Great NZ Cheese Wars
If one looks back in History, one will find many wars fought over food . . . you have the great spice wars, wars over tea (Boston Tea Party), there were actually wars over salt in India (so says, Google), and even coffee wars (Starbucks vs all the others, that is). And, now, I am claiming 2007 as the year of the Great NZ Cheese Wars.
These Cheese Wars took place in a small suburb of Hamilton, New Zealand and all began over a small block of Havarti.
Going back in my own history (yes, I'm in my 40th year!) Havarti has always been a favourite cheese. In fact I have fond memories of Havarti. When I was a young lass (why does talk of history automatically make you think with a British accent?) my grandmother knew Havarti was my favourite fromage and she would always bring a block just for me when she would visit. Since then, Havarti has always held a special place in my heart.
In New Zealand, however, it's a different story . . . . Havarti here is not Havarti there (US). In fact, rather than the lovely, mild - yet tasty - cheese of my youth, you never know what you're going to get in NZ. Sometimes it can be rather bland . . . other times stinky and unappetising. All in all, I've never had a Havarti in NZ that 'reminds me of home', so to speak. One word - rank.
Despite its unpredictable reputation and unpalatable tendency, Rod insists on continuing to buy Havarti. Finally, while perusing the cheese counter last week, I finally just spoke my mind. As Rod picked up the Havarti to toss it in the trolley, I blurt, "Rod, not the Havarti, it's never good. I'm not eating that."
"I really enjoy Havarti!," he exclaims. We bicker back and forth for a few moments until finally he wins and throws it in the cart. It ends with a stare-down and unspoken truce as we continue down the grocery aisles.
This happens on Sunday . . . Tuesday evening rolls around and I'm hankering for a bit of cheese before dinner. As I peer into the fridge at the unopened Havarti, I am lured once again by my childhood memories. "Maybe today, it'll actually taste like the Havarti I remember..."
So, I decide to have a go. Rod and I are in deep conversation over the day's events as I grab a knife and slice open the plastic packaging.
WHOO! The stench that wafts up my nostrils is worse than any cheese I've ever smelled! This one just might make the Havarti Hall of Fame! Many explitives and noises later, Rod claims I'm exaggerating to make the point that he should never have bought the Havarti in the first place.
"It's a good cheese," Rod whines from the living room. "Some of the best cheeses in the world don't smell nice at first but they taste great. Just give it a chance."
Stupidly, I listen to this reasoning and take a bite. It tastes as foul as it smells and I scream - while also laughing hysterically - all of this with cheese on my tongue, "It tastes like someone FARTED in my mouth!!" And spit it out...
This Tuesday was a momentus day in the Great NZ Cheese Wars, because from this point onward Havarti would be referred to only as Hafarti.
With exaggerated motions, I toss the cheese into a Ziploc and throw it back into the nether-regions of the fridge. I then look at Rod and say, "You're going to EAT this Hafarti?!" "Yes," he says as if he had any other option now. The war is on.
For the remainder of the week, the Hafarti sat in the fridge OOZING a stench like rotting food from within its double plastic casing. I forgot it was there several times and went hunting for the rotten meat that I assumed was hiding under something. Other times I ran the garbage disposal several times a day, thinking something had decayed in it overnight. All of this only to remember several minutes later that nothing was rotten . . . . it was just my husband's nasty Hafarti.
When I'd realise this, there was much wailing and complaining . . . "UGH! The stench, are you going to EAT this? Eat it or toss it!" . . . . "Yes, I'm going to eat it. I love Havarti!" By Thursday, it was an official standoff.
Hafarti was the source of much bickering this week . . . until today. Rod finally decided he was in the mood for a little farty, Havarti. He opened the Ziploc and it was sweet victory watching his face scrunching up with as the putrid smell penetrated his nostrils.
"Oh that doesn't smell nice at all," Rod says. I quickly remind him that some wise man once told me many smelly cheeses actually taste quite nice.
I could see the forelorn look in his face as he readied for defeat . . . He cuts a small chunck and delicately places it on his tongue . . . . "Oh, that's really not nice."
YES! Sweet victory for the female troops!!!
The Hafarti is now in the rubbish bin in the garage stinking up the place. But, good news is rubbish day is Wednesday, so it'll be out of my house in a few short days.
