The Goat cheese

 

Has there ever been a greater cheese than this goat cheese?

I guess not, I mean it's in the name: goat cheese.

If I were a fluent, speaking member of this culture, and I stopped at the goat cheese stand in the Liberation Market, I almost certainly would have joked with the cheese purveyor by asking "And what makes this cheese the "Greatest Of All Time?"

But all I could manage here in France was to point at the exquisitely plain looking round white cheese and say "Je voudrais..." and then point with my finger. And then add politely "S'il vous plait."

The French person, to be sure she understood, said something. I understood the word "frais", which means "fresh".

"Oui, Frais!" I mumbled excitedly. But I was too late and mumbly to communicate anything as she was already taking it from the case and wrapping it, so I might have just started murmuring "cheese" excitedly at that point for all it did.

She packed up my nice large fresh round cheese. Four euros.

If this had happened in the country I come from, where I speak the language very well, and I joked: "And what makes this cheese the "Greatest Of All Time?" I probably wouldn't have been understood anyway.

But it wouldn't have happened because they seriously do not have cheese like that where I come from, as simple as it was.

My god that cheese was good!

"Was it the "GOAT cheese?" You might like to ask, trying out the fun joke.

Oh.

Perhaps fortunately, how good it was cannot be said in the words of any language.

Uh-oh

 

We popped over to Italy yesterday morning.

I wasn't thinking much of it. The idea itself was novel; that one could get on a train and go to a whole different country with an entirely different language and culture and come home at our leisure like we were going to a suburban mall for an afternoon. And yes, there was the largest market in Italy on Fridays in this Italian border town of Ventimiglia, but I know what those markets are like with their 90% women's fashion and assorted dubious "fell of the back of the truck" items. So while I was interested, my expectations were modest.

But after half an hour in the Riviera river city of Ventimiglia we were painfully wondering: Did we move to the wrong place?

Fortunately the answer to that is no. The density and grand beauty of our city, with its New York City intensity and density genetically spliced into a Cote D'Azur vacation beach town, is too perfect for us on a day to day level to dismiss like that. But oh Ventimiglia!

Do you know what France is like here? It is like Italy with a light washing and a coat of varnish. I think after almost four months in this country it was a bit of a relief to see a place with its guard down, having a little fun with it. 

Also the people are kind of nicer.

But crucially I just loved that city with a glorious river running through the center of it and spilling onto its wide open beaches. I love a river delta, with swans and glowing horizons. The modern town was good and not all that modern, though busy and active. The market was as I anticipated except in its magnitude. It was gigantic. The food market, a separate entity, was great too, and it felt real and rich with some actual local products and bargains, including curoiously massive piles of artichokes. The coffee, our one abiding reason for dreaming of the place, was a letdown, though there was much to choose from and perhaps we would have found our spots with better luck. And then across the river, steeply climbing the cliff, was the old town, scrappy, ancient, perhaps a bit too sleepy and without enough shops, it was nevertheless the most wonderful old town I have seen, with its endlessly winding and climbing paths too small for cars, and with its countless bridges and tunnels climbing up and through the rock.

I am working on the many pictures I took of this place, feeling that the out of the camera ones, while satisfying, deserve deeper layers of work and finishing to bring out my feelings on Ventimiglia. There will be more to show and talk about in the days to come. Also I am aware there is a thrill to the new and in the triumphs of risk in travel that is modified with familiarity.

But for now I will just say:

I got a chunk of good Parmesean the size of a cinder block.

Rain on the Cote D'Azur

 

It rains here.

I read somewhere that there is more rain here than in England, but it is better rain. So the English all came here in the Winters in the 1800's and now it's a Unesco Heritage Site as a Winter Destination. 

This is one of my favorite things about this city and you will hear more about it in the future, but other cities around the world become historical wonders and beauties and thus Unesco Sites and popular tourist attractions and destinations.

This city is a Unesco Site for being a tourist attraction and destination!

