I have never had a blog header in all caps before. I have never needed to shout before. But now I do. Because NOBODY IN KC HAS EVER HEARD OF CHEESE STRAWS! I am beyond flabbergasted. I feel as if my whole world has been rocked. For the past year I have patiently explained what smocked dresses were and I have endured people calling ski caps some funny word called a toboggan, but this is the last straw. No pun intended.
I went to a Super Bowl get together at my friend Jessie's house. I volunteered to bring cheese straws. Of course. That's what you bring to sporting events. She asked me if I was going to bring marinara. I didn't understand. Then I thought she must have confused cheese straws with mozzarella sticks. I took them anyway. Her husband had never had them either. I decided to enlighten rather than judge.
The next day I gave the rest of the batch to Rob to take to his co-workers. He came home and told me that not one person there had ever heard of a cheese straw. WHAT? And to add insult to injury one of them said that it really tasted like a baked Cheese-It. My head exploded.
THESE ARE CHEESE STRAWS, people!! My grandmother made them every single time I came to her house. They are at every grocery store in Alabama. Right up front with the produce. Mrs. Rolena makes them at every single event at my former church. Heck, my Mom had them served at her wedding reception. They are a national treasure.
Not so, my husband has informed me. He went to college in Kentucky and spent six years in North Carolina. Apparently he had never heard of them either until he moved to Alabama. I have discovered within the past 48 hours that they are only a deep south thing. I had no idea. And I spent my teenage years in the DC area and spent a lot of time in the Pacific Northwest and in New York. I still had no idea. I am reeling with the fact that most of the country has never heard of a cheese straw.
And now to know that they just taste like a cheese-it- well, it's just sad. It is a fine art to make a cheese straw. I practiced for years to make them like my Grandmom and now I realize that I can just go to Piggly-Wiggly and grab a box of Cheese-its. This is just like when I went on and on about a frozen hot chocolate from a restaurant called Serendipity in New York only to take my husband and be told that it was just like a Wendy's frosty. Except a frosty doesn't cost 7 bucks.
What's next, I ask? Clowns? Ponies? Apple Pie? Is nothing sacred?
Bringing God-talk back to open spaces
22 hours ago