We walked up to what would be our apartment for the next few days or weeks or whatever, and turned on the tv, as one does.
Somehow we landed on C-Span, and somehow C-Span was covering a State Dinner at the White House hosted by George W. Bush.
I know. I'm writing about Dubya.
But apparently Dubya never had state dinners; he never entertained at home -- he never had anyone over, and he lived in the White House! Where everybody else does everything for you! I would have had people over all the time.
What a chump.
But we were riveted by the coverage. We were riveted by the guests filing in (they invited the Kentucky Derby winning jockey who was very small and very adorable) (unless that was another year), we were riveted by the hushed tone of the announcers . . . But mostly? We were riveted by the menu.
In the same hushed tones, the announcers told the viewers what was for dinner that fateful night.
There was wine . . .
There was salad . . .
There was, I assume, an entree . . .
. . . but to start it all off?
The White House served A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses.
Bill and I looked at eachother in incredulous awe. A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses?!
Nothing has been the same since.
We now always -- always, for all these years -- never just serve cheese.
When we serve cheese, we serve A Trio of Farmhouse Cheeses.
See? Christmas morning breakfast . . .
And closeup of the last cheese standing.
And we're not the only ones.
We got our Christmas / Hanukkah present from Rachel and Michelle this weekend . . . and as Billy texted them in thanks yesterday . . .
It was "a fine day for a Trio."
It may be the only thing Dubya -- nay, Dubya's staff -- got right.
Thank you, R&M. Thank you, cows and sheep and cheesemakers from England, Holland and America.
Happy New Year, everybody.