“The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese”

That which the poets have neglected.

So said G. K. Chesterton in his landmark 1910 essay, “Cheese.” To quote:

My forthcoming work in five volumes, `The Neglect of Cheese in European Literature,’ is a work of such unprecedented and laborious detail that it is doubtful whether I shall live to finish it. Some overflowings from such a fountain of information may therefore be permitted to sprinkle these pages. I cannot yet wholly explain the neglect to which I refer. Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese. Virgil, if I remember right, refers to it several times, but with too much Roman restraint. He does not let himself go on cheese. The only other poet that I can think of just now who seems to have had some sensibility on the point was the nameless author of the nursery rhyme which says: `If all the trees were bread and cheese’ — which is indeed a rich and gigantic vision of the higher gluttony. If all the trees were bread and cheese there would be considerable deforestation in any part of England where I was living. Wild and wide woodlands would reel and fade before me as rapidly as they ran after Orpheus.

Indeed. This travesty — this inexplicable void in the hallowed realm of meter and rhyme — is as enduring is it is unendurable. To remedy it in some small way, therefore, I present the following,

Ode to Gruyere; or, An Homage to Fromage

There is naught so debonair
As nibbling camembert
Or crackers with gruyere
While whistling an air.

Any air will do, really.

Jealous eclairs

Not e’en the great éclair —
That pastry of such flair —
Could hope to quite compare
With crackers and gruyere.

As a snack, that is.

When noshing on gruyere,
Show off your savoir faire:
Keep your pinky in the air
And say “I do declare!

This hits the spot.”

Who hasn’t known the terr-
or of seeing cupboard bare
Bereft of all gruyere.
But stop! Do not despair.

Just go get some more.

One can never quite prepare
For requests that you would share
A slice of your gruyere.
Say, “Sorry! None to spare.

Maybe get your own?”

“Dad??”

Some would even dare
To pilfer your gruyere.
Of these thieves, beware!
You must stay alert, mon cher.

It’s often those closest to you.

I had an old grey mare
I named her Maud St. Claire
Fed her nothing but gruyere
And at the county fair

She won best in show.

No lion in his lair
Nor king upon his chair
Could hope to rule fair
Absent knowledge of gruyere.

It’s monarchy 101.

If a mouse you must ensnare,
For bait, don’t use gruyere.
I beg you, please, forbear!
Use a little chunk of pear

With peanut butter on it.

Once I slipped whilst unaware —
Dropped a platter of gruyere
Face down upon the the stair.
O how the guests did glare!
Chided I, “you needn’t stare.

Remember the five second rule.”

“Gruyere always gets the biggest tips.”

When dining out somewhere
And I get the bill of fare
And the waiter says “right there
The four flights of gruyere
Will be sixty dollars square.”
I pay without a care
And I tip the waiter fair

Cause it’s worth every penny.

From Boston to Bel Air
Across this land so fair
That we call Amer-
ica, I swear
No cheese can top gruyere.

I’d know, I’ve tried them all.

Peoples everywhere —
Do gather here and there
To say a little prayer
For more crackers and gruyere.

Lest we run out.