I hit a turning point in my life when I discovered my love for cheese. This sounds shocking, but I hated cheese growing up unless mom disguised it as something else, like on pizza or a hamburger. No string cheese for me, no little wedges with the cow face on them for snack, nuh-uh, nothankyou. Just give me some Teddy Grahams and I’ll be happy. I had always been a picky eater. My list of no-can-dos would have intimidated even the most easy-going of mothers: broccoli, brussels sprouts, mayonnaise, mushrooms, cantaloupe, apple pie, parsnips, jelly, wild rice, tuna, salad dressing of any kind. I could extend that list, but I’d like to…