Not Pictured. < sigh >

Y'all. I just got back from Barcelona, Spain. My Iberico ham was confiscated by US customs agents, which I half expected (though we bought it from Duty Free in the hopes that would be an approved source). I can handle it.

What I didn't expect? They also confiscated my unopened bag of bacon-flavored sunflower seeds. I had not even taken a photo of the package. Although I suggested that there was possibly no meat product of any sort in this snack (as I have found that many "bacon-flavored" things are artificially flavored), I was shown no mercy. The agent let us keep our brick of Manchego, but I ask you, is that justice?

I have to admit: I teared up a little. The reason I bought it? To share with you, my loyal readers. The brand name? "Bacon and Me." Great, right?

I guess I'll never know. Thanks a lot, America.

-------

Death Row

A summer lesson: It gets hot in snack jail.

And when your aging box of Lemonheads looks like this on the outside:



It might mean all the lemon drops on the inside are melted and stuck together. Like this:



And you're not going to get to eat any.

Boo.

Sausage sass-back

Dan's in Vienna. It would have made a great post.



I couldn't do it.


Maybe the chicken ones... 2 cents cheaper...



Not today.

The one that got away

Sometimes the cheese stands alone because all the other cheeses know they aren't worthy.

Yesterday, Erin trend-scouted and shared an amazing cheese sold at the Union Square Greenmarket. Her cheese instincts are good. My sample revealed I've found a new love. This (pictured above) is literally the spiciest cheese I've tasted to date -- a truly hot pepper jack cheese with bits of red pepper and other spices I can't identify. Made in Lancaster County, PA, it had a lingering fresh-cheese sourness and bright bite supported by a slightly vinegary tang. The heat lingered and burned at the back of my throat, but the flavor was also rich and warm. Erin said that she was told the batch had turned out spicier than intended this week; next week's batch won't be so hot.

I thought about my slice for a while after I ate it, foolishly asked myself if I really needed a brick of the stuff myself, sat wanting some more for a little too long, then got up and walked briskly across the street to try to buy some I could take home. Locating the table in the middle of the market, I could see no spicy cheese in the case before me. My heart knew. I hardly needed the (Amish?) gentleman behind the table to tell me that he'd sold the last brick of it thirty minutes before. Alas. It just wasn't meant to be.

As I returned to work empty-handed and dejected, he called after me, "I guess your hair will have to stay the same color for another week!" Well, that's really up to me, sir. Not the cheese. But I will see you next week.