Trust Your Taste 004

Muenster and Dancing for Myself

Cheese ~ Story ~ Authenticity ~ Creativity

Happy Sunday! Here’s something tasty, something true, and some musings on food in storytelling to ponder over your favorite Sunday Treat.

Something Tasty: A cheese pairing to try

Muenster in All it’s Forms

Munster over Muenster

Most of us may know Muenster as a sliced deli cheese with orange edges. It’s a great soft and meltable option for sandwiches, burgers, grilled cheeses, and (if you’re like me) a great quick snack straight out of the fridge with a little more oomf and slightly softer texture than your average American slice.

But why are the edges orange? Well…

American Muenster is like the mild younger sibling to French Muenster. You know- the kind of younger sibling that really likes to imitate their older sibling but totally has their own thing going on?

French Munster, made from unpasteurized cow’s milk and named after the Alsatian abbeys of Munster in the Vosgian Mountains of France, is a washed rind cheese- which is most often identified by a sticky orange rind. This signature rind is what the orange coloring on American Muenster is mimicking.

If you are a beer person- washed rind cheeses are my favorite to pair with almost any beer, and it’s almost fall so some very fun seasonal beers are starting to show up! If not, try anything briny and zingy like olives, mustards, or pickles (fried pickles if you wanna get wild).

Something True: A truth about myself

The Imposter Syndrome Dance

Dance Team and Band were one in middle school. Good luck finding me.

Here’s the truth.

Dance used to be a huge part of my life.

I started dance team in middle school and in high school we were High Kick National Champions which made me think I might want to be a Rockette one day.

I did audition for the Rockettes in my mid-20s, and though getting to the second round on my first try will forever be a feather in my personal accomplishment cap, it ultimately wasn’t the life I wanted. I didn’t want to focus only on dancing, I wanted to sing and act which is why musical theatre was such a great fit.

In late 2019, I sprained my ankle at a Chorus Line audition. I was injured for most of the fall and winter and then Covid hit, so I haven’t been in a dance studio since that audition—

Until this past Friday.

I have been missing dance in my life lately, and though I think I’ve released attachment to dance being a major part of my career, I’ve really missed creative movement, and I do miss being a dancer.

A friend asked me if I wanted to go to a Musical Theatre Jazz class at Mark Morris Dance Center, and in spite of the very intense social anxiety I’ve experienced since the pandemic- I said yes.

I have gotten better at being a beginner, and embracing the opportunity to learn new things and ask questions without judging myself or feeling shame about the things I “should” know— something I used to be famously terrible at.

But this was different, this was something I did professionally, so I should be super flexible still, and I should be able to reverse the choreography immediately, and I should be able to keep up with the warm up and I should should should blah blah blah. I found my mind being at war with my body- a very different body than I had in 2019.

So what happened in class?

I was RUSTY. Like WOW. It is a bit like riding a bike, and I did feel my body wake up to the movement and eventually greet it like an old friend. I was always used to being at the top of the class but this time I was at the bottom. I felt like such an imposter in a place that was “supposed to” feel like a homecoming. I was enjoying dancing again, AND I was so uncomfortable, really all I could do was laugh. Because guess what-

No one there knew me! They had no idea if I was actively auditioning or never went to a class in my life. The only person holding me to the standard of my former self (who existed in a completely different time)— was ME. And holding yourself to an insane standard and assuming, nay, expecting that the rest of the world is holding you to that same standard without knowing all the things going on in your head is not only silly- it’s EXHAUSTING. And for maybe the first time, I was able to release those thoughts (mostly because I didn’t have time to think about them, my choreography brain is much slower than it used to be so it commanded all my focus) and just dance.

I’ll probably go back, and maybe I’ll be a little better- and maybe I won’t! Either way, that’s okay. Because I’m finally not worrying about nailing my turns, or impressing anyone that might give me a job. I’m going for the love of dance, and for me.

Farm to Fable: How food shows up in storytelling 

Cheeseburger in Paradise

When I started writing this on Monday I planned on writing about this song, but I didn’t know it would end up being a tribute to the now late Jimmy Buffett.

Whether you have positive, negative, or neutral feelings about Parrot Heads and Margaritaville, you cannot deny that Jimmy Buffet was a guy that Trusted his Taste- and made an entire career and empire out of that Taste.

Music and food are intertwined more than one might think…and more examples will definitely be explored in future newsletters. “Cheeseburger in Paradise” from Buffett’s 1978 album Son of a Sailor is not only very fun and catchy, it’s one of the most popular mainstream songs highlighting food.

There is plenty of debate on the original inspiration for the song, and lots of discussion around lyrical confusion. One of the big ones is "medium rare with Muenster'd be nice". “Muenster’d” is commonly misheard as “mustard”. But now you know all about American and French Muenster! And you know the TRUTH.

My personal confusion came from the only line I knew as a kid being:

“I’m just a - cheeseburger in paradise…”

which made me immediately obsessed with the song, thinking it was written from a cheeseburger’s point of view, and how happy the cheeseburger was to just be hangin’ in paradise. It still confuses me, but I guess…you are what you eat?

RIP to a legend who I’d like to think is now hangin’ in paradise, hopefully with a cheeseburger covered in Muenster. And probably a margarita.

Until next time,


P.S. - Sunday Scaries

A terrifying AI image to help us all rest knowing AI bots could never replace a real human artist:

This week the prompt was “Jimmy Buffett eating a cheeseburger in paradise.”




This is not paradise. This is AI hell.