We are. I’m not sure whether to be proud or ashamed, but we’re definitely raising a snooty little girl.
Look, this is camembert. What sort of decent, well-regulated baby chows down on a wedge of camembert? I ask you.
Also, notice how she has the bangs down over her face and an expression of ennui.
Of course, it may just be tiredness, or resignation at being photographed again, and it soon faded as she crammed the cheese in her mouth.
She also had the chance tonight to have – besides the camembert – a local Missouri goat cheese, handmade from milk produced on the farm where it is made, and given by goats that have lived a very pampered life, as well as some Jarlsberg.
She disdained the Jarlsberg.
It as, as the link tells you, available in over 30,000 supermarkets in the US, and I’m tolerably certain that that was why she didn’t like it. It’s a very mild cheese, comparatively, since it doesn’t taste like either moldy gym socks or pepper. But Margaret – our budding snob – was in the mood for some strong flavors. Last night she made inroads into our Stilton. Goodness.
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