Back in the good old days when my husband was a normal American male, feta cheese was pretty much something we’d find sprinkled on salads in trendy restaurants along with a few black olive slices. It was a nice enough experience, but we really didn't give it much thought.
Now, Eric has what I’d call a severe feta fetish and eats it with everything from gumbo to sauerkraut. He once tried crumbling it on top of tapioca pudding, until, of course, I threatened to leave him. He’s hopelessly addicted and I am currently lobbying to have all feta farmers post a warning on their product: “Life without feta may cause severe irritability, feelings of inadequacy and even death by withdrawal.”
It all started a few years back when Eric met Gus, the Greek guy who owns Mediterranean Foods at the West Side Market on West 25th Street.