The Cheese Edition

This ‘coffee and croissant’ rating is for pieces that are meatier than a nibble, but not as rich as a main. A soup starter perhaps? It’s a piece to prompt some gentle thinking or give a subtle griefy insight. I think this is appropriate reading for any setting (e.g. in your coffee break at work or on the tube back home).

A month before the anniversaryofwhenmymumdied I was sat in Café Nero* with an Americano and two ginger snap biscuits, trying to write about 8-year-old grief. Except I kept getting into a tangle. Because grief is many things. Some parts mature, other parts stay the same… I can’t lump it all together!

Maybe it was the word maturing that got me thinking about cheese… or maybe it was the cheesy panini on the table next to me…but suddenly I realised how cheese could help untangle this tangle….

Cottage cheese:

Incredibly unappealing and revolting looking. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this cheese. I’m not sure what it would go with!? This is grief as I saw in the beginning. As something to avoid and steer clear from. I didn’t want to be a sad person, and so I didn’t want to have to grieve. Grief was so unknown, and unpalatable. I didn’t want anything to do with it.

Roquefort:

Strong and stinky. This cheese is the wailing war cry of grief. It’s powerful. Flavourful. A smelly blue cheese that’s best consumed in the privacy of your own home (and definitely not before any social occasion).

American cheese:

Over processed and yellow. This grief gives me the ick. It’s generic grief. Front-page grief. The grief that’s written about as if it’s a time limited phenomenon. The grief that’s spoken about in hushed voices and sympathetic tuts. It’s unnuanced and impersonal. It doesn’t grasp that grief is so many things. That actually the parts you can see are just the tip of the iceberg.

Manchego:

A creamy cheese that pairs perfectly with a glass of red wine, providing a delicious nibble sip nibble sip moment. This is deliberate grief. The I-want-to-lean-into-this-moment-grief. It’s the grief I crave when I feel all a bit disconnected from everything. It could be going for a run to try and dislodge some emotion (and jump start a cry), or looking at old family photos and letting myself have a real wail about it all. Can I call it controlled flooding? Like a Manchego and a wine moment - this can’t happen too often.

Burrata:

Slightly chewy outer layer, with a soft and splattering mush inside. Like a wobbling burrata, this grief feels barely contained. It can be broken open by the smallest of things (leaving you feeling a little ridiculous about the reaction). These balls of griefy burrata are very susceptible to busyness, distraction and exhaustion.

Paneer:

Chewy and chunky. Always a welcome addition to a curry. This is the ‘oh that makes sense’ grief. The grief that bobs up on birthdays, Christmases and anniversaries (like paneer in a Tikka Masala!?). I used to try and resist this grief, but now see it as a (mostly) welcome reminder that I’m not making this whole thing up. Because of course I’d miss my Mum at Christmas. And of course I might feel sad around the anniversary. Of course of course of course.

Mild cheddar:

Plain and unassuming. This is day-to-day grief. The thinking of Mum in any way shape or form every single day. Not in an emotionally charged way – just an involuntary nod. While you won’t always notice this cheese sitting quietly at the back of your fridge, that doesn’t mean it’s not there. (But leave it too long unattended and it might get a bit mouldy… too far!?).

*In Leeds city centre you’re never more than a 3 minute walk from a Café Nero. Oh and also - they give you 20% student discount (!) - it’s a perfect PhD work spot.