The Littlest Fish (Part 2)

...Last week I found out an organization called Ecotrust was hosting a pairing and tasting event in Portland on Wednesday. The event, Wine-Pear-Cheese, matched a cheesemaker and a winemaker with a type of regional pear and a local chef.  There were five pairing teams.  Each team's chef had to bring all three pairing components together and create an appetizer using the pear, cheese and wine. The 120 attendees at the sold-out event were going to be divided into five groups, and each group would rotate between pairing teams for a tasting. For several logistical reasons, including my inability to drive a stick-shift, I was the only person available from Black Sheep to represent the cheese at the tasting.

Each chef was a well-known, established, food star on the local food scene. Each wine and cheese was being repped by the expert-artisan, a distributor, or someone with a lot of experience in the production. Everyone was kind of a big deal. Then, there was me. I only outranked the little kid who tagged along with his dad, one of the cheesemakers on the other team. Not only did I have to appear knowledgeable to a crowd of people who paid for this event, but I also had to try not to disappear in the shadows of folks who had years and years of credentials.

I arrived at our chef's cafe with my cooler full of cheese to catch a ride with the chef. One of the cooks came out front to greet me, I presumed.  I went to shake his hand and he asked if I was there to work. "Oh uhm, nuh, umm, no. I'm. Cheese. I'm just here with the cheese." Still confused, I followed him back to the kitchen, where I met the chef. Due to a clock malfunction, the kitchen was a bit behind on preparations. So I was immediately put to work helping prep the appetizers to take to the event. I did not expect to have first experience presenting at a tasting and working in a commercial kitchen that day. 

We loaded up and arrived at the event. Our team discussed our presentation flow and tried to figure out the best way to handle the groups. I had a few notes on the farm and its history, but soon realized I also needed to guide the attendees on the flavors they were picking up in the cheese. It was, after all, a tasting event. I went off to my corner and started tasting our cheese, a Spanish-style cheese that had recently won an award at ACS. Generally I could say it was modeled after an unsmoked Idiazabal cheese and that it had a mild, slightly-nutty quality. But I had to come up with something better than that. I immediately pulled from the catalog of knowledge they gave us in the sensory class at VIAC (I guess cheese school came in handy after-all). I noticed the initial notes of mellow citrus-fruitiness that paired well with the pears, followed by the earthy, meaty quality as you got closer to the rind that paired well with the Cabernet. I have no idea if that sounded reasonable, but people seemed to politely nod their head in agreement. 

After the first few groups passed through, we all got the hang of the presentations. At first, I did have to assert myself in trying to seem like somewhat of a big of a deal. The first couple of times my presentation was skipped until after the group had lined up for the samples. Such a set-up did not give the cheese a fair share of the spotlight, so I had to make sure I wasn't just the intern in the corner. No, I was an advocate for the cheese and I would be heard! After the first groups, I had established my role and felt much more comfortable. I realized I was pretty knowledgeable (or knowledgeable enough) about what people wanted to know.

The event turned out be quite exhilarating and fun. Meg arrived at the very end of the fifth presentation to pick me up. I'm glad she was there, not just as a warm familiar face, but also to tell me if anything I was saying was way off. She fully supported my presentation spiel. Getting the thumbs up from the boss is always a good feeling. 

The attendees also voted that our paring was the best of the five. That likely had much more to do with the flavors of the products than any of the presentations. But I think that gives me some cheese cred. 

The Littlest Fish (Part 1)

Today I had a moment in my car, sitting at a stoplight and staring down at my greasy whey-stained tshirt. My job is cheese. Really? I just picked a food I'm obsessed with and decided to make that my life. And that's what I do. So what do you do? Cheese. I do cheese. I had this entire what-the-hell-for real-? dialogue in my head. I suddenly realized what people I meet at weddings and innocuous functions must think to themselves when I tell them I'm a cheese intern.

All twenty seconds of this moment made me smile. The only way it could get better is if I got a side-job as an ice cream taster. What a great and fatty thing it is that I do! Was I just lucky enough to really love one of the few foods out of which I can make a life? I also love steak. I doubt I could specialize as a steak artisan (or can I?). How did I find places to work where I always, whether I take stock of it or not, leave satisfied with my day? How did I find such talented people to work with who are willing to teach me about a craft in such a way that said satisfaction comes so naturally?

