You’re at a not-so-swank cocktail party. As you mill around the trough of microscopic chilled cocktail shrimp—petrified that you won’t get your fill of the delicate crustaceans before Billy Joe Bob saunters over and scoops them up by the handful—you overhear a saucy conversation taking place in hushed tones behind you. You don’t want to eavesdrop, but what you hear is so titillating, so provocative, so … so … so damn tantalizing that you can’t help yourself.
“Tina, you’re looking kinda bored. Why don’t we hightail it outta here and head over to my place?”
“What? I don’t even know you.”
“Sure you do. I just introduced myself to you twenty minutes ago. I’m Jake, remember? Ringing any bells?”
“Oh yeah,” [insert insipid giggle here] “I remember you.”
“So whaddaya say?”
“Uh, I dunno. I’m pretty hungry, and there’s food and drinks here so—”
“Well, I’ve got a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer…”
“Nooo, I’m really hun—”
“And crackers. And I got myself a can of squirt-on cheese.”
“Now you’re talking my language, baby. Let’s vamoose!”
If the above conversation sounds vaguely familiar, I mean like anything you have ever overheard or experienced, you’ve obviously been going to the wrong parties. However, it does bring to light the seedy underworld of, duh duh duhhhhhhh, Cheese in a Can. Goop in a Canister. Squirt-on Cheese. Easy Cheese.
Yes, Easy Cheese.
No doubt you have heard of it, but perhaps you thought the name was the new millennium catchphrase for a loose, wanton, sexually promiscuous person—male or female. Wrong . . . oh so wrong. [Well, actually, in some circles it does mean that, but for purposes of this post, I’m not going there . . .]
So what the hell is Easy Cheese?
Simply put, Easy Cheese is pasteurized goo stuffed into a can that makes it convenient for you to squirt it out of said can. Essentially, it’s Crap in a Can. No need to refrigerate this delicious [aaack!] snack. Simply remove the cap, aim and squirt . . . ta-dah!
Let’s do a little comparison, shall we?
Cheddar Cheese vs. Easy Cheese
Which cheese would you rather eat?
Easy Cheese magically arrives on your cracker in propellant form. Does that not frighten anyone else as much as it frightens me? Does the term “contents under pressure” mean anything to you? It does to me. Remember Silly String? I would imagine that, as with Silly String, one could effortlessly shoot for distance with Easy Cheese.
Despite its obvious shortcomings, there is an up side to Easy Cheese: the can is designed to dispense the cheese either upright or turned upside down. How lucky is that for all those college kids with a penchant for noshing on the stuff straight from the can by injecting it directly down their throat?
Okay, I get it. It’s the age of convenience. We want our cheese served on a cracker but perhaps we’re a tad bit too busy to actually pull the cheese slicer out of the kitchen gadget drawer, unwrap the hunk of cheese, slice a piece of cheese and lay it across a cracker. Yeah, that’s a whole lot of work. I’m pooped just thinking about it.
“Food” thingamajigs such as Easy Cheese are the nemesis of whole foods—the polar opposite of the wonderful, wholesome, nutritious things we should be consuming. With an abundance of added doodads and whatchamacallits, it’s a wonder people who eat it haven’t begun to glow in the dark. The really scary thing about this is that people who love it, really love it. It’s like an addiction . . . the crack of the cheese world.
Now, it has to be said: I. Love. Cheese. There are so many deliciously exceptional varieties to choose from; there should be no need to resort to even opening my mouth to begin to eat Easy Cheese. And neither should you. I would much rather take my cheese in the form of a wheel, a block, a slice, shavings, anything other than having it shooting out at high velocity from a can. As my mother used to caution (about many things in life, none of which were cheese), “You could put somebody’s eye out with that thing.”
You wanted to know? Now you know.
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