I’m in a cheese store here in Gouda. Facing a madly huge selection of rich country cheeses piled up on a table in the middle of the store, for tasting. You want to come hungry.
I eat my way around the table, every little chunk of goodness as incredible as the one before.
This is getting to feel like more of a meet and greet than shopping in the cheese aisle has ever been. I might be talking to the cheeses. I hear myself saying things like, “You’re so salty and dense!” “Sooo creamy!” “Oooh baby!” “I want to take you home!” In English, fortunately. There’s less staring and moving away than there would have been if I could speak Dutch.
In the midst of this happy little vignette, I give myself a good hard mental poke–I am here to buy a cheese.
Uno. Not half the store. I leave with my one cheese wrapped in its special cheese paper. I don’t know if I got the best cheese.
They all seemed like the best to me. What I do know is letting myself get a little crazy is food for my soul.
Find yourself a cheese shop, or the equivalent, and see if that isn’t so.
Cheese has been a long time love of mine. American stores don't offer you the rich diversity of the lovely rich food I adore. If I had been in that store with you in Gouda, I would still be there. I would never be able to convince myself that I had to choose only one. It's amazing how much we still have in common after all these years!