Say cheeeese! Oh, wait, say fromaaage!

Three flavours of runny cheese in a pot, a basket of bite sized stale breads, a platter oozing with meats and pickles, and a few funny little pointy forks and we were away.

You grab your fork, pierce a bread lump, twirl it in the cheese, deposit it on your plate, grab your other fork, stick a piece of meat, re-stick the cheesy bread lump (don’t I make it sound yummy?) and with perhaps a pickle added for good measure, you stuff the gob sized lot in your mouth and voila! The bread glides down your throat on a swirl of liquid fat chased by a boisterous pickle clamouring to get in on the action. And there it all sits. Sits and waits. And it stays here, well into the next day, where you feel it sitting in the base of your stomach like a cheese ballast weight, holding you down as you make each of those beautiful curved turns so that they end up being more of a zigzag shape.

But it was worth it. That’s why we ate so much of it! Once a month though for me. Tops. Rich is an understatement and I’m not sure what my heart would say.