Anyway, it rained all last night and all day today, so we didn't even leave the house until three, which we call fifteen o'clock here in France. Get used to it. I hope to soon. We walked to a kind of natural food store where I bought a bottle of organic prosecco just cause I felt like it was the prudent thing to do. And I got potatoes and very wee avocados too since we were far too late for the markets. The streets were thriving, because the streets are always thriving here because this is a Unesco Heritage Site as a Winter Destination. And, it's winter. We walked in something like a driving drizzle to the beach with heavy bags and then we sat there.

This is good enough for anything, sitting on the promenade. But it was a wild treat today as the beach was gone! In all our months here we had yet to see an ocean wild and high enough to come all the way up to the beach wall. The crashing waves were thrilling.

When we had enough of that we had coffees in a tented street cafe on a pedestrian street between here and the ocean.

Then we went and bought cheese.

It was enough for me. I hope it was enough for you.

Cheese

 

I did champagne yesterday, though there's always more to say about that.

So what about the cheese?

Oooh la la.

We live just around the corner from the best fromagerie in the city. It is a pretty and neat shop with an austere proprieter. I think he possibly does not have a sense of humor. He also speaks English, which is a nice reminder that being able to communicate is not a panacea for the challenges of life in the city.

Don't reach into any of the cases!

Wait politely!

One thing at a time!

Sometimes there are other people working in the small shop, cutting things, setting things up. They are nice and friendly looking minions, but I don't think they help people. Only the master helps people. He wraps your cheese carefully. He uses a lot of tape when he does. 

It is his one weakness; slightly too much tape.

Even with communication technically possible, choosing cheese can be pretty challenging. Oh, not for your more known and universal goudas and comtes and ossau iratys, though even the choice of one of those engenders an eye-test-like series of choices:

"Older or younger?"

"Stonger or smoother?"

I don't know. You're the one who knows every single thing about cheese! You tell me what to get and I'll get it. 

But cheese is hard to talk about. Look at me struggle now.

And then when you get into the singular display cheeses, the 15 styles of individual goat cheeses in various shapes and forms and colors, well, it is hopeless. So you just pick one.

That one! The nine euro one!

I like it because it doesn't have alot of mold on it. And it has a pretty... shape.

Then come the questions:

"The pale one, or the light caramel one?"

"Would you like a firmer or softer one?"

What's the difference?

Well, the firmer one is still willing to sit there quietly. The softer one is starting to inch its way towards the exit.

I take the firmer.

It is wrapped up really well!

Very secure.

Later we eat our prize goat cheese with some amazing lemon bergamont marmelade my darling wife made. The cheese has woken up now and is inching its way off the plate. Don't let this bother you. It is the best cheese you have ever tasted!

"This is the best cheese I have ever tasted" has already been said a fair few times in our little attic apartment. We might have to choose a new phrase for it.

How about:

Oooh la la?

Events in France!

 

I meant to tell you all about this cheese I got this morning, a little round, self contained thing that was rich and tasted intensely of the grass the cows had clearly been feeding on. It was an amazing cheese, but alas, events in France overtook us!

French legend Brigitte Bardot is dead at the age of 91! 

She died near here, in the one famous town on the Cote D' Azur we may never get to because the train doesn't go there, Saint Tropez. She was a legendary actress you well know from seeing in the movies, er, um

In Case of Adversity

and

The Legend of Frenchie King

and

Viva Maria

All very fine movies, possibly. I don't know. I've never seen one. Maybe you have to be French?

But France took it hard. Hardly a French person I ran into here wasn't abuzz with this sad passing.

I mean, they might be. I wouldn't know. They don't really talk to me except to ask "What cheese would you like?"

To which I answer "That round pretty one made by cow."

Which, it turns out, was a brilliant choice!

It tasted of the very grass that the cows grew strong and healthy on!

We had it with a syrah wine. Oooh la la.

This all may sound a bit glib, but, alas, Brigitte Bardot was, well, a bit of a fascist.

I guess I can run, but I can't hide.

Cheese

 

We are coming to the last week of our time in this beach apartment in Theoule Sur Mer. Tomorrow we go to the big city where our real, long term apartment is, for one last overnight prep visit. Then next week we'll close up this wonderful, ramshackle, and slightly abandoned place on the beach for our final move.

