My Wonderful Cheese-tastic World

Last night I met up with a few friends for drinks at our town’s schwankiest bar, known not only for its three star restaurant but also for its cleverly named and complexly concocted drinks. Being more of a traditionalist in the winter, I tend to go for the warming bourbon and whiskey cocktails. (In fact, the bar’s former mixologist-extraordinaire knew me as the “brown liquor girl.”) While I was waiting for my Sazerac to further ennoble the fab mahogany bar, one of my drinking companions, another brown liquor girl, started pulling all sorts of things out of her purse. It was as if the ghost of Let’s Make a Deal’s Monty Hall had suddenly appeared at the end of the bar and whispered that he would give her $50 if she could find a Matchbox car in the depths of her handbag. She unfolded her clenched fist and deposited a motherload of lollipops on the bar. (“Seems a little rude to be cleaning out your purse at the bar,” I thought to myself and was momentarily fearful that a used, crumpled tissue might flop onto the bar next. Eeeww.) “Maple bacon lollipops,” she announced. “Perfect swizzle sticks for bourbon.” Immediately my estimation of her did a 180; she went from commonplace purse-fumbler to Felix, the cat with the magical bag. What other treasures had she to bestow upon us? I didn’t have to wait long. Before my Sazerac could anoint its white linen cocktail napkin, a perfect puck of aged goat cheese was set squarely in the middle. Cheese as party favors???!!! This woman is a goddess. I quickly stowed away the little crottin in MY purse (and wondered if there ever was a French Monty Hall who asked contestants if they had a hunk of gruyere or knob of Alsatian muenster dans la sac). The evening was filled with more little treasures, not edibles necessarily, but morsels of food chat such as the term “to brickle.” (See below.) I can’t believe I live in such a world where cheese and maple bacon lollipops flow freely from women’s handbags. It’s Wonka-world for grown-ups.

[To brickle: This verb apparently means to make sounds as part of the act of tasting. This is not to be confused with the sounds that come after the tasting as an estimation of the flavors; those are the “mmmms” and “yumms” and “aahhs” of which we are all familiar. Rather, it is the making of noises which, in a brickler, are integral to the act of tasting itself and are unique to the taster. Thus, I am told, there are bricklers and non-bricklers. I imagine this is a sort of genetic trait, like whether you have attached or free earlobes. Of course, I was immediately concerned about my own status as a brickler—was I or wasn’t I?—and if it was a good or a bad thing. My mind then jumped to whether brickling only concerned sound-making when trying food or if bricklers were people who made sounds at other times, like when they…Whoa. This is a PG/R blog, can’t go down that X-rated road...]