Il Brutto Americano (The Ugly American)

When it comes to cheese, these people don't know jack.

The cheese over here is not awful, like that stinky Camelbear stuff from France. It's just . . . different. For one, they call it formaggio, which in Italian means "cheese."

Also, there is no Monterey Jack or Vermont cheddar or Velveeta. Velveeta sounds like it was made in Italy, right?

Vehl-veee-tah!

But you can't find it anywhere. Cheez Whiz, either. Very upsetting.

Same with their grilled-cheese sandwiches. They call them paninis, which in Italian means "little grilled-cheese sandwiches." But how anyone makes grilled cheese with asiago, pareno or piaceri, we don't know. We are certain, though, that grilled cheese should not smell like dirty socks. Or taste like mold.

If we're being honest, some of these cheeses have also played tricks on our gastrointestinal tracts.

We don't want to get too personal. But when northern Italian bacteria is harder on the stomach than The Post cafeteria, you know you got trouble down below.

Anyhow, Italy's best cheese? Mozzarella, which they totally stole from Papa John's. They're so slow over here, they haven't come up with mozzarella sticks. Or nachos. Or anything on the menu that says "Chicken Parm." They have this fancy schmancy cheese called Parmigiano Reggiano but, trust us, it tastes nothing like that stuff from Kraft in the green can.

We don't know how their cows' milk ended up smelling like this or what kind of pasteurization process they use here in Italy, what kind of enzymes make something taste this bad. But compared with Wisconsinites and Vermonters, they sure are uncultured.

Blogger Dan Steinberg will disagree on the basis that he was once an elitist cheese buyer for Whole Foods. If Dan had just gone domestic instead of international, you wouldn't be paying $8.85 for eight grams of Gouda.