I'm a little sad. 

I may have been dragging my feet a little too.

It's not that I'm not excited to begin this new, leisured life in a gloriously beautiful city in the south of France, but this wild transition through Japan and into an uncertain future where anything is possible now becomes... life, anchored in what we chose, in our retiree budget, and in all the months and years going by. Possibility becomes reality. 

I am ready though. As much as I love it here in Theoule it certainly has its limits with its two particular grocery stores, one a chain, and one fancy, and its two closed for the season bakeries. And my inclination to burrow into my little home projects of photo editing, videogames, and general dissolution has begun to fully assert itself in these cold, wild days full of rain and storms. A life settled in the big city may curiously allow for more of the traveller's lifestyle of exploration and adventure that we moved here for. 

And also, it's about time I lived around the corner from a cheese shop.

Tacos in a jar, a recipe!

In the library breakroom there is much notice for our upcoming holiday potluck. And on the table where one is to sign up and indicate the dish one is bringing, someone thoughtfully placed a copy of Emeril's Potluck, presumably to spark ideas for what to bring. I promptly opened it up... 

and was horrified! 

This was for reasons I feel I can best express by providing my own recipe below.





This recipe is for my super popular, and very handy, and perfect for potlucks, Clerkmanifesto's Tacos in a Jar. Festive, portable, tasty, and charmingly packed, Clerkmanifesto's Tacos in a Jar will enliven any party or picnic!

Clerkmanifesto's Tacos in a Jar

Ingredients:


3 cans Clerkmanifesto brand tomato paste
2 pounds ground beef
2 onions
2 packets of Clerkmanifesto Tacos in a Jar! Seasoning Packet available online or at your local grocery
2 cans Clerkmanifesto Style Special Italian Pitted Black Olives (generic substitute is okay if you don't care whether anyone likes the food you cook)
4 ears shucked F1 Hybrid Feldenstein Variety Corn on the Cob
1 lb. extra sharp white cheddar, as aged as you can afford.
24 corn tortillas cut into inch sized pieces


12 Clerkmanifesto's Tacos in a Jar Taco Jars!


Assembly:


Carmelize the onions, set aside in a Clerkmanifesto Fiesta Bowl.

Salt and brown meat, drain, stir in tomato paste, and Clerkmanifesto's Tacos in a Jar Seasoning, set on low heat.

After awhile add onions, Clerkmanifesto Style olives, and shucked Feldenstein Hybrid Corn (non gmo).

In an oversized Tacos in a Jar, a Recipe!, the Blogpost Skillet, cook the tortilla pieces in salt, lime juice, and olive oil until they are crispy as many places as you can get them. Add the meat mixture and cheese. Stir.

Using a Clerkmanifesto Taco Scoop, fill your 12 Clerkmanifesto's Tacos in a Jar Taco Jars!




You're ready to go!

Don't forget to mention where you got the recipe every few seconds while people try to avoid you at the potluck.

And remember: Don't eat any of that other potluck food, that stuff is not wholesome. It may be full of Emeril products!

A cheesy fan letter

Dear Edelweiss Creamery,



What are you people up to? The Gouda you make is really good!

There's nothing wrong with that. On the contrary, but I just find it all so confusing.

Although maybe this is the time to admit to you, and to myself, that I find cheese confusing. Sometimes I go looking for a cheese and they're all like $30 a pound. So I get some over the top Comte upgrade where the cows are all individually tucked in at night and read a story to by milkmaids, and it's really good cheese. I mean, it's delicious! Then sometimes I go looking for a cheese and there's like, some Edelweiss Gouda, from Wisconsin, and it's less than $12 a pound and it's really good! It's amazing really. This happens with Bleu d'Auvergne sometimes as well, although only at one store where I sometimes wonder it they have the wrong price in their computer. Then occasionally there's a cheese and it's maybe $18 a pound, you know, some Manchego or Stilton for instance, and I buy it and it's really really good.

