Diaper Cheese

When my daughter moved to Washington, DC to do her master’s degree in systems engineering, I was so pleased because I finally had her all to myself; divorced dad and all the shit that goes with that.

She even bunked with me in  my one-bedroom apartment (she slept on the floor in the living room) for something like three months while she figured out her longer term housing move.

FYI: Even in that small space we still accommodated the large cage ensconcing her two childhood cockatiels, Daisy and Maple. Daisy at 18 still lives and he proudly  remains an opinionated and cocky little shit.

Anyway, I have always done the food challenge thing with my daughter going back to when she was seven or eight years old and I was shuttling back and forth between California and Asia on a regular basis (6-8 times per year). I would do meals like regularly cook her crazy stuff like smoking hot four course Chinese meals; always much to her bafflement.

She might have sat there and sighed (but she never cried).

Over the years we learned more about food together. I was a proud dad when she began to learn Asian ingredients at such a young age.

Then – when she reached the age of majority – we began to travel together. Food, in all of its luxurious mystery became our touchstone.

In DC – among others – I introduced her to Eppoise and [French] Munster cheese. We jokingly came to call those pungent washed rind cheeses, diaper cheese.

The thought still cracks me up.


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