Stop playing coy with me Mr. Fromagier!

Dear Charles Fromagier,

I know you were just being coy with me when I went to Artisanal in New York for a cheese dinner and you said you thought I probably wouldn’t even want cheese after my fondue with dried apricots and pine nuts accompanied by bread and crudites course.

And I know that when you kept returning to your cheese hole and I had to thrice summon you back to the table you were just playing hard to get.

And I know you were trying to impress me when you told me that investment bankers and gallery directors have been known to become fromagiers...

and that you were also trying to impress me with your stories of your trip to Wisconsin when you were sixteen and that one time you went to Vermont with friends and how you think you might have a distant cousin twice removed in Sicily.

But what I don’t understand is why you think I “wouldn’t even understand” your favorite cheese, epoisses, with all it’s melty French cow’s milk goodness and the honey-slathered walnuts and quince paste and dried fig cakes accompanying it.

Wasn't it you that said that anyone with a "deep enough interest" to "commit the cheeses to memory" could become a fromagier like you? Do you think my love for cheese - er you - is insincere? Do you doubt my commitment? Dear Dear Charles Fromagier, can’t you see that I yearn to melt with you?

Please stop playing games with me. I just know that we are a nice pairing. Please let's let our bold nutty flavors with hints of tang and firm texture and musty aroma finish emerge. I have seen the future and I know it is rich, full flavored, and intense.