Nestled in the plaid wax paper of the styrofoam chest, the treasure had finally been seized. A satiating and decadent aroma escaped as I fawned over the nugget of gold. Salivating, I was enticed by it all: the buttery saltiness of the crust and the melty succulence of the interior. Unable to further repress my anticipation, I collected my prize. The inevitable crunch poised by that first bite, combined with the piping hot creaminess of the cheese was the perfect marriage of texture and flavour. The warm fatty treat was marvellously juxtaposed with the tart and refreshing marinara sauce, bustling with sweet tomato and oregano. Deep-fried cheese sticks were the pinnacle of humanity’s creations.

Just kidding: fried cheese is gross.

Not to be a Negative Nancy or Debbie Downer, but mozzarella sticks are the textbook definition of ravishing expectations versus a distressing reality. It’s the person your Asian parents expect you to become versus who you actually are. A tad harsh I suppose, but you get the picture. Here’s a more adequate description of fried cheese sticks:

As my teeth sunk into the treat, globules of uninvited grease pooled at the corners of my lips, dripping down my chin. The wetness of the cold marinara sauce and burning crispy exterior merged to form a tepid and unpleasant soggy crust. Though the initial layer of melty blazing cheese smouldered my tongue, the core was a cold solid. Thirty seconds later, I found myself endlessly chewing on a ball of rubber. The cheese squeaked against my teeth as I hastily attempted to break it apart, becoming more fearsome of choking on this stretchy elastic mound.

I just wonder, where did mozzarella sticks go wrong?

Well to answer that query, it’s imperative that we look back. With roots in Egypt and France, fried cheese was a delicacy premised on the rudimentary ratio of a crispy exterior to creamy goodness. I mean, ratios are everything. I’m pretty sure that’s why baking is a thing. However, the same parallel cannot be drawn for the fried cheese of the 21st century, which was infamously—and probably—rebirthed by a food hack video by Buzzfeed or Diply.

Adding to the distasteful hot-takes of this article, dolloping copious amounts of cheese on anything is a coping mechanism. The thrill of a cheese pull is invigorating and majestic. It’s exciting and dynamic, considering the mundane times we’ve succumbed to. The concept of eating your feelings away is ingrained in cheese: piquant cheddar cubes, satiating parmesan chips, melty mozzarella sticks, and robust blue cheese dip. And nothing is more addicting than cheese. As Forbes once said, “if milk is cocaine, then cheese is crack.” Like crack, there’s beauty in the moderation of cheese. It’s why gold is valuable and caviar is adored: scarce amounts of something allow you to treasure it. Less is more, unless you’re talking money.

A final rating for our fried-cheese friend: If WatchMojo were to countdown the infamous misses of the Hit of Miss wall of fame, mozzarella sticks would take the throne, surpassing YouTuber apology videos, Billie Eilish’s boyfriend, and Israel in distastefulness.

Fear not! Mozzarella sticks can still be salvaged. This summer, take your father’s private jet to Cairo or Paris to experience authentic fried cheese: the crispy-salty-fatty-meltiness of it all. Done right, fried cheese can be a treasure chest of delight rather than a faux pot of gold.