Ahh. That's better. I did not worship, but the urge was strong.

At first we were simply going to do a quick little drive-by, but Mike suggested actually getting out and taking a look around.
After all, we were already so far off schedule.
I was sort of reluctant at first. This is really, really ... I dunno the right word. Sort of, oddly touristy? Like, this is the sort of place you visit when you've visited everything else in the world of tangible value.
You mean like the world's largest gopher in Oklahoma.
Yes, exactly. Which we didn't visit, I hasten to point out. So I wasn't sure, but the power of cheese was indeed something to behold. Once inside— Actually, just even on the way inside, I felt much better about myself. I think maybe it was the knowledge that we didn't come here specifically to see the cheese. It was just a cheese pit stop. That we had other places on our agenda.
Still, we were ensnared by its cultured dairy tentacles.
And he doesn't even like cheese.

Once inside, we got a good look at the place. Basically, what you see is many an opportunity to spend your money. Without some searching, that's really about all you get. Which, you know, cheese and dairy factory. What else is there to expect? Rides? It's just cheese, for god's sake. They have a gift shop, which we toured first, and found really quite disappointing. Items ranged from simply useless to hideous and useless. The most fun thing I found was a series of puzzle books that I used to adore as a kid, but hadn't thought about in years and years. Truth be told, I was probably a little too excited to find them. So the less said about this, the better.
I was expecting everything to be made of cheese, or at the very least, milk. I admit that the likelihood of a puzzle book being made from milk is kind of slim, but... Hey, I would have bought it.
You would have bought the puzzle book of milk?
Absolutely. It might not have lasted long, but it's good for the mind and healthy bones.

Oh, but we're getting ahead of ourselves. First we stopped at one of those penny pressing machines. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just think real hard and you'll probably remember. If you've ever been ... anywhere, you've seen these things. Feed it a penny (plus two quarters) and viola! A long flat penny with a new design. I've never given them more than a cursory glance, but for some reason Mike got it into his head that I simply had to have one. So now I do. Oddly enough, this is one of my fondest memories of the trip, though I have no earthly idea why. I guess the price of happiness is one cent.
Well, fifty-one cents, apparently. But who's counting? They always offer multiple patterns for these things, and surprisingly, Nikki did not choose "Bigass Block o' Cheese" or "Moo Cow of the Pacific" (those might be the actual names) for hers. She just went for the Tillamook logo.
The others seemed sort of generic. I wanted Tillamook! Pure and unadulterated. Big, bold, sassy and brassy. It's Tillamook!
Coppery, actually.
Don't test me, boy. I'm betting I could slot you into those machines and get a long, flat Mike with a new logo.

Looking around further, we declined to go into the observation area and see Cheese Live! As it happens! (That would be as in "Cheese in person" not "Cheese drawing breath", which would just be weird.) We debated for far too long about getting lunch before deciding that not only were we not very hungry, we certainly weren't hungry at those prices. Then we made our way to the fudge counter, and got our first sucker punch of the day. Fuuuudge. We succumbed to temptation, and each got a 1/4 pound of fudge (the smallest they sold it). Mike got mint chocolate, I got hazelnut. Again, may I emphasize the "fuuuudge".
I'm not as big a fan of fudge, although I don't deny it looked good. And the one-quarter of my quarter pound that I actually wound up eating was good—
!!!
—but quite rich. Rich, like the milk of the happy cow.
Oh my god, I did not eat your fudge! I had two little bits of your fudge! There is a vast ocean of fudge, still in the box, ready to be eaten! Eaten by you! YOU.
You probably will wind up eating it though.
Well, yes.
It's just too rich for me.

Finally we came to the real attraction, the dairy products area. Here they sold Tillamook milk, which we found quite interesting as you can't get that in our local grocery store (something on which we've commented). There were also a dazzling array of cheeses which were so very tempting, but the reality of another hour and a half in the car in one direction and almost three in the other sort of put a halt to those ambitions. I settled instead on a small carton of chocolate milk, and I drank it, and it was good.

On our way out, Mike was lured like Odysseus to the ice cream counter. Those of you not in the area have never gotten to try it, but Tillamook ice cream is probably the best I've ever had. Keep your Ben and Jerry's. Tillamook Mudslide makes me weak in the knees. But little did we know, Fred Meyers stocks only a small percentage of the flavour bounty. Sadly, I wasn't actually in an ice cream mood, but Mike made up for that. He settled on their mint chocolate chip.
The woman who took my order and money was only too polite. The one who actually handed me my ice cream – and I use the term "handed" loosely – couldn't have been more apathetic. I think she did manage to squeeze out a "here" as she shoved it into my hand.
No, she actually got out a whole phrase. Clearly required, clearly prerehearsed. It all came out in this long stream. Something like, "Thanksforbuyinghere'saspoonhaveanicedaybye." Something very similar. It was all the more hilarious for this.
Tillamook ice cream is apparently not made from happy employees. The ice cream itself was quite good, but could use a little more of the chocolate. You know what would rock? Tillamint Mudslide.
Mm. Tillamook Mudslide. <goes to happy place>

Now full of ice cream and chocolate milk, with fudge in hand, we bid our farewell to Tillamook Cheese.

Goodnight, you princes of cheese. You kings of new diary.
You emperors of the cultured milk dynasty. You gods of the known lactose world!
Whoa.

But we're not quite done. As we were waiting to turn back onto 101, we spotted this. Mike and I are amused for different reasons.
A cursory glance reveals all the makings of a fine lunch. They apparently have fresh seafood and the establishment is well-decorated in the oceanic style and even handicapped-accessible. But wait... What's this? It's a trailer home. That's right, someone parked their home by the side of the road and thought it would make a fine restaurant. Do I get to watch TV and sit on the couch while I eat? If I get a little indigestion, can I just run to the bathroom and grab some Pepto out of the cabinet? Not that I would do that in a stranger's home, because, eww, disgusting. But still. I question the professional atmosphere in which this food is prepared. Factor in space for a kitchen and dishwashing environment, and you have room for perhaps six people to eat, and that's including two under the parasol on the porch.

Funny, no doubt, but mine is a little more superficial. To appreciate it, you must have a closer look.

Count the flags. It's a game! How many American flags can you count in this picture?
There's patriotic, and then there's overzealous, and then there's utterly insane, and I think that's about where our friend comfortably rests.
Are you done counting? I spotted 17. And I cut out two more in the cropping.