A blog about the orange cheese

It was a Thursday. Nothing extraordinary could be said about the day in itself, until dinnertime rolled around. And actually, dinner itself was the way-above-average meal I had come to expect. But after I downed a dish of pasta, followed by a heaping plate filled with meat and an assortment of cooked vegetables, I was ready for the third and final course: cheese.  The cheese containter in the fridge was always stocked—sometimes with cheeses I had come to love, like gruyère, le tomme, and chèvre, and sometimes completely new types to try.  There were soft cheeses, hard cheeses, mild cheeses, smelly cheeses, and truffle cheeses.  But one was absent: orange cheeses.  That is why it came as such a surprise to me when, on this particular Thursday, I spotted a block of orange cheese in the cheese container.  As soon as it was discovered, the table was in uproar, with everyone talking all at once.  A niece, one of the younger generations who was less averse to American culture, confessed to buying it and urged everyone to try it.  But despite her efforts, the others at the table were reluctant.  Cheese that is orange?  How is it possible??  Is it dyed?  It must be dyed. 

The table continued to argue over whether or not it was natural while someone scanned the label for evidence of dyes or other unnatural additions, and of course, found orange coloring added.  As the only American present, they peppered me with questions about orange cheese.  Do Americans eat orange cheese?  Why?  Why do they make it orange?  I tried to answer without laughing but I couldn’t keep a straight face at all.  Orange cheese, what an absurdity.  Why do I eat cheese that is orange anyways?  I had a brief moment of introspection, thinking about culture, taste, and traditions, followed by a moment of silence for Kraft Mac and Cheese, which I knew I could never look at in the same way again.  Then I put away the past and looked toward my future filled with naturally white cheese.  A few brave souls at the table actually tasted the orange cheese, shrugged, and went back to eating their white cheese.  The oldest generation, however, refused to even taste the cheese.  It was a disgrace to have this impurity at a meal.   

I left the table still chuckling to myself at the sympathy my Italian-Swiss family had for the poor Americans who actually prefer to eat orange cheese.  But also, duly noted, I had finally discovered a type of cheese they didn’t like.  

  

Cheese vendor at a Sunday Market in Divonne, France