Wisconsin Cheese Quotes

In Wisconsin they have deep-fried cheese curds, which taste like French fries and heaven had a baby.

There's a lot of cheese where you're going, Hope. I'm not sure how this affects people long term.

...Minnesota, Wisconsin, all around there... has the kind of women I liked when I was younger. Pale-skinned and blue-eyed, hair so fair it's almost white, wine-colored lips, and round, full breasts with the veins running through them like a good cheese.

We’re talking about the same twenty-something bloke who wore a Wisconsin cheese hat and some flowy Jesus robes for Halloween, calling himself ‘Cheesus’?

There would be miracles at the fair—the chocolate Venus de Milo would not melt, the 22,000-pound cheese in the Wisconsin Pavilion would not mold—

Lou's arteries congealed as she recalled the pounds of butter that went into the meal and the two pies cooling in the kitchen. But you couldn't skimp on butter on a holiday, and any substitute would feel wrong to a girl born and raised in the Dairy State. At least she'd resisted putting cheese in half the dishes.

They spent the next hour nibbling their way through the food stalls, sharing spiral-cut potatoes, pork sandwiches, and cream puffs. They found a table in one of the many shaded beer gardens, and Lou retrieved some ice-cold Summer Shandys to go with their food. The beer had a light lemon edge that offset the malt, making it an ideal hot-summer-day drink. The potato spirals, long twirls coated in bright orange cheese, combined the thin crispiness of a potato chip with a French fry. And the cream puffs... The size of a hamburger on steroids, the two pate a choux ends showcased almost two cups of whipped cream- light, fluffy, and fresh.

The rumor is that my cousin dates phoenix sculptures made out of cheese. It has to be true, because it's too weird not to be. Also, consider the evidence. He lives in Wisconsin and does not own a microwave. It's the kind of thing you wish to read about in Parade, without even marching along.

He found Nora and Wesley bustling about the kitchen attempting to cook breakfast in a manner that appeared more combative than collaborative. “Jesus H. Christ, Wesley,” Nora said with feigned anger. “Cheese omelets have to have cheese or they’re just flat scrambled eggs.” “Woman, Wisconsin is out of cheese now because of your omelet.” Wesley smacked her hand as she tried to put more cheese on the eggs. “Set the table and stop being a backseat chef.

Or, I could do both,” Joe raises his voice, vying for someone’s attention.  “I’ll move to Wisconsin and open up a brewery.  Beer and cheese curds.  It’ll be a fermentation utopia.

Sellers of traditional cheese held fast to their beliefs that natural, aged, nonsterilized varieties offered a superior taste. But in 1932, University of Wisconsin researchers published a study revealing that most Americans didn’t necessarily agree. In blind taste tests, two thirds of people preferred the flavor of the processed variety.

I would not have even considered you an appetizer. Rats that have fed on syphilitic sailors would be preferable to drinking from you. I swear, I can smell Krispy Kremes and cheese curds oozing from your every pathetic pore.

These. Are. AMAZING," Caroline says around a mouthful of apple cider zeppole. We're at the Logan Square Farmers Market, and have eaten our way around the square. We started with a couple of meat tacos from Cherubs, simply seasoned small cubes of beef on soft steamed corn tortillas, with a garnish of onion, cilantro and lime. A perfect amuse-bouche. Then we shared an insane grilled cheese sandwich, buttery and crispy and filled with gooey, perfectly melted Wisconsin Butterkase cheese. A pork empanada from Pecking Order, with their homemade banana ketchup. A porchetta sandwich from Publican Quality Meats.

For the Otter Club, he and Rick had decided that the hot pepper summer sausage was too risky, but the aged cheddar, soft goat cheese, Wisconsin honey, and garlic summer sausage were easy choices.

I like to try new recipes. I'm mastering Wisconsin cuisine." Ray wanted to keep her talking, discover more about her and why she kept popping up wherever he went. "Wisconsin cuisine? Is that even a thing?" Sabrina asked. He smiled. "Have some state pride. You know, kringle, booyah, fish boils, cheese curds. Do you have a favorite?" Sabrina took a few breaths before responding. "Kringle... and anything with cheese.

The batter was crispy, like tempura, but it didn't have much flavor other than beer- which was fine, but not what he wanted. It added a malty bitterness that didn't balance right with the cheese. He wanted everyone to love these curds, not just beer fans. And it didn't have the crunch he wanted. It was too tender, which meant perhaps a batter wasn't the route to go. Maybe breadcrumbs would give him the texture and structure he craved. But the cheese- the cheese was perfect. Melty, stringy, yet still retaining a bit of the squeak that made fresh cheese curds so special. It would be easy enough to get the supplies from a local dairy or even the grocery stores. In Wisconsin, great cheese was easier to find than a bagel in New York. He ate another one. The cheese itself was salty. What would work with that? Something with a little sweetness? Like a Wheat Thin or a graham cracker? He could mix crushed graham crackers with breadcrumbs for his next attempt.

Cookies, turkey, stuffing, homemade candies. Leftovers become special treats. And so many cheese-and-sausage platters--- it wasn't a holiday party in Wisconsin without one. For the hard-core Wisconsin-ites, there were the cannibal sandwiches--- raw ground beef on rye bread topped with raw onion. Astra preferred throwing one on the grill, but her dad loved them as is.

Do I overstate the case? Go to Wisconsin. Spend an hour in an airport or a food court in the Midwest; watch the pale, doughy masses of pasty-faced, Pringle-fattened, morbidly obese teenagers. Then tell me I’m worried about nothing. These are the end products of the Masterminds of Safety and Ethics, bulked up on cheese that contains no cheese, chips fried in oil that isn’t really oil, overcooked gray disks of what might once upon a time have been meat, a steady diet of Ho-Hos and muffins, butterless popcorn, sugarless soda, flavorless light beer. A docile, uncomprehending herd, led slowly to a dumb, lingering, and joyless slaughter.

It is possible, even probable, to be told a truth about a place, to accept it, to know it and at the same time not to know anything about it. I had never been to Wisconsin, but all my life I had heard about it, had eaten its cheeses, some of them as good as any in the world. And I must have seen pictures. Everyone must have. Why then was I unprepared for the beauty of this region, for its variety of field and hill, forest, lake?

When's your birthday?" I asked. "The twentieth of April." "A Taurus." "A what?" she asked. "Astrology. Do you follow it?" "Not only do I not follow it, I've never even heard of it." I paused, wondering if the girl was kidding, but I didn't detect a note of sarcasm in her voice. "I'm from Milwaukee- we don't believe things like that there, either. It's all hocus-pocus if you ask me." "Milwaukee's in Wisconsin. Wisconsin's capital is Madison. Its state bird is the robin and it's known as the Dairy State because it produces more cheese and milk than any other state," she said, as if reading from a teleprompter. "This thing called astrology- what is it exactly?" "That's a good question," I said. "It has something to do with the stars. I've never really understood it, either." "You mean astronomy, then?" "No, they're two different things- astrology and astronomy." "So what are you in astrology terms?" "A Scorpio." "A scorpion. In other words, you're an eight-legged, venomous creature to be wary of?" Her tone was deadpan. "No poison here, just a nice guy from Milwaukee." She let out a jovial laugh. She was a curious creature, and I was intrigued. Her manner of speech was officious and old-fashioned. She was interested and reserved, insecure and confident, coy and bold. She was unlike anyone I had ever met.

Mrs. Anne Pickett, who made history in 1841 when she established the state’s first commercial cheese factory in Fond Lac County.