If The Moon Were A Piece Of Cheese

If the moon were a piece of cheese it would be a finely holy havarti with a smile gently pressed into it. Tonight, unprepared food-wise, I quickly picked up a block of havarti, a chunk of buttery St. André, a loaf of "rustic"bread, grilled artichokes, olives, mortadella and coppa for an al fresco supper. As we grazed I was reminded of the French themed lunches which often featured my mother's home made terrines shared around the family table in my youth, though this one, American in spirit was much more mix and match.

As I understand it the moon is not made of cheese, but of rock and dust, and its gravity exerts a force on bodies of water, contributing to the ebb and flow of ocean tides. Our human bodies average a sixty per cent water content and so we are susceptible too. Judging by some of the craziness affecting me this last week, our current full moon is ripely smiling at its power to watch us all squirm down here, and I am snifiing that cheese-like stink. And on into this new week. Here is a similar supper the next night, my home pickled Persian cucumbers, sardines from the can in olive oil, the leftover bread and a mug of home made chicken broth, apparently Louis XVI broke his fast with a Sèvres cup of it each morning. I finished this evening with a with a similar brew in a gift-mug from Las Vegas.