I always preferred my father's pasta the next day, when he'd put it in a hot oven with heaps of extra cheese.
The gridiron for this game: heaping plates of cheese quesadillas, nachos, and mozzarella sticks, with a beer in between each serving.
It's just what it sounds like: A mound of ground beef, seasoned sloppy Joe style and piled high atop a Krispy Kreme donut, then doused with a heap of shredded cheese for good measure.
It is, indeed, unmatched as a showcase for an indescribably, deliciously French form of show-business tackiness as the haute cuisine of international cinema is served up with a heaping side order of cheese -- or as they say hereabouts, fromage.
Precise, stripped-down food based on seasonal and high-quality ingredients is now aspirational American cooking, the antidote to the heaps of deep-fried, cheese-topped snacks.
One stall is heaped with fat discs of cheese from a nearby farm, while another sells cockles and oysters, fresh from the North Sea.
There was more fish, a few platters of cheese, a heaping breadbasket filled with dense dark bread and crunchy dark crackers.
The tables groan with abundance: shredded kale heaped high, with a snowy drift of cheese across the top, pumpkin ravioli plumped to prize-winning heft, brawny pork meatballs rolling in rich marinara sauce.
Neatly arranged on the table before us are steaming bowls of soup, wild boar and venison sausages, stacks of pancakes, slabs of cheese and an endless heap of sauerkraut.
Instead of cheese, cheesiness.
