I’ve decided it’s my mission to culture my children. They’ve been to the theatre already, and can (mostly) audibly recognize the instruments of the orchestra. Since my husband is an ogre, and will only enter a theatre upon threat of bodily harm from me, I want my boys to be more comfortable with the niceties of society. They may not like Sondheim as much as they like the Steelers, but at least they’ll know who he is.
Today I took Jeffrey to the Cheese-mongers. It was a special trip, just the two of us, and he got to pick out two cheeses from the vast jewel case of fine cheese. The kid already loves cheese, so it wasn’t a hard sell, but this was introducing him to the good stuff. Most six-year-olds aren’t so interested in stinky cheese, but he liked the special-ness of the store, the dark walls, the shiny cases and the mysterious colors and textures of the little shop.
The cheese-lady talked to us about the different milks, and the things the animals ate that would flavor the cheese. She invited him to pick a few to taste, and showed him the special wires, knives and chisels used to cut wedges from the wheels. There were a few that caused him to wrinkle his nose in distaste, and he doesn’t yet have my fondness for Stilton- but he ended up picking a well-crystallized piece of Italian Regianno made with raw milk, and a creamy Mahon from Spain.
I picked some more Stilton, because I ate all the other stuff already- and added some more Vella dry jack and some Port Townsend seastack, which is a soft cheese washed in vegetable ash- I know, it sounds gross, but trust me, it’s divine. It ripens from the outside in, so it’s creamy near the rind, and firmer near the center. Mmmmmmmm…