Mailing a bite of home (2/9/05)

Sally was on the phone. It was a Sunday afternoon, one week before the Super Bowl.

“So, Dad, what’re you doing this afternoon?”

It seemed an odd question.

Nothing much, I answered. Just sort of puttering around. Connie was busy with homework for a graduate course she’s taking at Ball State University. I was mostly just trying to stay out of her way so she could study.

Well, said my youngest daughter, do you think you could find time to make me a cheese log for our Super Bowl party? In fact, could I find the time to make two of them?

Now, I’m not well known for my culinary skills.

In our kitchen, I always play the role of assistant while my wife gives direction. It’s always worked out that way, and I haven’t done too much damage yet.

But there are a couple of dishes I’ve made over the years that have been well received at carry-ins and the like.

One is an apple cake from a recipe given to me by Mildred May. It’s unofficially known as “Aunt Mid’s Apple Cake” and has gotten rave reviews.

The other is a cheese log that I first made several years ago for our dinner club. Since then — often at Sally’s urging — I’ve made it dozens of times. One year, I was ambitious enough to make several of them for our neighbors at Christmas.

But this was the first time I’d received a long distance request for a Super Bowl event.

When I stopped laughing, I agreed to give it a go, even though I had no idea where to find the recipe.

The next night, with the recipe in hand (Connie knew right where it was, of course), I spread out the ingredients on the countertop. Extra-sharp cheddar cheese, blue cheese, cream cheese, onion, cayenne pepper (the secret ingredient that gives it kick), and pecans to cover the outside.

For a little over an hour, while my wife watched Antiques Roadshow, I banged around the kitchen, mumbling to myself, swearing under my breath more than once, and occasionally shouting out questions when I needed guidance.

But before bedtime, two cheese logs were chilling in the refrigerator, wrapped in wax paper and aluminum foil.

The rest was up to the U.S. Postal Service.

At lunchtime Tuesday, I tucked the logs into a cardboard box, along with a box of crackers, sealed the whole concoction up with tape, and took it to the post office.

“Any perishables?” asked Thurman at the post office.

I shook my head, though I’m not sure why. Maybe I was figuring that the cayenne pepper would act as a preservative. At any rate, before I knew it the package was Bloomington-bound via Priority Mail.

Later I found myself wondering what would happen if the package went astray. Would the package give off a cheesy odor in some postal sectional center?

I remembered a friend from college who had been taking a frozen turkey home for the holidays, only to have it lost by Greyhound. It never surfaced, and we always figured it had defrosted and gone bad in some backwater bus terminal.

I needn’t have worried. The package arrived the next day, and the cheese log added to the festive occasion in Sally’s dorm.

As for us, we settled for nachos.[[In-content Ad]]