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Don't get me started. Dang! You just did!
My mother used to lie like a drunken sailor about what was in the "food" she cooked because there were some things I hated with a visceral passion, such as cheese - especially the totally smelly types that are favored by my particular ethnic group.
She simply had to put this cheese in everything she cooked or she wasn't being Italian enough or some damn thing. You can smell this stuff from outside the house. I can tell if there's a molecule of it in a recipe.
She had this habit of saying "There's no cheese in this" as she shoved the constant parade of cheesy, smelly concoctions that comprised her menu at me in vain attempts to give me sustenance. That damnable lie was repeated ad infinitum throughout my childhood. I never understood what kind of a dunce she took me for.
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