The Great NZ Cheese Wars. ... . started with Havarti, ended with a Heather Hafarti Victory. Children will be writing essays on this for years to come.
Heather
These Cheese Wars took place in a small suburb of Hamilton, New Zealand and all began over a small block of Havarti.
Going back in my own history (yes, I'm in my 40th year!) Havarti has always been a favourite cheese. In fact I have fond memories of Havarti. When I was a young lass (why does talk of history automatically make you think with a British accent?) my grandmother knew Havarti was my favourite fromage and she would always bring a block just for me when she would visit. Since then, Havarti has always held a special place in my heart.
In New Zealand, however, it's a different story . . . . Havarti here is not Havarti there (US). In fact, rather than the lovely, mild - yet tasty - cheese of my youth, you never know what you're going to get in NZ. Sometimes it can be rather bland . . . other times stinky and unappetising. All in all, I've never had a Havarti in NZ that 'reminds me of home', so to speak. One word - rank.
Despite its unpredictable reputation and unpalatable tendency, Rod insists on continuing to buy Havarti. Finally, while perusing the cheese counter last week, I finally just spoke my mind. As Rod picked up the Havarti to toss it in the trolley, I blurt, "Rod, not the Havarti, it's never good. I'm not eating that."
"I really enjoy Havarti!," he exclaims. We bicker back and forth for a few moments until finally he wins and throws it in the cart. It ends with a stare-down and unspoken truce as we continue down the grocery aisles.
This happens on Sunday . . . Tuesday evening rolls around and I'm hankering for a bit of cheese before dinner. As I peer into the fridge at the unopened Havarti, I am lured once again by my childhood memories. "Maybe today, it'll actually taste like the Havarti I remember..."
So, I decide to have a go. Rod and I are in deep conversation over the day's events as I grab a knife and slice open the plastic packaging.
WHOO! The stench that wafts up my nostrils is worse than any cheese I've ever smelled! This one just might make the Havarti Hall of Fame! Many explitives and noises later, Rod claims I'm exaggerating to make the point that he should never have bought the Havarti in the first place.
"It's a good cheese," Rod whines from the living room. "Some of the best cheeses in the world don't smell nice at first but they taste great. Just give it a chance."
Stupidly, I listen to this reasoning and take a bite. It tastes as foul as it smells and I scream - while also laughing hysterically - all of this with cheese on my tongue, "It tastes like someone FARTED in my mouth!!" And spit it out...
This Tuesday was a momentus day in the Great NZ Cheese Wars, because from this point onward Havarti would be referred to only as Hafarti.
With exaggerated motions, I toss the cheese into a Ziploc and throw it back into the nether-regions of the fridge. I then look at Rod and say, "You're going to EAT this Hafarti?!" "Yes," he says as if he had any other option now. The war is on.
For the remainder of the week, the Hafarti sat in the fridge OOZING a stench like rotting food from within its double plastic casing. I forgot it was there several times and went hunting for the rotten meat that I assumed was hiding under something. Other times I ran the garbage disposal several times a day, thinking something had decayed in it overnight. All of this only to remember several minutes later that nothing was rotten . . . . it was just my husband's nasty Hafarti.
When I'd realise this, there was much wailing and complaining . . . "UGH! The stench, are you going to EAT this? Eat it or toss it!" . . . . "Yes, I'm going to eat it. I love Havarti!" By Thursday, it was an official standoff.
Hafarti was the source of much bickering this week . . . until today. Rod finally decided he was in the mood for a little farty, Havarti. He opened the Ziploc and it was sweet victory watching his face scrunching up with as the putrid smell penetrated his nostrils.
"Oh that doesn't smell nice at all," Rod says. I quickly remind him that some wise man once told me many smelly cheeses actually taste quite nice.
I could see the forelorn look in his face as he readied for defeat . . . He cuts a small chunck and delicately places it on his tongue . . . . "Oh, that's really not nice."
YES! Sweet victory for the female troops!!!
The Hafarti is now in the rubbish bin in the garage stinking up the place. But, good news is rubbish day is Wednesday, so it'll be out of my house in a few short days.
The Great NZ Cheese Wars. ... . started with Havarti, ended with a Heather Hafarti Victory. Children will be writing essays on this for years to come.
Heather
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