The Brinata – the queen piece, wrapped in white paper with a pink ribbon – summons you. You gently lay the cheese in the middle of the desk and begin to undress it, slowly peeling away the wrappings to reveal a semihard mound with delicate curves and moon-white skin. To use your fingers would be uncivilized. You trace the tip of a knife across the surface in search of the right place to enter. In one swift motion, you pierce the rind and thrust into its insides. You draw the blade out, plunge in again. You bring the triangle to your lips. It melts when it enters your mouth. Your palate goes prone; gooseflesh stipples your neck. This is the life, you think.

~ Excerpt from Sous Chef: 24 Hours On the Line by Michael Gibney

Ok, that was food lit erotica at its best with all the double entendres in that paragraph. Gibney’s book was a light and enjoyable read – something you would take on a holiday or read while on the go. As the title suggests, Gibney gives a blow by blow account on the trials and tribulations of what goes on in a French eatery in New York City in 24 hours. Readers are introduced to the different roles in a restaurant set-up: Chef (the boss), Sous Chefs (there are two of them and they are the wingmen of the Chef), the line cooks, the dishwashers etc. With his short staccato-like sentences, the book is an action-packed read as you follow Gibney from the time he wakes up, gets into his chef whites, gets ready for a crazy service, sneaks a smoke in during a break, takes over as poissonnier (fish chef) because his colleague was too hungover to work, and finally closing for the day.

I was pretty taken by the excerpt above, amused by how he sees the piece of cheese as female and handling it as if it were a female body. So let me put my spin on it by reversing its gender. While I’m at it, I’ll also change the type of cheese to one that I feel is more masculine.

The Parmigiano-Reggiano – the king piece, his sturdy bulk enveloped in a golden robe stamped with his noble DOP lineage – summons you. You run your hand reverently around the large wheel of a cheese, all 37 kg of it, in the middle of the desk and begin to wipe it down, making sure this king of cheeses is fit to appear in front of the audience that seeks him. As you pick up the almond-shaped knife, you decide to go for the lateral cut. You place the wheel vertically, and then trace the tip of a knife around the king as you rotate him. As the king slowly yields to the touch, he eventually opens into two halves to reveal his golden, grainy tan of a body. You nick a few irregular nuggets out and bring them to your lips. Their nutty and complex umami flavours dance on your tongue, leaving a wonderful aftertaste. Your palate goes prone; gooseflesh stipples your neck. This is the royal ménage à trois of cow’s milk, salt and calf rennet, you think.