Six years ago, I was in college and purchased my own groceries. Lots of peanut butter, Top Ramen, tuna, tortillas and cheese. In moments of desperation, a person could blend any of those items and stave off hunger for another day. It was during those days that I came up with the idea of The Good Cheese. When I went to the deli to buy my pound of $1.99 cooked ham--thin sliced--the cases were filled with cheeses I couldn't afford. Swiss, baby Swiss, head, goat, provolone, brie. All cost $4.99 and up a pound. Some day, I said to myself, I'm going to buy the good cheese.

Some day, I always assumed, would come soon after college when I landed the dream job as a reward for my four years of hard work. The job never materialized, and I worked where people hired me. I made enough to survive, but never in the good cheese category.

Just because I never purchased the fine gourmet variety did not mean shunned cheese altogether. Cheddar (the sharper the better), colby, mozzarella, Monterey jack, and individually wrapped processed cheese slices. These were the cheeses I indulged in, and they served me well. Even after college, I found the necessity to stave off hunger. I had matured a little, though. No longer did I put peanut butter and tuna together. There would be weeks when I ate tortillas, cheese and green chili and not much else.

My jobs changed occasionally. Each bumping my pay slightly, but I always accepted more time off over higher pay. So my budget was about the same. My latest day job, for the last year and a half, has been at an architecture consultant firm. I have the least amount of responsibility and the highest wage I've ever had at any job. I was hired with ambiguous intentions and have use that to my advantage. I come to work sometime in the morning and leave sometime in the afternoon. Occasionally, they have work for me. Occasionally, they don't. It is unclear how much the company truly needs my services, but they have no problem writing me a net check of $650 (give or take) twice a month. By no means am I rich or even middle class, but I get by without much complaint these days. Crazy economy.

This last week, it finally happened. With my bank account on the healthy positive side, my roommate and I went shopping at the grocery store. We picked up the standard pound of cheddar and colby, and I thought that sufficed as our cheese purchases. We came to the deli, and I wanted a half pound of turkey pastrami ($2.99 lb.). My roommate asked "Have you ever tried havarti cheese?" I told him I hadn't. Havarti was $5.99 lb. Definitely in the good cheese category. A pound was purchased, and as an extra kick, I also grabbed a half pound of Feta cheese. I had become a fan from the Greek restaurants in town, and decided that if we were going to get one good cheese, we should get two.

Buying the good cheese didn't seem as much as a stretch as it was in the mid-90s. Even the cheap stuff isn't cheap any more. The bottom of the line ham I bought is now $2.99 lb. and still tastes just as flavorless. Pounds of any kinds of cheese cost almost $4.00. The difference isn't so different.

The next day, I made myself a turkey pastrami sandwich with havarti, and it was heavenly. The cheese was so creamy that the slices stuck together and the flavor left enticing buzz in the back of my jaw. I reaped the benefits of purchasing The Good Cheese. I've made it. I've finally made it.

So what does this mean? Why should you care if a guy eats the good cheese?

I think it has something to do with appreciating the little things. If something like what kind of cheese you eat can bring you pleasure, imagine how many other tiny treasures can put a smile on your face.

Chris Jungle has never been to Wisconsin.