese.”
 
And if that reference isn’t old enough for you, think of Arthur Godfrey’s famous greeting, “Havarti, Havarti, Havarti.” Or of famed actress Dorothy Provolone.
 
In education, the two schools of thought in Italian early childhood approaches are Montessori (which everyone seems to know) and Parmigiana Reggiano (which everyone seems to prefer on Caesar salad). Children of privilege often go from there to Swiss boarding schools, where they live in nine dorms, called the Neufchatel.
 
Geographically, cheese is everywhere. Towns in Texas (Muenster), Indiana (Munster), and Wisconsin (New Munster) are governed by a mayor known as the Big Cheese. I have visited coastal California and the suburbs of Cleveland where I was known, at least temporarily, as Monterey Jack and Pepper Jack.
 
And what is the name we bestow on the best there ever was? From Lebron to the Beatles to Eleanor Roosevelt to “Citizen Kane,’ it is GOAT, which also enhances salads other than Caesar.
 
Chesterton, being British, was most concerned about poetry, and he might very well have dismissed with a pooh-pooh and poppycock all of these other embedded cultural celebrations of cheese in the colonies.  But there is no denying that the great American poets were anything but silent on this subject.
 
It was Edgar Allen Poe who wrote:
                It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the seas, that a maiden lived, whom you may know, by the name of American Cheese.
 
It was the great Robert Frost who wrote:
                …miles to asiago before I eat..
 
And it was Emily Dickinson who wrote:
                Hope is a thing with feta.
 
And with that, this column is a feta complete.