If loving fake cheese is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

So it's no secret that chocolate is a dear friend of mine. Chocolate cures a multitude of wrongs. I truly believe if all the world leaders got together and frolicked in a chocolate fountain, the world would be a much happier place and all of our problems would be solved. Ironically though, chocolate is not my ultimate comfort food. Probably because eating spoonfuls of nutella or ganache is just part of my normal daily life. (I so wish I were kidding about that, but I'm really not).

So when life gets tough, I run straight into the arms of Velveeta. Yes, that's right....the creepiest faux-food known to man. Something about that gelatinous cheese in all of it's unrefrigerated, never-expiring glory just beckons me. (If my last blog post wasn't enough to scare you off, I'm pretty sure that just did it). I cannot explain it, especially since I'm a bit of a food snob, so I'll just blame my mom. She made a velveeta queso dip for social functions when I was growing up and I'm pretty sure that's when the love affair began.

Just to be clear, I'm not a queso lover. I have never bought the jarred kind in a store. I have never touched it in a restaurant even though they probably use legitimate cheese. And I absolutely have never eaten it at anyone else's house. If I see it at a potluck, tailgate, or Superbowl party I will run the other way. I don't care who you are, your melted cheese grosses me out. Especially when you put sausage or ground beef in it. Ew, ew, ew. But when I make it myself, it's somehow the most amazing non-food in the world.

A few times a year when the urge hits and I crave it, I go to the store, grab my 2% milk Velveeta off the shelf (pu-lease, like there's any milk in it) bury it under my legitimate groceries, hang my head in shame and pray I don't see anybody I know. It's as bad as being caught with a can of spam in my cart. Speaking of spam, I once had to make a spam sculpture with my bare hands on a junior high church retreat. Oh the horror. Maybe if we'd sculpted Velveeta, I'd be free from this addiction. But Velveeta costs more, and I'm sure the youth program was on a tight budget.

Last week I bought some Velveeta. And when I got that block of nastiness home, I chopped it up, poured on the hottest salsa I could find and then began the magical process: nuke, stir, nuke, stir...until it's so hot I can't even hold the bowl. That's the key---it must be HOT. If it cools even a little and starts to look like Velveeta again, it's back in the microwave.

Fortunately, Micah doesn't judge me. In fact he gets a little giddy when he sees it. Last week we sat on the couch like porkers and watched HGTV while we ate our chips and queso. Then the next day I did it again by myself. It was heavenly.

And just for the fun of it, here is my little soux chef wearing nothing but an apron and a smile:

Fortunately, she doesn't know what Velveeta is yet, but she will.

So I'm really curious to know if anyone else has an embarrassing food craving they are willing to divulge.....