It was a refreshing slap in the face in the midst of naivete-shattering realizations about the store and trying life-related issues, which have made me a bit blue this fall. The west coast happened to catch me just as fang-toothed obstacles have started to skulk about on Cheesy Street. I still love my day-to-day life and the people I work with just as much as I did this summer. I'm just as fulfilled with my place in the world as I ever was. Today, I woke back up to that part of myself a little bit.

Like a child, I often have ideas, and daydreams, and hopeful pictures painted in my head of excitement, and adventure, and the way things should be, all of which I like to keep intact. Practical matters, panic, and homesickness will always threaten to poop on my dreams. To survive, I have to focus a little more on the joy of what I do and the company I keep, and a little less on abstract future what-ifs that scare me.

I have to think more about opportunities like last Wednesday, when I had to pretend to be a big deal...

In the last week, I've learned...

...that I hate chickens. Chickens have been such a major part of my month that it deserves mentioning. There are no chickens on the farm at Black Sheep. There are, however, chickens living behind the house where I am staying in Chehalis. On occasion, I've cooked up the eggs they have provided and appreciated them for it. For two separate loooong, four-day weekends, I've had to feed and take care of the chickens. First I'll say I do love animals and I would never want any harm to come to these chickens. But, whatever, they suck. They're mean and stupid; the roosters gang-rape the hens; they peck each others eyes out (one of the cripple chickens is blind from a squabble with his brother over a hen); they won't let the babies come sleep in the coop; and they make my life a living hell during feeding time. The first weekend I was in charge of them they must have sensed I was a noob. They carefully stalked my routine and would try to jump into the covered food bins as I opened them or into the cripple chicken's pen to steal food from the sick chickens as I was feeding them. The first time I didn't want to shoo them or touch them for fear that they would peck my eyes out either because they're vicious or stupid. I was told roosters (but apparently not these roosters) can and will gouge a hole in your leg with their spurs. The second weekend I had to do this was much easier, and I did learn that the chickens at the house are generally docile and won't gouge or peck me. But still. They suck. (Not the babies, though. The babies are cute.)

...that some people don't really believe in health codes. The number of people at market who ask me to re-use their toothpick for their second sample and then proceed to scold me when I use a fresh one is boggling. I recognize that you didn't put your mouth to the toothpick so that you could reuse it and save a tree. But I'm not going to take that same stick that you just fingered and dip it back into the tub of sample cubes. I'm just not. That's gross. I love trees as much as you do, but I also love hygiene and not getting sued for making people sick. Call me a lawyer. Some people are just trying to be nice, and that's a-okay. Thanks for thinking of the environment and cutting my costs. But some people are just mean about it. You can go hang out with the chickens.

...that teen punk bands and girl rap groups will always have at least one fan at any market or event at which I'm present. Most of the farmers markets have a musical act perform each week. It's usually 50/50 odds on whether the music will be awful. Sometimes the music is a big crowd-draw. There was an afro-funk band in Portland a couple weeks ago that just owned the morning. At one market, a vendor busted out his banjo and started singing some folksy-backwoods songs while we were setting up. I really appreciated that too. But I think the the biggest surprise was the back-to-back lineup of an angry teen punk band, which rotated between violent screaming and covers of The Kinks, followed by the angry three-person girl rap group, which unapologetically verbalized very un-family-friendly lyrics. Both were totally out of place at a Saturday morning farmers market. Both drew a confused, shocked, and inquisitive crowd. Both brightened my morning.

...that the northwest can, at times, get somewhat gray and lonely. I've found a few places I enjoy. I love the people and my days at work. But my leisure time has been a bit pitiful, and some of it is my own fault for not venturing out enough. Still, finding a place to run or walk outdoors that doesn't lead me past the Industrial Park or remind me of a scene from Deliverance is a tall order. Natural beauty is within reach and can compensate for the sleepiness of the town (you can't beat a clear day when you can see Mt. St. Helens from a parking lot, and then turn around and see Mt. Rainier). Yet, exploration out here is much more sprawling and requires a significant investment in gas for my car, which adds up quick at $2.99 a gallon.

Whew, glad I got all that off my chest. I hope my posts as of late haven't been a total buzzkill. I recognize that as I've learned more and experienced more, some of the rosy, optimistic sheen may have worn off my cheesy reports to you. For that reason, I'll reiterate: I do still love what I'm doing and the choice I've made to try this out. I love all the people I've worked with and networked with on the east coast and the west coast. The people and my journey have led me to some really great experiences that have made me feel so much better about life and myself. For that, I'm really really grateful, chickens-and-all.

