Baked Brie

August, mind you, a Texas summer night. So delightfully cool outside, so sublimely beautiful, so unbelievably rare, it's magical. Twinkling patio lights, clanking wine glasses. Sharp cheddar, herbed mozzarella, and I'm baking a brie wedge in crescent dough. This is about to be serious. I'm 'fixin to' up my game, throwing down some last minute wow on a Tuesday evening worthy of such decadence.

I cut the rind off the brie, not sure if it would melt. I'm not in love with eating brie rind, but I don't particularly mind it either, despite the knowledge of what it is. Honestly, I was trying to use only half of the crescent roll dough, I needed the extra room to wrap it. Marvelously, it fit like a glove, champ!

Follow generic recipe online. After 20 minutes in a 350 oven, brush with an egg wash. 5 minutes to perfection. Giddy! Oh so giddy!

I'm beyond excited about this, grateful to have snapped a pic, eager to capture the ooey-gooey one that immediately follows. Gorgeous color, pungent, yet comforting with the sweet-baked smell of the crescent roll. The sheen on it's not obvious, but it was there. I swear.

After letting it rest for a few minutes, I could hardly wait to have it in my mouth--so warm, it's still piping hot in the center, creamy and molten. But wow, the aroma...it won't quit. The first nibble was cut in two, offering one to the giant. Wowza. My portion was mostly crust, as was the big guy's, so I cut two larger bites. Flakey, glistening, oh, gawd...and stinky.

Mmmm. Wait, wait, this is burning my throat, the fumes smoldering up under my soft palette are stinging my nostrils. The giant's face contorts into a montage of nightmarish distortions, he gags. I start screaming even though my mouth was completely full--muffled terror! He runs to the bathroom, aiming for the toilet; I lunge toward the utility closet, headed for the trashcan. Fucking disgusting! Spit, SPIT!!! Hack, cough, gag! For a moment I consider picking up the microfiber rug and licking it's dry pellet-like texture just to get this shit/gunk hybrid cheese turd off my tongue. Before I could get it all spit out, I suggested the big guy lick the dog's ass to cleanse his pallet! Do we have any drain cleaner??? Where's that scrap piece of fine-grit sandpaper???--anything to get this taste out of my mouth!!! Plughghghfffffttt BLEAGHGHGHGH!

Whertguh. Breathe. Just breathe. Whertguh. Spit. Breathe. Wash it down. WHERTGUH! Bleach! Get a glass of bleach, with ice...whertguh, uh. I'm not....WHERT, UH...guh...I'm not taking a picture of that shit, get it out of here. Whert...guh, uh. Oh my gawd. Tears are streaming down our faces form the gagapalooza of an ammonia flavored baked brie. Guh. Just breathe.

Having to describe it, my best answer would be a litter box full of dried out cat shit soaked in piss wrapped in moist dirty gym socks form 1987--you know, but with a melted, cheesy center. Fuckaround, man. This shit *gag* was so *gag* I had to...please excuse me. I can't stop whertguh-ing.

Apparently, what I've been eating as Brie, is not in fact, Brie at all. It's Brie-ish, but not Brie. Real Brie can't be exported from France because of the bacteria-laden rind. This one said it was imported from France on the label, and I paid a pretty penny for it, but whatever. I am still queasy. Apparently, this ammonia flavor and aroma could have been dissipated by airing it out. You would have had to air it out three states away to ever get that smell/taste out. Ugh.

I don't even want to talk about it anymore. So disgusting. The big guy takes it to the trash, ridding our household of this foul stench. If only we had some 9-volt batteries to lick, maybe our pie-holes could revive with a little shock therapy.

Aye.