The cream cheese conspiracy leaves a sour taste

At the grocery store I noticed a huge empty space in the shelf the other day. Or, as we now call it, "every day." These shortages keep the shopping experience from becoming boring, if nothing else. What will they be out of today? Ah, there's no tea. We must be at war with England again, or something.

This time the empty spaces were once occupied by cream cheese, in all its myriad manifestations. Whipped. Solid. Lite. Lite Whipped. Extra Lite Super Frothed. Flavored. So many flavors! It's one of the boons of living in America: Some countries might be out of two or three flavors, but we're out of 20. USA! USA!

Wait — there's one flavor left. Six tubs, all "salmon" flavored. The people who want salmon flavor in their cream cheese buy actual salmon, that's why. No salmon simulacrum for the purists.

Is this cream cheese shortage just a supply chain issue? Perhaps we have cream cheese galore, but no containers. Or we have containers, but none of the thick foil that locks in freshness. Or cream-cheese cravings are an omicron symptom. Or ... it was Russia!

I googled "cream cheese cyber attack" for the first — and, I hope, last — time in my life, and lo: many stories from the past month blaming the crunch on hackers who shut down a cheese producer.

You get the feeling that this was a warmup for something. "OK, boys, you're auditioning to be on the team that takes down the power grid during a blizzard, so let's see what you've got."

The team convenes and discusses possible targets. Take down video streaming services? No, we need the enemy supine and goggle-mawed. Shut down the carbonation infrastructure? It's low-profile, and it's not like America would go to war over flat soda. People leave cans in the fridge, they go flat, they don't go to DEFCON 5.

Eventually they settled on a crippling attack on the nation's mozzarella-soft underbelly, cheese. Most of us didn't notice at the time. There were no cheese riots at stores, no dismaying stories about people getting stabbed by a wedge of extra sharp cheddar. I noticed an increase in the price of cheese, but figured that was due to the inflationary spiral that will soon have us carting cash around in wheelbarrows to pay for things.

Kidding. That's ridiculous! There's a shortage of wheelbarrows, can't find one for love or money. People probably will use Hefty bags.

Anyway, the cheese hack apparently was the cause of the cream cheese shortage, but I had to make sure that this wasn't widespread. Off to other stores.

The all-private-label store had some ... but it was vegan. In other words, no, they didn't have any.

I went to another store, an upscale chain that's been hit hard by shortages. Their private-label stuff is almost gone, due to crimped supplies, so if you're looking for the truffle lasagna infused with ambergris, forget it. They had a few boxes of cream cheese, and I had that sudden sensation we're all used to now:

"Hello, neighbor! Nice day. Say, you have any flour? Trade you two cups for some cream cheese."

"I'm listening."

"Foil-wrapped, never opened, three days away from expiration."

"We might do business. I miss cream cheese. Highlight of my weekend breakfasts, a good toasted bagel, a shmear. Is it flavored?"

"Well, salmon."

I moved on to the next store, and found some cream cheese, but not a lot of flavored varieties. Whipped? Forget it. Whipped was just a dream now, a remembrance of the days before the New Normal rewrote our expectations of abundant cream-cheese density options.

My research indicated that there was a crimp in the supply, but not a total drought. Why was the large, red-themed variety retailer so bereft, when the other stores had some? Only one answer: highwaymen. Roving gangs had waylaid the truck, carted off the cream cheese, and sold it to the other chains at a usurious price.

Or maybe not. Perhaps the store just didn't have enough employees to restock the cooler. So I went back the next day, hoping the full glorious panoply of cream cheese with all its myriad flavors would be in evidence. No. Still empty — except for the same number of unsold salmon flavors.

I bought a few things we needed, as one always does. No paper bags at checkout; just plastic. Supply-chain issues again, or perhaps the hackers had shut down the pulp mills. It'll get better. I've faith.

I also have this tickling worry that we will look back on 2022 and sigh: "Ah, the good old days."