My Two BFFs: Bread and Cheese

Ah, bread and cheese—my first loves, my childhood best friends, the Thelma and Louise of my culinary life.

It was a perfect trifecta: me, carbs, and dairy, riding off into the sunset of snack-time bliss. But, like any great love story, it all came crashing down. Spoiler alert: my body is a traitor.

The air smelled like happiness mixed with yeast

Let’s rewind to second grade. A lot happened that year—most of which involved food. Every morning, I’d walk past a small Italian bakery and the Wonder Bread factory in Columbus, Ohio. The air smelled like happiness mixed with yeast, and my little heart learned that bread was the edible equivalent of a warm hug. Back then, bread was affordable. For a quarter, you could get a loaf of store-brand white bread—a filler, a feast, and sometimes my entire personality.

I didn’t just eat bread; oh no, I got creative.

I’d rip out the soft insides, squish them into a dough ball, and snack like it was a Michelin-starred appetizer. Food was my escape, my joy, my therapy. And honestly, I never met a piece of warm bread I didn’t like. My go-to was classic Wonder Bread paired with—drumroll, please—cheese. And not just any cheese: Velveeta. Yes, the cheese log of questionable origin.

The Velveeta monopoly

My grandparents had a Velveeta monopoly, so it was that or nothing.

Frankly, I wasn’t even a fan, but anxiety makes you do wild things. No friends? Anxiety snack. Feeling fat? Anxiety snack. Getting through childhood trauma? You guessed it—anxiety snack. I’d slap the thickest slice of Velveeta between two slices of plain white bread and create a sandwich so obscene it probably violated local food laws. No condiments, no meat—just bread, cheese, and existential dread.

Bread and cheese were my ride-or-dies

For decades, bread and cheese were my ride-or-dies.

Then, five years ago, my body staged a coup. Gluten? Suddenly, it’s public enemy number one. My joints ached, my energy vanished, and my stomach threw fits that could rival toddler tantrums. During the COVID lockdown, I decided to Marie Kondo my pantry (read: chuck everything with gluten). The sheer volume of gluten-filled foods was mind-blowing. Soups, sauces, baked goods—basically everything that made life delicious.

Here’s the thing about gluten: it’s the magic that makes bread chewy, pizza stretchy, and life worth living.

Without it? Well, gluten-free bread is… let’s just say it’s bread-adjacent. It tastes okay if you make it fresh, but by day two, it transforms into a sad, crumbly sponge. Someone hand me a Xanax—sorry, I mean xanthan gum, the not-so-secret weapon of gluten-free bakers. Elasticity? Check. Flavor? Eh, let’s not get greedy.

Nicole Hunn, the queen of “Gluten-Free Shoestring.”

In my quest for gluten-free enlightenment, I stumbled upon Nicole Hunn, the queen of “Gluten-Free on a Shoestring.”

This genius recreated everything from snack cakes to homemade soft pretzels. Did it taste like the real deal? Not quite. But it was close enough to stop me from weeping into my gluten-free pasta.

Cheese was still there

So, bread was out, but cheese?

Cheese was still there to catch me in its dairy-scented embrace. I leaned in hard. Cheddar, feta, blue, Kraft Singles—I loved them all. Cheese was my therapist, my best friend, my lunch. That is, until Dairy-Gate. Yep, my body betrayed me again. Post-menopause, my stomach decided dairy was no longer invited to the party.

Let me tell you, breaking up with cheese was harder than any romantic heartbreak. I went from devouring brie to politely declining mozzarella. Cheese and I became acquaintances rather than soulmates. And don’t even get me started on chocolate turning its back on me—that’s a saga for another day.

Cutting gluten and cheese

The good news? I’m healthier now. Cutting gluten and cheese took pressure off my body, and I lost weight—not enough to get me into a fitness commercial, but enough to make my knees thank me. Still, if someone handed me a loaf of freshly baked French bread, guaranteed pain-free, I’d tackle you to the ground for it. No regrets.

So here I am, older, wiser, and a little bitter (but in a lactose-free way). Bread and cheese may no longer rule my world, but they’ll always be my exes—the kind you still secretly stalk on Instagram.

Catch you next time for my chocolate betrayal saga. Spoiler: it involves tears and a lot of dark humor.