Snakes on a Plate!

Review of Kraft "Grate-It-Fresh" Parmesan Cheese

Blog Buzz is the new black. Companies have been sending out sample products to bloggers, hoping a positive online review will spur word-of-mouth frenzy, and eventually translate into big sales. At least three times a week businesses with new beauty products to promote send me lurid email. Please, Birdie, they say. Please let us send you some free goodies! This product is amazing - amazing! And sexy! Woo Yeah! Maybe you can write about it for us!

I always say Nope. I'm an Avon Girl.

But a few weeks ago I received a different request. It wasn't from Clinique or Benefit or Max Factor begging me to treat my eyes to the latest amazing, sexy de-puffer. It wasn't even from a company with some tangential connection to beauty like L. L. Bean or Walgreens. The email was thoughtful. Smart. Alive. It didn't sound like corporate bullshit. I liked it, and decided I liked the person who sent it. His name was Adam, and he told me he was an intern at Kraft, and would I consider trying out a new "Grate-It-Fresh" Parmesan cheese? Adam described the cheese by using anecdotes and clear facts. He didn't ask me to write about it, just said that maybe I would have some suggestions or others who may enjoy a sample. He even added a smiley at just the right moment, and I found myself laughing, wishing I could meet this Kraft wonder Intern who knew how to make a jaded Avon blogger smile.

I pictured Adam crossing the fingers of his left hand and clicking "send" with his right. Poor intern, I thought. Who doesn't like cheese? I'll try it. I emailed Adam the Intern and told him yeah, send me the cheese.

A few days later a styrofoam cooler arrived via DHL. My son, 11, answered the doorbell and hauled the goods inside.

"Mom! Mom! You got a cooler in the mail! Quick!"

I hustled to the front door and stared at a square styrofoam box, approximately a foot long and a foot tall and a foot wide. Wow, that must be some hunk 'o cheese. I opened it and found myself face to face with a couple of ice packs and a plastic wrapper containing the magic Parmesan. My son grabbed the cheese and read the label.

"Mom! We have to have spaghetti tonight!" He gave me the puppy dog eyes and I said Yeah, spaghetti, no problem.

A few hours later I set the table. Three plates of hot spaghetti, three paper napkins, three unmatched forks, and the exalted Kraft Grate-It-Fresh. Adam sent three information sheets along with the cheese, but it didn't require instructions. The cheese rested in a clear-plastic cylinder with a screw-top bottom. I twisted off the lid, revealing a green grid that acts as a grater. You twist the canister and the cheese grates itself, right onto your food! I read the label to see what ingredients were in this modern product. Gotta be a lot of conditioners and fillers and preservatives, right? But nope, just good old-fashioned Parmesan cheese, nothing more, nothing less. Cheese and a plastic self-contained grater.

I hovered the product over my dinner and gave it a twirl. I didn't need to press hard - the grater worked like a charm and deposited two-inch long tiny, thin twists of cheese onto my pasta. They squirmed and shimmied, delicate dairy dancers, as they melted into the hot food, and my boys both reached for the grater at the same time, desperate to add some motion garnish to their plates.

My son, 9, works the Kraft grater

Mmmmmmmmmmm! Looks "grate!"

We each decided that the cheese was wonderful! It tasted fresher than the typical cans of pre-grated sprinkles. I started to wonder whether Kraft was planning a Romano version.

"I love this!" 11 grabbed the cheese for an additional squirt.

"Yeah. I love it, too. I'm going to give it two big thumbs up." I lifted another twirled fork of spaghetti to my mouth and watch my boy grate cheese, watched it swirl and fall, watched him cover every square inch of his plate with the product.

"Hey, mom?" 9 spoke with a full mouth. A strand of spaghetti hung outside the right corner of his lips, and he sucked it inside. "Mom? We're supposed to be testing this product, right?"

"Yup. And I'd say we're doing an excellent job!" I chewed another bite, decided I could never do a low-carb regimen, decided I would eat two luscious plate-fulls.

"Well, Mom, everybody already loves spaghetti. So this isn't a good test. We need to test the cheese on something no one would eat."

I stared at 9. He pointed his fork at his older brother.

"How about you eat the cheese on a worm? You made me read that book! I bet you won't do it!"

Ah. How to Eat Fried Worms. I knew they passed my old childhood book between them, knew they both stayed up late, flashlights under the covers, reading the odd little dog-eared book about the boy who accepts a fifty-dollar bet to eat fried worms.

"Now, boys. We are NOT eating worms! Finish your dinner! Besides, in the sixth grade, my science teacher Mr. Gola made us eat a worm. It wasn't that bad."

I used my Mom voice, my I Know I'm Right voice, the voice I use when I think I'm better or smarter or more experienced than the receiver of my oral spasms. I rubbed the bottom of my feet against the dog's soft fur. She grunted under the table, hopeful for crumbs or a sneaky food-filled hand.

"Uh, Mom. I don't believe you." 11 cleared his throat and placed his fork on the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head, let his clear hazel eyes meet mine. "You're going to have to prove it. I'm tired of all these things grown-ups say. They always claim they did this and that and we just have to believe it. You have to show us, Mom."

Both boys forgot their food. They didn't lose their gaze, watched my expression change from surprise to parental anger to surprise to Yeah. Yeah, I'll eat a worm. Both boys bolted from the table, dog on their tails, and left the front door wide open in a trail of moral indignatious dust. I heard bits and pieces of their worm-collecting conversation as I washed the spaghetti dishes.

"Um, nope. That one's not big enough. We have to find a juicy one. You know, a fat one."