These cheeses are all good! They're fantastic, to tell you the truth. How can they all be that good?

I could put all these cheeses on a plate and maybe pick a favorite, but it would generally be whichever one I happened to be eating at that moment.

I like the way your cheese has the crunchy bits in it, like Parmesan. I like its dense creaminess too. It has a lot of flavor. I am also really keen on the way if I hand over $6 for this cheese I get a nice big chunk of it instead of a frail slice.

I think what's really going on is I like good cheese. There's a lot of good cheese. But I think your wonderful cheese marks the starting point at which price per pound no longer necessarily indicates higher or lower quality. This means that your cheese is better than all the cheeses that are cheaper than it while being as good as, basically, you know, give or take mood, need, and accompanying wine, all the other cheeses in the world.

So

Well done, and, thank you. 

Taken for granted

Having issued a new blog post every day for more than five years requires a certain amount of my constant attention. I am generally fully aware of exactly where I am in my schedule of upcoming blog posts. So it was a distinct surprise to me to be sitting down, after a long and busy day, on the couch, starting to think about how it might be nice to have some wine or pastis with my wife, and maybe some cheese, oh, like the Cambozola, creamy and mildly blue, which I just bought, or possibly the half of the wedge of Blue Castello I have left from yesterday, or even some of this Edelweiss Gouda I've been so fond of lately, what with all its creaminess and crunchy bits, and then maybe go to sleep for 13 or 14 hours when it suddenly struck me with a bracing shock:

I have to write a blog post for tomorrow morning!

And not just any blog post. This is a serious blog that, while currently read only by people I know and a few scattered cheese enthusiasts (I assume though that there is some overlap), will probably go down in the literary canon along with Finnegan's Wake and The Violent Bear it Away, and Dragons Love Tacos. So it requires quality, like all the time.

High quality!

Something for the ages.

Something maybe involving cheese.

Yes, cheese. 

I'll see if I can work it in.

Bleu d'Auvergne

People say to me:

"You write one of the most influential cheese blogs on the Internet and yet in over 1,900 posts you have yet to write a single one of them about the greatest of all cheeses, Bleu d'Auvergne!"

To which I reply:

"You think this is a cheese blog?"

"Isn't it?" They ask trepidatiously.

"No." I say.

"Are you sure about that?" They ask, nodding their head slowly and looking piercingly into my eyes.

"Which cheeses do you think I've influenced?" I ask, trying to make the proverbial silk purse and because the idea of me having influence is strangely irresistible.

"Well certainly not Bleu d'Auvergne!" They cry hotly.

Fair enough.


Bleu d'Auvergne is a cows' milk French blue cheese on the more creamy, less salty side. It is so good that I can't even, I, it's impossible to, just, well, really, it's all too, I don't know, I mean, well, it's, well, whew. I think you get the picture.

Also it's not even very expensive.

In Paris when they have just two or three cheeses on some cafe menu one of them is almost always Bleu d'Auvergne.

"Why is that?" One asks.

Because they know what they're doing in those Paris Cafes. They really know what they're doing!

"So should I have some of this Bleu d'Auvergne?" One asks.

"Have you taken my advice on these matters before?" I inquire curiously.

"Of course." One says excitedly. "You are one of the most influential cheese bloggers on the Internet!"

"Wow." I say. 


Wow.

One more thing about French cheese

My wife and I were recently at our local cheesemonger. We were picking up some cheeses that we had acquired affection for in Paris. I was interested in the Camembert, ubiquitous in the cafes there. Thinking of Camembert just now this phrase popped unbidden into my mind: "The whipped cream of cheeses."

I have no idea why.

I asked the cheesemonger about the Camemberts. These were whole cheeses, not ones for him to cut, so he showed them to us. When asked about two of them he describe one of them as being redolent of Barnyard Fruits.

My wife asked what were the smells of Barnyard Fruits, a question I too was cautiously interested in hearing the answer to.

Without much hesitation or shame the cheesemonger answered "Things like urine soaked hay."

So I bought the cheese.

It was delicious.