cheese and dreams, revisited
Back in September, I posted something about the British Cheese Board trying to debunk the notion that eating cheese before bed causes nightmares (dreams, yes; nightmares, no).
I'm not sure what this longstanding urban legend is ultimately rooted in, but oh, the things I learn reading Metafilter. Apparently it was around at least as far back as the turn of the 20th century, when comic artist Winsor McKay was creating a series of very trippy comic strips about a guy who always feels so bad after he ate that rarebit.
(Welsh rarebit = cheese on toast.)
I just ate an olive stuffed with blue cheese, and I'm about to go to bed. I'll let you know tomorrow if I have any dreams about a street rolling up like a hamster wheel or giant asparagus destroying my home. (I did have a cool one recently about a house that was an indoor swimming pool -- you could swim through the hallways from room to room -- and superimposed on the floor of the pool was a 3-D topographical map of the ocean floor. That one *must* have been a cheese dream.)
I'm not sure what this longstanding urban legend is ultimately rooted in, but oh, the things I learn reading Metafilter. Apparently it was around at least as far back as the turn of the 20th century, when comic artist Winsor McKay was creating a series of very trippy comic strips about a guy who always feels so bad after he ate that rarebit.
(Welsh rarebit = cheese on toast.)
I just ate an olive stuffed with blue cheese, and I'm about to go to bed. I'll let you know tomorrow if I have any dreams about a street rolling up like a hamster wheel or giant asparagus destroying my home. (I did have a cool one recently about a house that was an indoor swimming pool -- you could swim through the hallways from room to room -- and superimposed on the floor of the pool was a 3-D topographical map of the ocean floor. That one *must* have been a cheese dream.)
posted by Anonymous at 11:56 PM
2 Comments:
There's a great Irish restaurant in Louisville that served a Welsh Rarebit with mustard. It was basically a sourdough bread grilled cheese with mustard. yuck.
And there's an "Irish" pub in Wilmington that pours something akin to beer-moistened Velveeta on toast and dares to call it "Welsh rabbit." The horror!
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