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What can I say? Dessert just doesn't do it for me. Sure, I'll eat it if it's in front of me. I might even really enjoy it. But given the option, I'll almost always opt for a cheese course, albeit with some sort of sweet element involved.
When the wife is away, some married men turn to drinking, binging on buffalo-chicken pizza, maybe drugs, or perhaps the strip club to pass the time and revel in their newfound freedom. I turn to stinky blue cheese.
You see, I once—at my wife's request—served her a big bowl of chili when she was feeling a bit under the weather. I made the mistake of topping it with a handful of crumbled Roquefort (the blasphemy, I know!), which in turn made my wife even sicker. As a result, these days I'm no longer allowed to keep blue cheese of any kind at the house while she's there, lest it trigger a psychosomatic bout of nausea in her. Luckily, she's working in Toronto for the summer, which means that I'm free to stuff myself with Penicillium- and Brevibacterium linens-infected cheeses to my heart's content.
When eating a fine, ripe hunk of Roquefort, I like to pair it with a bit of something sweet. At its simplest, this can be a drizzle of good honey—blue cheese and honey were made to go together—though if I'm feeling a bit fancier, I might take the time to cook down a sweet pepper jelly, or perhaps a red onion jam (if I'm smart, I've made it in a big batch and will have some sitting in the fridge just waiting for the Roquefort to come along). Sweet, salty, and pungent, for me, it's all the dessert I need.