Clearly, I have a special place in my heart (and stomach) for rare things. So when I heard the French cheese mimolette may be banned in the US, I panicked.
I’d never tried mimolette before. What if this was the most delicious cheese ever and I never even tasted it? What if it was already gone from grocery stores and the only way to get it was to fly to France, something I probably won’t be doing anytime soon? What if, in a practical sense, I’d missed my chance?
Terrified these statements would all be true, I rushed to Whole Foods after work one day last week and was relieved to find the cheese on the shelf. I picked out a small wedge, stood in line for 10 minutes just for that, paid $3, and looked forward to trying it.
It tasted like mild cheddar; it wasn’t anything spectacular.
And it made me wonder: why do I have this obsession with things that are only available for a limited time? Why am I drawn to things that threaten to disappear soon? Wouldn’t it make more sense to develop an affinity for easily obtainable things? It would be better for me–and the world, one might argue–if I liked food, fashion, and men that weren’t about to be banned, go out of style, or lose interest in me.
So is the need to keep my life exciting ruining it for the part of me that craves stability? Is there something out there–a type of food, a piece of clothing, a guy–that inspires a passionate response yet also promises to stick around for the long term? Can I only truly enjoy something if there’s a risk it won’t always be mine?
Hopefully the answers are no; yes; no. But it’s still too soon to tell, considering I spent $3 for a tiny bit of cheese that tastes like mild cheddar–I mean, I love most cheese, so cheddar’s fine, but I prefer mine sharp.