Say Cheese (less than $3; Overnight)

Cheese, I hear, is bad for you. It clogs the heart. People can die of cheese. This is weird, isn't it? It's just a little clotted milk with the whey wrung out.

Hey, did I ever tell you the stinky cheese story? Probably. But I'm getting old, so I'm going to tell it again. You can skip to the food part if you've heard this before.

I can't tell you how many people turn my book over (the ten or so who bought it) and say: wow, that's a great picture, you look just like an author. By which they mean: you look like you're smelling something really terrible. You look like you're thinking: "Bad prose is everywhere! It offends the nostrils, it stinks to high heaven! I am rarified! I write!"

Actually, it's rotten Gorgonzola. It really is a bad smell, the smell I can only liken to nasty, nasty, dirty ass.

But wait: I get ahead of myself. Picture this: a romantic honeymoon, picnic lunches in picturesque plazas in Italy in April, etc. etc. We were there on the cheap, so we foraged for food in the morning, backpacked it til noon, bought some wine and ate al fresco. We had olives above the forum, with the best mozzarella and grilled eggplant I've ever tasted. We ate bread and artichokes at the Pyramid or near the Pantheon. I can't remember it all. The point is, we went to the bread store, bought bread; went to the fruit market, bought fruit; went to the cheese man (blessed are the cheese-makers...), bought cheese.

One day, unsure what any of the labels read at the particular formaggeria where we were standing, I saw a familiar label: Gorgonzola. I'd heard of that! Hurray!

I held up my palm. In my Engaliano, I said: as much, as thick as my palm. The nice man said prego, wrapped it in three or four layers of wax paper and a paper bag, we paid, and four hours later, bread and loquats (in the rose family!) in hand, we were ready to consume.

You have all, I think, seen my palm. It is not a dainty thing. Likely we had -- conservatively -- half a pound of Gorgonzola in a bag, four hours in the heat.

When we opened the backpack, there was a visible mushroom cloud. Not spotting any dogs nearby, I said: honey, was that you? Chuck said: I think there's a sewer grating under us.

Oh, I said.

Then he opened the paper bag with the cheese in it. Strangers fifty yards away passed out.

Close the bag! I shouted.

AAHHH! Chuck screamed, it's on my HANDS! it's on my HANDS!

Moist towelettes (they have a MUSEUM!) did nothing; a whole bottle of water did nothing; no, rotten Gorgonzola is like sulphuric acid and passes straight through skin to impregnate the blood and muscles underneath with the smell, as Chuck put it, of thousands upon thousands of dirty pigeon butts.

I can'd brede, I said, my eyes rolling back in my head. Oh God, helb me.

Dis is an excellend dime for a pigture, Chuck said.

Snap.

This is the story of the author photo I love best. Yes, I am smelling terrible terrible things. Really. This is not a metaphor.

The cheese I'm about to tell you how to make, however, is both mild and easy; it substitutes naturally for cream cheese, sour cream, any savory, thick dairy. I haven't tried it in sauces that I would heat, feeling like it would lose its structure this way. But we use it, cold, for all kinds of things.

What you need is a man's hanky, plain, unflavored yogurt (I use non-fat, but feel free to try whatever), a little milk, and some salt. C'est tout. In the end you have about 6 oz of spreadable cheese.

Beside a sink where you can let the cheese drip overnight, line a largish soup bowl with the clean hanky. Dump about half a 32oz carton into the bowl on top of the hanky. Bring two opposite corners together and tie in a half hitch. Grab the other two corners and tie these in a double half hitch securely over the faucet handle. You want the proto-cheese to swing free and drip into the sink.

Go to bed. Sleep. Leave the thing for 24 hours.

When it's done, untie the hanky and let the cheese ball (in roughly the shape of its packet) roll out into a bowl you can seal.
Add about a TBSP of milk and about a tsp of salt. Mix with a fork and refrigerate.

We serve this with crackers and paprika Nick McRae brought us from Europe. I eat it on sandwiches, all by itself. I've even used it for dipping chips. It's really versatile, I swear, and doesn't smell in the least.

There you go.