My Two Markets

I've now done two markets on my own! As you might remember a mere few months ago, the prospect of a solo market made me pants-crappingly nervous. But as I had mentioned a few posts back, I was surprisingly calm about the whole affair now. I know much more on how to talk about cheese and I was looking forward to the opportunity to run my own show. The only thing that scares me on the regular is putting up the tent by myself. That thing is unwieldy.

My view at the Chehalis Market

For all the markets we do in Washington and Oregon, the cheese must be pre-cut, priced and vacuum packaged on the farm. The food handling laws and licenses for farmers markets are much more restrictive for vendors who wish to cut cheese at market in these states. I think I'd be just as confident if I had to cut cheese at the market, but it does take a little bit of the franticness out of market day. It also allows for more time to focus on the samples and conversation, and the customers can hand-pick exactly what they want. However, pre-cut pieces take a little bit of the theatrical excitement out of mongering and are somewhat more restrictive for the customer when we start running low. There are definitely pros and cons to both.

I've done both of my solo markets with the outgoing intern for the first few weeks, but now I'm the only staff member left to handle them. The Chehalis market as I mentioned is respectably sized for a blue-collar town. Depending on the weather, the customers usually come steadily in the early afternoon. But in my opinion, the market lasts far too long. It's every Tuesday from 12pm to 5pm. Granted, I've arrived at the end of market season in the Northwest, but the amount of customer traffic does not justify a five-hour market. The last two-and-a-half hours are more like a trickle of customers and pretty excruciatingly slow for the vendors. The crowd is an ecletic mix of residents, primarily families and elderly ladies of varied levels of enthusiasm for being outdoors.

St. Johns market in Portland

The market in Portland, Oregon on Saturdays takes place in the city's St. Johns neighborhood from 9am to 1pm. At St. Johns there are a few more vendors and a much steadier flow of traffic than in Chehalis. It's not as big as the main Portland market (which I assume is more like the Union Square market), but the crowd levels at St. Johns allows time to get to know your regulars (so maybe more like Ft. Greene). The crowd is much wealthier, trendier, and health-conscious than the Chehalis crowd. But both market-goers share an equal love of cheese and fresh products. In Chehalis, there is a pervasive use of questionably tight sweatpants, and in Portland, there is a pervasive use of questionably tight biking shorts. In the end, we're all the same.

One of the great things about both markets is the relationship between all the vendors. The farmers market community in Chehalis was very warm and welcoming. Everyone knew each other, and after every market day, they all meet up with their wares to cook dinner and socialize together. On my first Tuesday in town, it was nice way to be invited into to the community. It also makes the last few slow hours of a five-hour Tuesday go by much quicker when you're around people you enjoy. Even in Portland, the neighboring vendors were very laid-back and fun to work alongside. Forming connections with your fellow vendors is not always a given in the markets I'd witnessed, at least not on the first day. So both markets were a pleasant and refreshing surprise.

Very few markets in the Northwest are year-round. Most wrap up in the early to mid-fall. Portland will be over in a couple weeks and Chehalis winds down in October. This of course, means that I will be mourning the loss of the bread guy next to me in Portland, who has the most addictive baked goods I've ever had. Ever. I don't know what the secret narcotic ingredient is. All I know is that I secretly sing love songs to those breakfast buns and garlic loafs.

The Mating Game

My first farm-related task to kick-off my first full week of interning at Black Sheep Creamery was unexpected. After talking to Meg, I knew that I would be helping with the sheep somehow. I was excited to get a chance to dabble in animal care on my first day, as I knew milking season was coming to a close. I only occasionally interacted with the cows at Cato Corner, but I wanted to make sure I gave the sheep here at least some attention as well.

The task at hand was to divide the 70-or-so ewes into breeding groups assigned to a specific ram for their love-making purposes.

Sheep are generally bred in the fall. They have lambs in the spring and lactate for a certain period of months after that. For this reason, most sheep dairies only produce milk in the spring and summer months. The sheep stop lactating towards the fall and cheesemaking slows to a halt for the winter. The cows at Cato Corner were bred on a staggered cycle to allow for milk production throughout the year. I'm told that sheep are more difficult, and their heat cycle must be simulated through a very involved and scientifically unnatural process. Therefore, they have to be in the mood and cannot be bred any time of the year. Then, all the ewes give birth around the same time and lactate as a whole for a certain number of months. I have no idea what goats do. I'm not an expert on the carnal desires of animals.

