Iwas walking down a street in New York with my 13-year-old granddaughter, Sydney, when I spotted a truck with the signage “Raclette & Co.”

I asked her if she had ever eaten raclette, a cheese that is melted and scraped table-side. She had not, but in turn asked me if I had ever eaten halloumi. Thus ensued a lively conversation about cheese.

So lively, in fact, that during the time it took to reach her apartment, she not only asked me to bring mac & cheese the following week but was craving grilled halloumi, one of the few cheeses her mother did not have in the refrigerator.

The day before my next trip to New York, my daughter-in-law sent me a text: “Syd says you are bringing Mac & Cheese.”

I had not spoken to Sydney or exchanged texts during the week, but she trusted that if she asked

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