I wrote a poem. I will now share with you my poem. It’s called “Badass Brie.” It is an ode to that cheese that just won’t quit.

Here it goes:

Badass Brie

vast educated
mouthfuls of
undifferentiated
goodness
stop tempting
me with
your elegant
creaminess and
your sturdy
texture of
cheese

Damn brie. So creamy. So good. So delicious. I can’t keep a slice, a cube, a chub—whatever you call that triangle of creamy magnificence—in the ‘fridge without ferreting away with a gob lumped on a cracker. Or a celery stick. Or hell, just plain in the mouth it goes. It’s so DAMN GOOD.

I don’t think I’ve seen a vegan brie. Never met one. Never encountered one in my celestial travels from my desk to the bathroom to the grocery store.

Can’t do it. I dare anyone in the food business to come up with a vegan brie. You can do cheddar. You can do milk. You can do sour cream. You can even do chorizo. But no on the brie. Can’t be done.

Gotta be from a cow.

Brie was invented by monks in the 7th century. That’s a long time ago. And the monks were probably so bored just sitting around studying the celestial make-up of their souls they wanted some pleasure. So they invented a cheese so creamy and so good, it took away any abstinence issues and so forth. I’m only speculating. I just know it takes a mind so intent on creating pleasure, culinary pleasure, to create that beauteous bountiful badass version of a simple cheese from a simple farm animal, just standing around minding their own business, swatting flies off their ass with a giant tail.

And then there was brie… the crown jewel of the charcuterie board. The hit song in the pile of salami, olives, cheese, crackers and celery sticks.

Brie pulls it all together like a slice of cheddar never could in all its natural-born cheddar days.

Fuckin’ brie. So creamy good. I only get it when there’s a party at my abode. Lucky for me it ain’t that often. The brie triangle of delight; heavenly creamy magnificence; only gets half-eaten. Then the clean-up begins. And I’m stuck with a pile of crackers of various shapes sizes textures flavors—some salted, some un, some herb, some garlic—and they all taste like heaven on wheels—big fat damn badass wheels—when paired with a gob of the big fat badass brie.

Thank you, French monks in the 7th century. You had foresight. You had wisdom. There was a reason you were holed away in that monastery.

It was to bring me my brie.

So there’s my Sunday morning sermon ode to a piece of cheese.

I hope you enjoyed it.

Now go and get some brie. Or if you’re abstaining from dairy, then just read and weep, my dear people.

But I do applaud you for looking out for the cows.

Really.

©2022 Bruce Palma. All rights reserved.