Sweet Grass Dairy was dropped off at 3:30 pm, just when I had begun to lose hope and had started to dream up posts with titles like "Waiting for Goudot" and "Who didn't move my cheese?"*
I realize I have been all food and no life on this blog lately, but you have to admit this is an event of epic proportions.
The ice packs were goners. Absolute goners. The Green Hill, when I opened it, was actually the temperature and consistency one would let a Brie-type cheese come to before eating it. So I took a sliver and then stuck the rest in the fridge. Ooh! Beautiful.
I immediately sliced a little gouda and stuck it into a half-sandwich of the classic hippie variety: cheese, sprouts and avocado on whole wheat. The Georgia Gouda was even better than the Green Hill.
Spaghetti tonight. I am planning on grating plenty of the Lucille goat parm on it. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it could last forever, so that I would never have to type the words "You picked a fine time to leave me..."
* This title courtesy of my redoubtable career as a business writer.