Velveeta

This week, I was at a gathering of young women--and by 'young', I mean women who refuse to grow old, no matter what their ages, who are as sharp and current as this morning's newspaper (which they read) and are, to a woman, far more interesting to listen to than any commentator who appears on my television. In any case, we meet once a month for a bag lunch and conversation, for book and theater and film recommendations, and discussion of issues ranging from election results to global catastrophes. It is a great and worthy group, and I consider myself fortunate indeed to be included.

My sandwich yesterday was a purchased grilled cheese, as I was coming from an appointment and had just enough time to stop by a favorite cafe and pick it up. This sparked a discussion of the shop, grilled cheese, cheese in general, Philly cheesesteaks, favorite food sources, supermarkets and where the next Wegman's was to be built. But somewhere in the wide range of conversations that erupted, the subject of Velveeta arose, and with it, some confessions of the guilty pleasures of comfort foods we enjoyed as children.

It is a poor child indeed who has never enjoyed on a cold day the warm solace of a bowl of Campbell's tomato soup (preferably made with milk) and a crunchy, buttery, gooey grilled cheese sandwich on the side. (Potato chips and pickle are optional.) Most of my friends did not admit to purchasing Velveeta, but all remembered it and all the quick-fix recipes from the pre-gourmet era that included it in their list of ingredients. What easier sauce, what more adaptable product could one find, aside from cream of mushroom soup?

I cannot tell a lie. I am never without a package of Velveeta cheese slices in my refrigerator. They get rolled up like pinwheels in biscuit dough to top my tuna casserole; they are added to my scrambled eggs; they are mixed in (with a little milk) with vegetables for a quickie cheese sauce; they are there for quick cheeseburgers or chili cheese-dogs...and always, always, always for grilled cheese sandwiches. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Ode to Velveeta

O creamy wonder of the past!

Where have you gone?

Who will praise you in this brave new world

of natural, unadulterated products,

in this barren foodscape bereft of color,

preservative and additive?

Who has not luxuriated

in your gooey grilled cheese

with steaming tomato soup on a chilly day—

or longingly dreamed of mac and cheese

devoid of blue box and yellow powder?

You are the sine qua non of tuna melts,

the quintessential ingredient

in fine con quesos, and yet…

you stand without honor,

banished from the pantheon of comfort food.

O yellow box! O foil-wrapped brick!

Return once more to your rightful place

inside our refrigerator door…

Melt and pour in a golden stream,

gilding our pasta, Krafting our cheesesteaks,

oozing o’er hot dogs (with mustard and relish)

Spread your yellow cloak and offer disguise

to loathsome vegetables…

Children, young and old,

will bless you once again.