Ick.

Ten minutes later the boys returned with a wriggler. I set the frying pan on the stove and let them slip him inside. He squirmed against the cool Teflon:

Poor little booger!

I didn't have the heart to fry him, so I decided to eat him raw. I placed him on a plate and grated the cheese on top:

Dessert?

I drank a tall glass of tap water, hoping to calm my gag reflex. The worm decided he didn't like the cheese and started to slither away!

Runaway worm!!

I said silent thanks and sorry to the poor slimy critter, grabbed him, and hoisted him into my mouth. My boys begged me to chew, explaining it was the only way I could tell if Kraft could make even a worm taste good. I chewed, and I'll spare you the details. Let's just say that worms taste a bit like liver, and liver and cheese ain't a bad combination, but not one I'd like to repeat any time soon.

That night, as I tucked my boys into bed, 11 raised one eyebrow.

"Mom? I like that grated cheese stuff. Can you write that I liked it?"

I kissed him goodnight, his brother already snoring in the bunk below, and patted the covers around his neck.

"Yeah, I'll write that, honey."

"And Mom? You rock."

Sometimes I do things for money. Sometimes I do things out of desperation. Sometimes I do things for the sheer thrill. But every time I do something for my boys, even if it's eating New Mexican worms, I do it for love. Yeah. Love. With grated cheese on top.

Comments

[Carroll]

Aieee! Bad enough to read this right before bed tonight. The dreams. Beware dreams with worms!

But surely worse for those who catch it right around breakfast time tomorrow morning.

Oh my, the things we do for the love of our kids!

I would surely love to hear how this tale gets told around the playground when school starts up again, B! Think there will be very many kids accepting your offers to "stay for dinner" this year? ;)

[Terri]

Birdie, I thought you were a vegetarian! You are definitely the coolest Mom ever.

[Cindy]

When we meet you are not choosing the restaurants! ;)

Awesome story! If that is what it takes to rock then I will never rock!

[mat]

time for those boys to follow in their mom's footsteps... geese and ganders and all that, you know?

[Effective Nancy]

Oh, Birdie. I was worried about you, that you'd managed to come away from that wreck so chipper and fresh, like maybe the shock would hit you harder a few days later. I think we've now seen evidence. Don't you know that the FDA wants you to cook your worms to the point where you've held them at an internal temp of 165F for five minutes or more? You're risking the most exotic parasites. And you didn't even use wasabi. For shame!

I bet the boys still haven't stopped talking about it.

[Mike]

Great story. All the cheese in the world could not get me to eat a worm!

[Pandora]

Just reading that gave me heebie jeebies!

[Louise]

Hahaha! I'm the youngest of 4 children, 4 in 4 years.
Let's just say I was subjected to all sorts of horrors which included eating worms!!!
Without Kraft Grate-it-Fresh.

I love this story, you are such a great mom.

[Heather B.]

That is the cutest thing ever. Kraft should make you their official Parmesan Super-Grater Spokesmodel. You've earned it!! I will not show this story to my kids because they will make me eat a worm too and I don't wanna.

[Cindy]

Birdie, please email a link of this story to that intern! I would love to hear his response!

[Jedd]

I am so surprised that no one has mentioned the obvious connection of Birdies eating Worms. I mean, what the heck ELSE would a birdie eat? The shocking part to me is the cheese...

[Wandering Willow]

Hah, Jedd you're a riot! My brother and I used to dare each other to eat worm sandwiches. We'd put a worm between two leaves and stick it waaay into our mouths... but we'd always take it out before biting down. Neither of us ate a single worm... or at least I didn't.

you do make a grate cheese grater spokesmodel. I hope some CAR companies do the same thing now. Hey, just try writing to them and tell them you'll give them free publicity if they'll give you a car! Ya never know.

[nancy]

Great story, Birdie. Eating a worm ... now that IS love! I'd eat a worm for the Alien, but only if her life was in danger. You DO rock!!

[Birdie]

Yeah! Birds eat worms!!! Well, once, anyway. Don't think I'll give an encore!!!! I can still taste him.

And I am mostly a vegetarian, even though I live in the land of meat enchantment.

Bonnie, now THAT is an excellent idea!!! BMW, are you listening?!?!

[Rick]

Yeah, “Bird Eats Worm” is kinda “Dog Bites Man,” but the cheese adds a twist. And it’s that human element that puts this tale on Mars, Bird.

In the spirit of 11’s Missourian overture (Show me, Mom), one might have expected a photo of you treating the worm the way 9 did the spaghetti hanging from the corner of his mouth. Like actually eating it. But we’ll let you slide on that one.

I’m glad you didn’t pull that Mom Voice stuff on Cornelia Street, by the way. Next time you’re in town, we’ll hit Squigglies in Hoboken. You’ll dig it.

[Carroll]

Well, I think this means that, at best, you're a "flexitarian", Birdie. And Bonnie, I'm with you -- Jedd rocks the comments! Great idea about the car thing too -- anyone have an "in" with an automotive company? We could start a grass roots, reverse blog buzz campaign on her behalf :)

[Wandering Willow]

Yeah, Birdie sure is a "flexitarian"... she only eats flexible things... like worms!! heh heh heh

[Cindy]

Great new picture on the Avon Cam!! You and your hair look fabulous!

[Louise]

Cindy, maybe there is some secret ingredient in worm that gives our Birdie that glow?

[Rick]

S

[Cindy]

Oh! She must have eaten a glow worm!

[Rick]

S ~ ) S ...$?

[Wandering Willow]

I think Rick's keyboard is going nuts.