The exact date for breeding is determined by whatever the target date is for the start of "lambing season" (i.e. when all the sheep give birth and start producing milk again next year). Luckily, I arrived just in time for the joyous day at Black Sheep. The day started off with a quick review of the spreadsheet that Meg had drawn up which assigned each sheep to one of three breeding groups. During milking, the ewes were identified and each was tagged with the color we had assigned to her lucky suitor. After milking was over, the sheep trotted out of the milking parlor. We waited on the other side, identified one of three markings we had assigned, and then coaxed them based on marking into one of three penned areas. This was different from their normal routine and the sheep knew it. Some of them needed some urging and a good shove to the backside. A few were just freaked out and tried to bowl me over.

Once the milking was complete and all the ewes had been divided, we began the process of setting up the rendezvous. We went to the rams' pen and selected the lucky guy who was assigned to the particular flock of ladies. Then, we walked the first group out to pasture, with the ram in the lead. As is the case in the animal world, introductions are a mere formality. The ram was ready to get right down to business and many of the ewes were ready to back their said business right up on him almost immediately. It became a little challenging to march the groups out to their pasture boudoir in an orderly fashion. After leading all the groups out to pasture and dividing up fencing to separate them, our work was done. So, because we can, we decided to stand there for a little while and voyeuristically ogle the amorous display. There was a lot of sniffing (on the part of the sheep, not us), some strategy, a smattering of furious "baaa-ing," and a couple love connections. Our responsibility was over; nature would take care of the rest.

The sheep will stay together in their mating groups with the ram for 34 days to allow for two heat cycles and plenty of time for successful mating. Apparently a ram can copulate with up to 50 ewes each night...which seems impressive and kinda gross. Each of our breeding groups has only about 20 sheep, so these rams would not be put to such a test. Meg and Brad are able to tell which ewes have been bred or at least attempted to breed by use of markings on their backside. Each ram is fitted with a harness contraption that straps a large chalk-like marker to his chest. For lack of a visual, just imagine this marker leaving a large colored spot on the backside of each ewe from the friction with the ram's chest during a given sheep hook-up.

I was told a story of a ram and ewe, that despite being separated, had successfully mated and bred through a wire-fence. Even the best human efforts at match-making can be rendered ineffective by natural love connections. Usually only two or three ewes are unsuccessful in breeding, which means just under 70 ewes can be milked in the spring.

This really puts a whole new spin on how I look at cheese and the milk that went into creating it. Cheese really is love. Sure it's messy, multi-partnered, animal love. Nevertheless, to mother nature, it's a form of love. 

Identity Crisis

When I first started seriously thinking about a cheese shop about a year ago, it was just this vague idea that I had toyed with for a long time. It had no concrete location, name, or identity. Even as I began my internships all I knew is that I had a tentative name for it, Cheesy Street; a tentative mascot, the Provolone Ranger; and I wanted it to be fun and unpretentious. The more nuggets of its identity I pieced together, the more concrete it became. I still didn't have a location in mind, knowing I wasn't really tied to any place. I had grand notions of all the options that were available to me across the country. I could move anywhere and start this thing! What an adventure! Then, this store started to take on a life of its own in my head. Its own personality and reason for being, if you will. Cheesy Street wanted to be a place for the childlike exploration of food in a city or neighborhood that really needed and wanted it. DC had always seemed like the perfect place for this thing. I knew it would be expensive, and in the past, I had struggled with whether I even liked living there. But suddenly, it had become my second home and a place I cared about. When my favorite grimey spots started to become yuppified I was incensed. Gentrification and dimly lit wine bars were forcing my city to lose what little individuality it had.

So what of this store?

I don't want to give this cheese baby of mine to any city that doesn't need it. For obvious business reasons, I don't want this store in a place that has a great cheese store already and, therefore, less buzz for a newcomer on the scene. Most of all, I don't want to give this store to a city or town that has everything it needs to make its residents happy. For example, New York, not a place I wanted to open a cheese shop even if there are plenty of customers and neighborhoods left to tap into. You already have everything, New York, why should I offer you my hard work, goals, and dreams? Maybe I just like to keep it grimey, but this store's identity screams for it to be put in a place where there is a void. A place where good food and the stories and community behind said food can bring a bit of joy to an otherwise bleak day or an otherwise unaware person. As an extreme example, when I was in Detroit, I was briefly fascinated with the idea of opening a store there.

