You would think that I’d be sick of cheese by now. For the past three months, I have been sleeping and breathing cheese (and obviously eating it), not only at my cheesemongering job, but also as an intern at a cheese magazine.  When I’m not selling cheese, I’m writing about cheese.  I’ve got cheese on the brain, and increasingly on the hips.  And yet, given an afternoon alone and a kitchen to myself, what do I decide to eat?  More cheese. It’s late March in Boston, but Mother Nature still thinks it’s January.  Springing the clocks forward created the visual…

Academically, I believe that spring is coming.  I sprang my clock forward last night, March equinox is in ten days, and Girl Scouts are hawking their cookies on every corner.  But actually, spring feels as far away as it ever did.  This is my fourth winter in Boston, so I understand– it’s going to snow a lot, and for a lot longer than it feels like it should.  (Twelve inches of snow last Friday + one spectacular slip on the ice on Saturday = I’m sick of snow.) But even if it doesn’t feel like spring, I can still eat…