Let’s face it, cottage cheese exists for one reason and one reason only. I call it “The Posts” as in post-Christmas, post-New Year, post holidays, birthdays, Easter, you get my drift. Pretty much post anything that is fun (i.e. involves large volumes of eating and drinking). Mondays feature strongly.
The symptoms of The Posts are a glance in the mirror that is quickly averted, followed by a groan of “I really need to go on a diet”. The effect of The Posts is a lightening of the wallet as you race down to the supermarket and fill your trolley with carrots, celery and the aforementioned cottage cheese. Which will be thrown into the rubbish about three months past its use by date. Sometimes, it may have even been opened. It’s not so much the lack of taste it’s that curdy texture which is just…ewwww….And yet, I keep buying it.
I have, in the past, resorted to other methods of getting rid of The Posts. One such event saw me popping down to the local health food shop to pick up some magic thinness bullets a.k.a diet pills. Of course, they were hidden so I had to ask the weightlifter type who was stacking shelves where I might find them.
He was one of those muscle-bound creatures with prominent veins, a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck. I have nothing against tattoos in general. I have one myself. Neck tattoos, however, are generally skanky. No one looks good with a neck tattoo. Except maybe George Clooney in from Dusk til Dawn. His was kind of hot.
Most other people look like trailer trash or like they just got out of prison.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT DIET PILLS FOR?” the possible ex-convict snarled back at me. And he didn’t ask it in a “Because you’re so svelte you don’t need them” tone either. He started off belligerent. And it went downhill from there.
Why do you think I want diet pills, idiot? Because I read on the internet that if I shoved them up my arse the alien rectal probes couldn’t get me? What kind stupid question is that? It’s the equivalent of asking an adolescent boy why he’s buying condoms. There is pretty much only one reason. To be asked to explain that reason out loud, in a crowded shop, is just humiliating. Actually, I take that back. It’s worse than questioning a boy buying condoms. At least in that instance he could snap back “To fuck your mother.” I had nothing.
Prisoner 845 had one volume. Annoyingly loud. “DIET PILLS DON”T WORK”
You really don’t understand the nature of retail do you Sunshine? It’s probably why you got sent to prison in the first place. So, here’s how it should work:
- I ask for diet pills.
- You give them to me.
- I give you money. (That bit’s important. It’s probably the part you forgot last time)
- I leave happy.
- Your shop stays in business
“YOU DONT NEED DIET PILLS. YOU NEED TO EXERCISE”
Really? I never realised that steroids made you stupid as well as shrinking your penis. If I was that way inclined I wouldn’t be here asking for diet pills would I? I’d be out…skipping… or whatever it is that people do when they exercise.
I didn’t say that.
He was big. And mean looking. And one of the veins in his neck was starting to throb alarmingly. I started to back away from him because he was quite clearly suffering from some sort of ‘roid rage. I didn‘t even understand why he was there. Health food shops should be run by aging hippies not steroid abusing, serial killers.
Eventually I was backed into a shelf of herbal tea. He then leant over me and said in the most threatening voice I have ever heard. “YOU EAT DAIRY DON’T YOU?”
Yes I do and whilst we’re on the subject of dietary habits you should probably lay off the red meat. There’s a box of Sleepytime Tea digging into my left shoulder. Maybe you should try a cup.
I didn’t say that either.
He then leant down so he was about a centimetre away from my face. He was all red and his eyes were bulging out; he looked like he might be about to have some sort of apoplexy. He was also one of those people who spit when they talk and he was so close it was getting all over my face which was….I give up…there are no words to describe how utterly, utterly repulsive that was.
And then, as I was trying to surreptitiously wipe my face he bellowed (and spat) at me:
“CHEESE… IS… DEATH.”
Nothing in my life had prepared me on how to deal with a spitting neck-tattooed lunatic in my face and screaming about how dairy products would kill me. I was also slightly more concerned about my impending death at the hands of the psychopath in front of me than any damage a camembert could inflict. So, I did what I usually do when I don’t know whether to shit or go blind. I started to giggle. Then I ran. As fast as my chubby little legs could carry me. All the way down the street to the next health food shop where a lovely aging hippy had absolutely no qualms about selling me some piece of crap, expensive diet pills that didn’t work.
An easier way to get rid of The Posts and to thus avoid health food shop sociopaths would be to make Mary Meredith’s recipe for Liptauer (or as she calls it Liptaur).
This was good. Really good. Both as a dip and as a healthy lunch.
However, I don’t understand the point of mixing cottage cheese and butter. Next time I make it I’ll use a low-fat cream cheese instead. This will also remove the cottage cheese curdiness which was the only downside of the recipe.
Mary Meredith mentions that the Liptauer is also really good with baked potatoes. I wasn’t about to bake a potato as we were having bangers and mash for dinner. Hang on…potato is potato right? Should I? Dare I? I’ve put cheese, chives and mustard into mash before – maybe not all at the same time but they all worked. Anchovies are mostly salt. What could go wrong?
Yeah, ok, you can all stop facepalming.
The gherkin. The gherkin could go wrong. I know that….
Now.
I put it down to temporary insanity caused by finding a delicious use for cottage cheese.
Here is a picture of the Liptauer mash. Don’t try this at home. It was revolting.
So, I ask you. Is cheese death?
And if so, outside of the Liptauer Mash debacle of 2013, could there be a better way to go?
Have a great week!