If I compromised what this store was about, what good would opening it do other than simply sating some basic desire to be an entrepreneur?

This identity that Cheesy Street took on seemed to be inextricably tied to places where I felt a connection (sorry Detroit) and, therefore, had a desire to fill that void: DC, and secondarily, Omaha and Kansas City/Lawrence. If I had my way I'd open up a cheese shop in the grimiest, most depressed, part of town. But I'm not an idiot and I know specialty foods have to follow the money and the yuppies. I've struggled with this reality and whether it affects the store's identity. To a degree it does. But that's why it's even more important for a store to take shape in a place where I have a connection and know it is performing some good to the community. DC: surly, dejected office workers, I know your pain! Come, take respite on your lunch hour with the Provolone Ranger and a grilled cheese sandwich. Omaha: I love you, but seriously, your commitment to local food is dismal. Come taste what good food should be like. Kansas City/Lawrence: you try so hard and you really want to participate in this food movement, but all you have is Better Cheddar. And this may sting, but they're not really a cheese store. The American artisanal selection is bleak; there is no connection to the cheesmakers and their stories; and the focus should be on the cheese not a thousand gourmet bottles of condiments.

Maybe this identity has taken root because of a prideful determination to be a non-comformist. To fill a void is to be the first at something and blaze the trail. But don't business geniuses always tell you that you have to believe in what you're doing, what you're selling and who you're selling it to? And isn't a large part of that not to lose the identity and vision you had set for your business?

This is all a long way of saying that in addition to the financial reality check, another hang-up that is becoming an obstacle in the new phase of this journey is location. Location is actually more important. I can find the money if I really try. But if I end up somewhere where it doesn't feel right, I don't know if I can compromise the identity of Cheesy Street. As the internships come to a close and I'm faced with the realities on where I may end up, I realize with a bit of sadness in my heart that they're not all conducive to my vision of this store and this store's identity.

Admittedly this chapter of my journey is far less optimistic than the first. Yes, I might just be freaking out. But take heart in knowing that I have no intention of abandoning cheese. I just am coming to terms with, oh what's it called...right...life.

In happier news, I'm doing my first solo farmers market tomorrow! I'm being entrusted to run the whole show at one of the smaller farmers markets in Portland, Oregon. Surprisingly, I'm not nervous about it. I finally feel like I've been well-equipped for this sort of thing. Unless I tell you otherwise, assume it went swimmingly.

Farmers Markets on the West Coast: The New Rural Chic

Before the ACS Conference, I had a few days to get a taste of the new internship. First day on the job: Farmers Market in the town where I am staying for the next two months, Chehalis, WA. It struck me as a bit odd that a town of only about 7,000 people, with one of the highest unemployment and poverty rates in the state could sustain a farmers market on a Tuesday afternoon. But lo and behold, the quest for fresh food knows no bounds. I wouldn't call it busy, but it was a respectably bustling farmers market. There were around 16 vendors, selling a variety of handmade or farm-grown products. My first farmers market experience while at Cato Corner was at Union Square. There is not much that can compare to that mosh pit of hungry bodies. But I also got a taste of a few smaller markets in the Connecticut area. In comparison, Chehalis had more vendors and customers at its weekday farmers market than the West Hartford market, which was in a far wealthier and more densely populated area. This gives me hope on multiple levels.

First, it proves that good food and support for local artisans knows no boundaries: socio-economic or political. Shopping for fresh, local food is not inherently expensive. If you buy a few high quality, fresh ingredients from the market and plan simple meals, it won't cost you much more than a supermarket cart full of hamburger helper and a lifetime of heart disease and scurvy. Of course, mix in a modest smattering of grocery store items  (shoo, farmers markets don't sell Fruit Roll Ups and those Fiber One colon-blow bars I like so much). Seriously though, farmers markets can help you keep your life and meals simple and healthy at modest costs if you have a game-plan and make a habit of frequenting them. Plus, instead of buying a bunch of snack food, you'll start to crave the awesomely sweet, high quality vegetables and fruit available from local farmers. I don't know who or what educated the customer base in Chehalis to that fact -- the customer base that seems to have only been able to prop up a Safeway from hell, a "Grocery Outlet" where Safeway's products come to die, and a K-Mart next to a Walmart -- but it has miraculously happened, at least as far as the farmers market is concerned.

