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For the first week, it was a dream. He hosted a "Horizontal Tasting" where friends shaved off shards of nutty, crystalline gold. He made fondues that could coat a small sedan. He felt like a medieval king.

Arthur kept the final wedge for himself. It tasted better than the whole thing ever had, mostly because he finally had room in his fridge for a head of lettuce. buy whole cheese wheels

"The full sixty pounds?" the cheesemonger asked, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. She pointed to a massive, wax-sealed disc of aged Gruyère that looked more like a piece of structural masonry than food. "The full sixty," Arthur confirmed, patting his wallet. For the first week, it was a dream

By week three, the "Cheese Fatigue" began. The kitchen constantly smelled like a locker room in the Swiss Alps. Every meal—breakfast eggs, lunch salads, even a desperate attempt at "Gruyère-crusted salmon"—tasted of the wheel. He started seeing the wheel in his dreams, rolling after him down dark alleyways. He felt like a medieval king