Pub No. 2, yet again

More on figure skating in a minute, but I forgot to post yet another Pub No. 2 adventure. (Figure skating is on the TV here, but apparently the early competitors don't matter at all, so I'm not watching. As for what I'd watch tonight if I were home, Idol in a runaway. Not even close. If Paula's playfully pushing Simon and Randy's not feelin' it dawg, I'm there.)

(Also, the media center just exploded in noise as the heavy-metal-video-starring-Swedes won gold in women's curling, triumphing over Hop Suisse! in extra ends. The sport has a huge cult following in media land.)

Anyhow, the Official Secondary Pub of these games, also known as "Original Sin," was fairly quiet last night, quiet enough for me to hear a Canadian at the adjoining table say something about "hail to the cheese." Being one of the top two dozen cheese journalists at these games, I leaned over to investigate.

Actually, he hadn't said "hail to the cheese," he had said "hail to the chief," but it turned out that one of the Canadians was an enormous cheese fan. One of the most enthusiastic in the world, he said. "The stinkier and smellier the better," he said.

"My wife says she'll divorce me if I go to Whole Foods and bring back any more cheese," he said. (Yet again, I met someone at Pub No. 2 whose name is being withheld for professional reasons.) "The whole bottom of my refrigerator is filled with cheese. It's a bad habit."

Seriously, does anything bring the world together more than cheese? Everyone I've met here loves cheese. Everyone. Drop a few wheels of Raschera into the UN headquarters, and all would be well with the world.

(An aside, from a former co-worker:

I have been thinking a lot about curling in the past week, thanks entirely to TFT, and it hit me yesterday--and if somebody has mentioned this to you already, please forgive me in spades--that a stone pretty much resembles a big wheel of cheese, but with a funny handle implanted in the top. (It was one of those Eureka moments, kinda.) Think about it. This, I figured, explained darn near everything, or at least brought things full circle, so to speak.

Then I got to thinking even more, which is always dangerous. What if someone--could be you, could be me, could be us, could be one or more of your readers--invented and then patented a handle-with-a-corkscrew-like device that, when drilled down into the top center of a wheel of cheese, would permit it to be moved about with the greatest of ease? (Nice rhyme, huh?) Ingenious. Reusable. Ergonomic. Maybe even call it "The Cheesemonger's Friend."

So this is the ticket. A little capital, a little factory not too far from Turin, and before we know it the money's rolling in. Beats journalism, huh?

Whether or not this happens, it's true that a curling stone resembles a wheel of cheese more closely than does any other winter sporting implement, save for a hockey puck.)

(Another aside: This PenguinSix fellow, who likes to post interesting, thoughtful comments here and then slam me on his blog for being lazy, posted about some former winter sports, including bandy, which is basically hockey with a ball. Since we can all agree the Winter Olympics needs more stick-and-ball sports, and especially more team sports, let's all jump on the bandywagon.)

(Another aside: Loyal reader Jay sent me this:

Well, I think I hit the complete trifecta for your world tonight:

I was out at a bar in Knoxville, Tennessee with some of my buddies from the curling club. We were, of course, watching the U.S.-Canada semifinal game. But here's where it gets fun:

1) We were eating cheese. Robiola it ain't, but we were definitely munching on some delicious queso dip. I suggested a Bra, but no one seemed to understand what I was talking about.

2) There were three TVs next to each other where we were sitting. While curling played on two, I was also paying close attention to the third TV, where I watched the score of the GW basketball game as it updated while Tennessee and Florida squared off. So, GW basketball, your favorite, I know. [Ed. Note: I have no favorites. I just cover GW for a living.]

3) Here's the kicker. One of the guests of one of our Canadian members: A Kiwi. Yes, a New Zealander. He wasn't tremendously up to speed on the ins and outs of curling, but was, in fact, aware of the Mainland commercials.

So there you have it: I spent this evening watching curling in a bar in Tennessee while keeping up to date on GW basketball scores while eating cheese with a Kiwi and a bunch of Canadians.)

Solid.

Back to the Canadian cheese lover at Pub No. 2. He's from Vancouver, and he said there is a brand of cracker there called "Lesley Stowe" that is unquestionably the greatest cracker in the history of the world, and also the best accompaniment for cheese. Read some of these comments. They're incredibly enthusiastic. Has anyone tasted these crackers? Are they really that good?

So the anonymous cheese lover immediately called his assistant back in Canada and ordered her to FedEx two boxes of Lesley Stowe crackers to the Washington Post in my name. "You're going to freak," he promised. I probably won't be allowed to eat them, to avoid the appearance of graft, but I promise to look at the packaging.

The reason I'm not posting the cheese lover's name is because he was in the process of getting pleasantly tipsy for the third time since he had left home yesterday morning. Thrice in 24 hours. He planned to continue a similar schedule for his four days in Turin. I really never knew the Olympics were this Bacchanalian. Tonight, in addition to my invite to the Slovak House, Mike Wise is promising he could get me in to the Holland Heineken House, which is apparently hosting a party for hottie philanthropist Joey Cheek and his predecessor in speedskating philanthropy, Johann Olav Koss.

By Dan Steinberg |  February 23, 2006; 2:30 PM ET
Previous: My first figure skating experience | Next: Sneaking out of the figure skating universe, to the tune of Romeo and Juliet

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