my love affair with cheese. i don't know how i'm ever going to get over this one. growing up seven miles south of the wisconsin border, i've had a life long fondness, nay, god damned obsession with cheese. i'm like wallace. "i can't help it grommet. i just like cheese!" and growing up in a small town, with its own world class cheese factory, known for their baby swiss cheese, i grew up rather spoiled. or so i thought.
yes, i had baby swiss, fresh from the factory, every week. my dad would help out during the holiday rushes and help make cheese. then fred, the factory owner hired enough help, and dad didn't need to get a job there for the holidays, he went down the road to the cheese factory that specialized in italian cheeses and made ricotta. okay, to be absolutely correct, ricotta isn't technically a cheese, but a dairy product. it literally means, "recooked." and dad smelled recooked plenty when he came home from work. you haven't lived until you've smelled clothes that have been soaked in whey. that's an aroma not soon forgotten. so there was never a lack of fresh ricotta in our house. i actually got a little tired of it. and now? i'm looking at recipes and techniques to make my own ricotta. it doesn't look so difficult to do, really.
then there are the other loves. cheddar, colby (what midwesterner doesn't love colby?) and brick cheese. how do i describe brick cheese? it's a wisconsin specialty. i have never, ever found it on the west coast, east coast or anywhere but the great lake states. brick gets its name not only from the shape of the loaf, it looks like a big brick, but when cheesemakers first started making this cheese, they weighted down the curds with red bricks to form the loaves. the taste? well, if it's young, it's like cheddar and swiss got together and invited monterey jack in for a little bit of a soiree. if it's old, one of the ladies got jealous and it's almost as strong as limburger. it's great, when it's a young brick, on burgers or with crackers and fruit, but when it's older, please, take it to iowa and drop it off there!
so i thought i had a well rounded knowledge of cheese. i grew up going to the monroe cheese days festival, you know. then i started traveling. and were my eyes opened. first to the regional cheeses of the united states. vermont cheddar. upstate new york cheddar, that was good stuff. artisan cheeses from california. oh, was i in heaven when i lived in san francisco. i could have blown a whole paycheck on artisan cheeses alone! that isn't saying much, because i wasn't getting paid that much. but going out to half moon bay on weekends when they had festivals going on and tasting hand crafted cheeses? oh.my.god. such good stuff. and then....and then...and then i went to.......LONDON. enter my love for STINKY CHEESE! stilton, i love stilton. huntsman, any cheese made in the cotswolds. good irish cheddar. oh, just walking by the cheese case in marks and spenser was enough to make me crazy. i would get a "grab and go" of cheese, fruit and nuts, with a little brown bread and head to a park with my bottle of water always with me. and when i learned i could bring that cheese home with me? I DID. and then to the southern hemisphere, new zealand and australia. much the same as england, although the butter in new zealand was to die for. i bought tins of that and brought them home by the case load.
and then the day finally came. the trip that i nearly died for. i was going to PARIS. PARIS! PARIS, DIDYOUHEARME????? talk about being in heaven! our hotel was nothing to write home about, for sure. but location, location, location. a block and a half away was a boulangerie, with some of the best baguettes i've ever had. there was a fromagerie just up the street. imagine that, a store, just for cheese. these frenchmen had it RIGHT! runny brie, roquefort, camembert, so many cheeses i'd never seen before. cheeses from all regions of france. and the women behind the counters could tell you how the grass in the normandy region affected the milk used in this cheese as compared to the grass in the loire valley was good for an earthier tasting cheese. i walked out with a very small package of pricey goats milk cheese, my first dabbling into chevre, but certainly not my last. so i had my travel backpack, my baguette, my smelly goat cheese, a bottle of water, some grapes and an apple that i picked up, and two beers with me. i made a bee line to pere la chaise cemetery, to picnic with some of the most famous dead citizens of paris. i found a bench, had my impromptu lunch, saved the beer, though, that had a special purpose. wandered around for hours. saw the graves of moliere, oscar wilde, sarah bernhard, chopin, honore de balzac, so many i can't name them. it was starting to get late, there was a grey haze starting to cover the sun, i decided it was time. i followed the crowd, and the arrows. "this way to the lizard king." i joined hippies and neo-wannabees from all over the globe at the grave of jim morrison. someone handed me a cigarette, i gladly accepted. a guy from holland lit it. i popped open one beer, placed the other at the head of jim's grave, as an offering. "thanks for all the great music, jim." i had my beer, smoked my smoke, listened to some music with kids from hungary, holland, sweden, and i think austria. we all just sat around, had our beverage of choice, some told stories how the doors music influenced their lives. i just listened, being much older than all of them. the sun was starting to set, i wished them adieu, and set my path back to the metro and my hotel. in a total haze of paris, amazing cheese and jim morrison. what a trip.
so, am i ever going to get cheese out of my life? i have to admit, as i'm writing this i have a plate of brie and sliced baguette sitting on my right, with my bottle of water. i'll probably cue up some doors later. i no longer smoke or drink. i guess i have jim's cautionary tale to thank for that. but cheese? man, i love the stuff.
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