Guess what family is unanimous in their recent discovery of their intense dislike for goat cheese?
This family!
(Was that really a hard guess for anyone?)
Yes. It's true. Our apologies to all goat-cheese-lovers reading right now.
We discovered this over a recent dinner.
I made a beautiful salad. And yes, I can describe this salad as beautiful. Because it was. A beautiful serving dish. Crisp, bright green spinach leaves piled high. Creamy white feta cheese sprinkled across the bed of green. Goat cheese layered across and mixed with the feta. Perfectly grilled chicken placed carefully across the salad layers. And exquisite, colorful ruby pomegranate seeds shimmering across the landscape of green and white. It was a cheery, holiday-looking platter.
If a mere salad could look like Christmas, this one did.
But it sure didn't taste like Christmas.
Unless Christmas tastes like old man's socks and smells like . . . well, like wet goat.
No one mentioned the smell as the plates were being served. Kevin happened to be the first to place a forkful in his mouth. Nary a comment did he make. London's face turned a bit south as she tasted her first bite and she said, "Hmm, maybe this cheese is a little strong Mommy. In the future, could you maybe put the cheese in a bowl near the salad so we can choose if we want it or not?"
I applied my dressing of choice and took a large forkful of the still beautiful creation set before me.
Oh. My. Goodness.
The smell was overbearing. But the taste?
Forget about it!
My long-standing rule of No Negative Comments About A New Dish The Night It Is Served took an evening's hiatus in lieu of the dire circumstances.
This stuff was terrible.
Once the No Negative Comments ban was lifted, the table was crowded with conversation.
"It just tastes like goat. Really, just exactly like a wet goat smells- do you know what I mean?" Kevin kept asking.
Yeah. I knew what he meant.
"Raise your hand if you would like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich," I offered. A multitude of tiny and big hands shot up around the table.
It was London who asked the obvious question, "How can something so pretty taste so ugly?"
"You know," I said, "Sometimes things can look great but be bad."
And Riley, who was clearing the refuse of our wasted meal, piped in. "Yeah. That's pretty much exactly like sin."
Yeah. Riley was right. It's pretty much exactly like that.
