the IDIOT QUEST TASTE EXPLOSION

Today is recovery day two from Strep Throat. Apparently I’m eight years old, or, as my doctor gently put it: “Have you been hanging around a lot of young children?” No, sir doctor, I have not. “Well, it’s really unusual for someone over 18 to have Strep.” Don’t know what to tell ya. Haven’t been around any children. No children. Ever. Keep them away from me.

For lunch today I wasn’t feeling spectacularly outgoing, so I heated up some canned sauce and cooked some cheese-filled ravioli. The only good thing about this situation is that  I had some feta on hand, the last remaining morsels that I bought along with some spinach that I had forced myself to choke down over the weekend. This purchase occurred after I decided I was going to die from eating too many french fries and Uptown Burgers. Pretty sure I’m okay now. Except for this whole death-like illness thingy.

But onto happier things: I like feta cheese. In fact, I’m relatively certain that the path to happiness is sprinkled with feta cheese and lined with bacon. My favorite feta in Minneapolis is sold at Bill’s Imported Foods on Lake Street near Lyndale. Pretty sure they make it there, along with their mozzarella. I’ve never asked if they make it, because they scare me, but it sits in large watery vats that don’t look an inch like commercial pre-packaging. Here is their super informative Web site: Oh so much imported foods!

For those of you who did not click that link, good. Let me tell you about that Web site: it’s super low-tech and not at all interested in marketing to you. It’s more like, “Oh. Hi there. I see you must have heard about us. Here’s our store hours and our address. Do with this information what you will.” If you should decide to visit Bill’s, you will find that the ambiance is much the same. Which is why I like the place. It’s doesn’t give a fuck about you. Yet the people who work behind the counter–typically an older woman and a middle-aged man who could be her son, a pair that I’ve always assumed are the owners–are warm but not necessarily friendly. They own an imported foods store–not a Bath & Body Works–and they don’t put up pretend niceties. Plus they have aisles of canned shit that takes forever to find at huge supermarkets. Last time I checked, they have a tahini section, which is fun, and there is almost an entire aisle devoted to dried fruits and nuts. I’m a sucker for both.

You should visit Bill’s, because I’m concerned that they will one day close, and then I will no longer be able to taste their feta. So don’t ruin this for me. Thanks. Also, bring cash. They don’t accept your modern forms of payment.