I returned to the Temple of Cheese today.

It had been two weeks since my last visit, but I hoped that High Priestess Virginia would remember me.

As I approached her altar she was doing her best to convert a group of non-believers to the wonders of Neal's Yard Stilton, I could tell from the drawn look on her face that it had been a long day of spreading the word of lactose. As I approached the altar I didn't see her register a look of recognition on me when her gaze was cast my way. She mindlessly handed me the little spoon, with a smear of Stilton on it's tip. Not being sure if I really wanted to consume a blue cheese, I realized that I had already gone to far. If I was going to back out from today's supplication it should have been long before the sacred tasting spoon was headed my way. Not wanting to offend the high priestess herself, I placed the smear upon my tongue, where it's creamy sharpness became a very pleasant surprise indeed. I pronounced the cheese sublime, and with that, the high priestess conferred upon me the office of Novice in the Cult of Stilton.

I was disappointed that she did not seem to recognize me, but being surrounded by so many non-believers has got to be draining. When I asked her what cheese she recommended for the very best grilled cheese ever, she absent mindedly gestured over to the cheddar case, with a slack, not caring snap of her wrist, and said, "Get one of the Canadian, Cheddars." I can only hope that my next visit will be more fulfilling.

I chuckled at the wanted poster of Mary Lou Henner, on the bulletin board as I left the Temple.

While public tasting is key to gaining entrance into one of the many cults at the Temple of Cheese, private consumption is often viewed as a more meaningful deed.

Tonight's dinner was a simple one of Stilton crumbles on slices of whole grain pumpernickel. Warmed gently under the broiler till just about to melt. Sublime I tell you, with a simple salad of sliced tomatoes.

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