As has been documented here, I am a huge fan of cheese. Hard, soft, stinkier the better, CHEESE FOR ONE AND ALL.
(I’m going to apologize right now, for flu is rampant at Tom’s workplace and I think this might be the year my staunch anti-flu shot policy comes to bite me in the ass. I have a fever, and the only cure is of-the-cow-cheesetastic-awesomeness. Sing about THAT, Mr. Walken.)
First, a word about the wedding I was in a week or so ago: you cannot take us ANYWHERE. Alone, we are quietly perverse, usually keeping our wisecracks to ourselves or confined to a small but accepting audience. Together…well, together we created the Twaffle.
The Twaffle originated from SOMEONE (ahem) using a creative curse word (see 2nd definition for appropriate use) in front of her daughter, who then repeated it as “twaffle!” I agree, such a vulgar and inappropriate person should be at the very least reported, if not stoned outright. But anyway, the assembled adults decided on this definition of “twaffle,” which I helpfully submitted to Urban Dictionary:
“The act of running up behind someone, reaching high between their legs (almost but not quite in the crotch seam) and slapping one’s hand back and forth as if to motorboat the upper thighs with the hand. The recipient of the twaffle is now “it” and must twaffle someone else to continue the game. Verb, origin Grafton VT Sept. 2010.”
Can’t. Take. Us. ANYWHERE.
So thus the inaugural game of Twaffle commenced upon our arrival at a cheese and maple syrup tasting, a pre-wedding event that I now deem ABSOLUTELY REQUIRED for any destination wedding. Only thing, though: the farm’s name is Sugarbush.
Go ahead. Snicker. It’s okay; you’re among friends here.
Despite “scenic Vermont road” being a GROSS understatement for the Dramamine-necessary path we traveled, the end destination did not disappoint in the slightest. It was absolutely worth the time it took to get there, and not only because the shrieks of Twaffle-tag victims echoed beautifully through the storied foliage-laden hills of Vermont.
No…this place is a holy landmark for another reason. Sage cheese, eight-year aged cheddar, onion cheese, sharp cheddar with horseradish: all worth the trip. The four delectable maple syrups? Also worthwhile.
But perhaps better than the birth of the Twaffle, this is where we discovered blue cheese and maple syrup…together.
Now, I totally understand that face you just made, because I made it too. But check it out: the woman giving our tasting put a little crumble of fine blue cheese, delightfully pungent and rich, and dribbled a touch of light their Vermont Fancy syrup over the crumble. The syrup cuts the tang and tart of the cheese without hiding it, and the cheese cuts the other way and reduces the excessive sweetness of the maple.
Sweet Christ on a cracker, this is good. It is SO GOOD. I tried this at home with a bit of feta and then a little chevre….and what do you know? EQUALLY AWESOME.
So if you ever find yourself at the end of a long country drive in Vermont and you have access to phenomenal blue cheese and a growler of maple syrup, go ahead. You might get some stares, but just twaffle those who are giving you a hard time. You’ll be arrested for molestation, sure, but you’ll be righteous in your revenge.
Let a syrupy twaffling good time be had by all.