As a kid growing up, someone might say, “Do you want a Coke?” and if I answered in the affirmative, the person might then ask if I wanted root beer or Sprite. Many people I knew used the word “Coke” as a generic term for all carbonated beverages.

As a journalist, I look out for words such as Kleenex and use “tissue” instead or use “real estate agent” instead of Realtor, and “flying disk” instead of Frisbee. These words are brand names that are trademarked, but they are used by most people today as generic terms.

Most of us use words this way. Some of these are regional usages, but some are national or international in scope. If I say I would like a glass of champagne, am I asking for something only produced in the Champagne region in France, or am I asking for a chilled sparkling wine?

What about an Idaho potato or a Florida orange? Now, I would expect something labeled “Idaho Potato” to be from Idaho or “Florida Orange” to be from Florida, but what if I just say potato or orange? Do I imply where it might be from?

I started pondering all of this when I learned a few weeks ago some countries considered certain cheese names to only signify cheese made in a specific country or specific area of a country. This not a new debate, it has been going on for years; I just never heard of it before.

Now that I do know about it, I’m concerned. If there is one thing I love, it is cheese. But as much as I love cheese, I have given little thought to the names given to cheese in terms of how those names may relate to a region.

To me, feta cheese is a white crumbly cheese that is awesome in Greek salads or on a gyro. Mozzarella is great on pizza. However, those two types of cheese originated in specific places. Feta came from Greece and mozzarella is from Italy.

Now the European Union would like U.S. marketers to no longer use common names for cheese (or other food products) and instead use geographical indications (often referred to as GI). For example a company that made feta cheese outside of Greece would have to call it something like “white brined cheese” rather than feta.

You may be thinking (as I did), how could another country tell manufacturers in the United States what to call their cheese? It turns out it could be packaged in a trade deal between countries. According to a study commissioned by the Consortium of Common Food Names and the U.S. Dairy Export Council, such a trade agreement could cost the U.S. dairy industry $9.5 billion-$20 billion in lost revenue.

According to the mission statement of the CCFN: “Everyone should have the right to use common names in marketing well-known, favorite foods. But that right is under threat. The Consortium for Common Food Names supports proper GIs – names associated with specialized foods from regions throughout the world.

“But, it opposes any attempt to monopolize common (generic) names that have become part of the public domain. The Consortium seeks to foster the adoption of an appropriate model for protecting both legitimate geographical indications and generic food names.”

The following is an example the CCFN uses on its website to discuss what could happen. The term “Parmigiano Reggiano” was coined in 1934 by an Italian interprovincial consortium and was granted protected status in 1954. Italian producers were free to market their cheese under this unique and recognizable appellation.

For the rest of the world, the term “parmesan” came to be used as a generic identifier to differentiate other dry grated cheese of a comparable style.

In 2008 the European Court of Justice ruled the registration of the GI “Parmigiano Reggiano” made it illegal in the European Union to use the name “parmesan” for any cheese produced outside the Parma, Italy, region.

Frankly, the entire thing gives me a headache. There are so many names that something like this could apply to. I don’t understand why cheese could not be marketed as something like “Greek Feta” or “Italian Parmesan” in the same way we might use “Idaho Potato” or “Florida Orange.”

If my love of cheese grows to the point my palate will only be happy with feta that actually comes from Greece, then I can look for a package that says “Greek Feta.” This seems simple enough, so I feel there is something extremely important I am missing in all of the stories I’ve read on this.

Writing this column has made me hungry. I am now off to lunch, and I think I will have a salad and ask for a dressing based on a cheese made with cultures of the mold Penicillium that carries a distinct smell due to the addition of various specially cultivated bacteria.

I will then explain to the waitress my dressing will also contain cheese with the bacterium Brevibacterium linens, which makes for a smelly cheese as well as being responsible for foot odor and other human body odors.

I wonder what I will end up getting on my salad?