Truer words were never spoken. That quote by author Avery Aames sums up my lifelong love affair with cheese.

After I stopped eating school cafeteria lunches, good old American cheese became a thing of my past. In college, I met a few French students who knew the cheese world. It was all new to me, but oh, what a discovery that new world was. Gruyere, blue, and brie? Sacre bleu! Where had you been all my life?

When it was first explained to me that blue cheese was essentially mold – but in wedge shape – I gulped a bit. Then I smelled it. I still was not so sure. But the first bite on a seedy cracker was all it took to begin an enduring friendship. Dear Richard and I always add blue cheese crumbles to a chef’s salad. A wedge of room temperature Danish blue or French Roquefort sitting on a cocktail table is temptation on a plate. It’s the devil himself if cheese is mixed in with other delicacies on a charcuterie board. All cheeses qualify. Brie and prosciutto? Extra sharp cheddar and Golden Delicious apples? Gruyere and candied apricots? Feed me now.

And that’s the problem. Having worked at shedding some pounds this year, I’ve discovered that my scale is annoyingly accurate. Every time I enjoy a delicious cheese – or two – the scale gets mouthy the next morning. “No, no, no, this is not what you had in mind.” And I’m left wondering. Which is better, the fabulous creamy indulgence from the night before, or a half pound off? You know the answer. The cheese stands alone. It always wins.

But good cheese is like peanuts. You can’t eat just one. I think it was Willie Nelson who said, “The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” The thing about cheese is the second mouthful is every bit as good as the first. And so is the third. And the fourth… hence my problem.

Cheeseburgers are the only option for ground patties at our house. Does anybody eat a plain hamburger anymore? Our burgers sport extra sharp cheddar before we add tomato, onion, or sometimes hot peppers. The first time I made a hamburger for Dear Richard, I asked if he wanted cheese. “Is there any other way?” he asked. It’s now been more than a decade of sharing dinner with this man who eats a cheeseburger every week – and maybe more. His personal mantra? “Everything tastes better with cheese.”

And then there’s Patti LaBelle’s macaroni and cheese recipe. When I was Executive Director at our historic theatre, we hosted picnics to honor our volunteers. Along with barbecued chicken, salad, beans, and local corn, we made Patti’s famous mac & cheese. Two huge buffet pans full. In order to ensure there was enough for seconds, I quintupled the recipe, which calls for five kinds of cheese. Actually, that’s four kinds of cheese and…Velveeta. When I first read the recipe, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Velveeta? Yuck!

Then I saw Patti interviewed about feeding her crew at the different venues she played. She confessed that she of course knew Velveeta isn’t really cheese. “But the recipe isn’t the same without it… and everybody LOVES it.” So I tried it. It was fabulous – the best I’d ever eaten. Then I made a single recipe without Velveeta. Never again. It’s only good with the boxed “cheese.”

With all that build-up, you would think I make Patti’s recipe all the time. I try to abstain because of my screaming scale. But if I make it? God help me. I’ll have a standard serving for supper or a picnic. Then at 2 a.m., I am standing beside the microwave, zapping a small dishful. It’s irresistible. The easiest way to avoid that temptation? Don’t make it. Or leave for Massachusetts just as it comes out of the oven.

Oh, cheese. Life without you is impossible to imagine. How can you be so good and so bad at the same time?

Charles de Gaulle once said, “How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?” He tried. I am still trying to eat my way to my first 24 of those cheeses. Not living in France is a definite handicap.

We’re having breakfast for supper tonight: a sharp cheddar cheese omelet with a few hot peppers, asparagus on the side. And some garlic bread. With parmesan. There’s no escaping it.

Marcy O’Brien, an award-winning columnist, can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.