There are some foods you have to grow up with to love, and Provel is one of them.
On paper, Provel cheese sounds horrible. It’s processed to the comical and oft-cited degree that it’s actually just made of three other cheeses: cheddar , Swiss, and provolone. Depending on how it’s cooked, its hues range from creamy off-white to golden-hour-orange, and its consistency is redolent of queso. And while there are many people who enjoy the St. Louis staple immensely, there are just as many — if not more — who maintain that its texture and flavor are closer to melted plastic than a dairy product. Beloved St. Louis pizza chain Imo’s Pizza, probably the cheese’s biggest commercial champion, describes Provel on its website as a “cheesy ingredient,” a rhetorical tap dance possibly indicating that even its greatest advocate is unsure of what it is.
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As a fan of Provel for many years, I am painfully familiar with what it means to love something that most people want to make sure you know they hate. When I tell people I grew up in St. Louis — I live in Chicago now — one of the first things they ask me is if I like Imo’s, the famous purveyor of cracker-thin pizza topped with Provel and cut in squares. (Imo’s is the preeminent example of the city’s namesake pizza style, and also the only one most people know about.) I often downplay it, saying the cheese is “fine,” or that I only eat Imo’s when I’ve had too many drinks. That’s mostly because I’ve grown weary of hearing everyone’s opinions about it. But the truth is that my love for Provel is intense, almost mystical, and I’ve finally started taking it seriously.