Salted Cream Cheese

The only trigger warning today is delicious, delicious soft cheese. So if that makes you uncomfortable I’m sorry – you’re missing out. 



Extreme close up of breakfast with white cat in background

I pretty much constantly crave tomato, dairy, and salt. I’m sure this reveals that I have cancer or scurvy or lupus or something, but mostly it just means I really enjoy my food. I bought a toaster oven on Friday, and I have been delighting in the discount bread store bagels that he toasts for me. Mainly because they’re an effective delivery service for cream cheese. 

When I worked at the hotel, we would make southern style biscuits – like a savoury scone – and put cream cheese and salt on them. It’s pretty much the best thing ever. I salted my cheese today for the first time at home and let me tell you: it was the right decision. 

The cat, in the ten minutes it took me to eat my ridiculously satisfying breakfast and write this post, has not moved. She’s glaring with disdain at her sister and I think reflecting on how much her mother doesn’t love her. If I loved her, I would’ve shared my cream cheese, she says. 

Whatever. It’s mine. Get a job, little cat, then we can talk. 

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