Processed cheese

Processed cheese is something I was taught (quite willingly) to despise at an early age. The slabs of 'La vache qui rit' were pointed out in badly picked Christmas hampers, and during the absolute joy of going shopping for food in France's amazing 'Mammouth's or 'Les Mousquetaires'. Something to laugh at. Not to be eaten. Only for emergencies, and then you would struggle with the red plastic ribbon cutting haplessly into the sickly pale triangle.

And your fingers would smell.

This is choice: "Processed cheese has very good keeping qualities, the reason being that due to the heating there is no further maturing and flavour development." (Dairygold... from that nation so known for its lovely cheeses, Ireland. Did you know that during the war, cheese in Ireland wasn't rationed? Why? Because nobody ate it. No wonder, if Dairy Gold was what they were offered.)

But going back to that quote... what flavour exactly did they wish to stop developing? Ah yes, the NON EXISTENT flavour. The maddeningly bland, plasticine, sickeningly weak, milky taste.

The wretched people who invented this should be quartered.

Someone please explain to me the point of something so vile. On second thought, don't.