An exercise in managing expectations

Remember Bodey Blaylock? Sure you do. When you were in the second grade he was absolutely the dreamiest boy in your class, and he had all of the Power Ranger figurines. And you just knew that when you grew up, Bodey would be the most handsome boy and he would have graduated from Power Ranger Academy himself.

But then, in the early days of 2012 you run into Bodey and he hasn’t graduated from P.R.A. He hasn’t even completed a course at the Power Rangers Finishing School for Morphin Boys. He is washed up and working at a rival Tokusatsu franchise that is of a much lower quality.

The point is, if you build up your expectations based on a rose-tinted memory, you will be disappointed.

Welcome to the world of Fourme D’Ambert.

It has been so long since I’ve written on this blog, and I recognised that you, dear reader, deserve a doozy of an oozy cheese to get you going again. I went to my local store and selected a mid-range, French sounding, smelly, aged delight.

What a mistake.

First I brought it home, and my plus one said it smelt like the medicated salve we use to wash the dog.

And I did not speak out, because I was not a medicated salve.

Then I opened the wrapping, and he said it smelt like his waterlogged work shoes.

But I did not speak out, because I was not a shoe.

Then I ate it. And I began to smell like the cheese. And there was no one left to speak for me. Cause those kids had left the building due to the stench of this damn rancid cheese.

For serious. I have had the smelliest, most nefarious and pungent cheeses that would have taken the rasping breath out of the maw of a crypt keeper. But this one is a cut above.

It’s not that tasty either. Sure I ate a lot of it, with the kind of slack-jawed, droopy-eyed stupor of a Yorkshireman, but I didn’t enjoy it.

And yes, I’m still eating it as I type. But I don’t think it would do the cheese justice to write about it when it is yellowing at the edges and peeling away from its rind in such a way. 

Much in the same way it’s not fair to judge Brooker when you bump into him ordering a double order of dumplings from his local takeaway, sporting a casual vinegar-stained pant and the shirt from his old Jacuzzi business.

But I tell you what, there’s nothing like seeing an old familiar friend.

Hello again cheese. How underwhelming to see you again.