Also, the market is in the heart of a heavily conservative county, which is proof that good food and concern for sustainability is not a liberal hippie thing. There are no food police telling you how to live your life or sneering at your secret stockpile of Sour Patch Kids. It's just common sense that shopping fresh and local yields more flavor in your meals, health in your life, and delight for your community and mother nature.

Of course, this also means that a good cheese store really could survive almost anywhere (which gets my hopes up for someday rejoining my peoples in the Midwest). As long as you participate in the community, educate your consumers, and refuse to be a pretentious, uptight prick about it (yuppie or hippie), then people will want to buy and eat your food because it is delicious and they like you. But then again, what do I know. Maybe people here just don't have a whole lot going on for a Tuesday afternoon.

The American Cheese Society Conference: Tummy Aches and Big Timers

The annual ACS Conference and Competition is the big show for cheese. This year it was held in Seattle and I made it out to the west coast just in time to attend. I'm new to the professional cheese world, so I feared one of two things: 1) it would either be like the Star Trek convention of cheese where the overall enthusiasm for cheese would surpass even mine and send me running from my cheese connection for fear of becoming a social outcast; or 2) it would be like a legal conference--stilted, awkward, boring, and lots of conversations where I struggle to be knowledgeable. 

It was neither. 

One of the evening receptions,
with a DJ and dance floor
like it was cheese prom

I'll start by answering the first question most of you might have. Yes, there was a LOT of cheese to eat at the conference. There was cheese at lunch, cheese at breakfast, cheese at breaks between sessions, cheese in the bookstore, cheese at the evening receptions, cheese in sessions on tastings and parings. I was mildly surprised there wasn't cheese in the bathroom to eat after peeing. There was an insufferable amount of cheese. I'm not one to complain about constant access to cheese, especially at the price you pay to attend the conference. But, my major concern was waste. There is no way all of that cheese was eaten. In fact, by the end of the conference, most people I talked to were so over cheese. They couldn't eat anymore. So what happened to all that leftover cheese? I can only hope a food bank or food kitchen benefited from our cheesy lavishness. 

Not only was the cheese plentiful, but the food was too. If you can't tell from my constant fatty-fatass discussions of food (see almost every road trip post), cheese people really like good food. Some of the meals were generic hotel food; but overall the evening receptions and lunches had a lot of really good food. I went home with a tummy ache most nights. 

The sessions I signed up for where mostly aimed at retailers and those considering opening a retail cheese business. After the first day I was really amped up for all the information I was absorbing and all the great people I was meeting. The second day, I crashed a bit and here's why. All three of my classes on day 2 were retail oriented. The lesson I was absorbing = this is going to cost you a lot more than you anticipate, you will be in debt for the rest of your life, it will be a decade before you get a return on your capital investment and become profitable, and your life will be owned by this store.  It sounded like law school all over again. 

Maybe, I panicked a little. The few cheese store owners I had talked to previously had started out modestly and with manageable investments. Now I was meeting many fellow aspiring retailers, much farther ahead in their business planning than me, who were talking six figures in start-up costs. That might be easier for many people to stomach who don't already have six figures in student loan debt. It made me want to throw up. I was additionally freaked out when I heard that only one of the people on a 4-person panel of successful retail shop owners had paid back their initial capital investment loan...and she did it because she had no staff. A shop owner in Norman, Oklahoma advised me to budget almost a quarter million in start-up costs. And she's in Norman! Oklahoma! What the hell am I going to do in a place like DC? 

Oh hai, I'm 30-years-old, and all I have to my name is nearly half a million in debt, several hundred pounds of cheese, and a Nintendo-64 equipped with Mario Kart and GoldenEye. Awesome. 

I guess the good news is that everyone loved their job. After calming myself down a little and talking it out with my new aspiring-retailer friends, I realized I might just need to re-evaluate the size and aspirations of Cheesy Street, at least at start-up. It can be done for less. Though circumstance, luck, customer base and market often dictate the size. I guess I'll just have to tackle the money problem when it arrives. 

Cheese and beer tasting. Yes, please.

Despite my suddenly burst bubble, I was heartened by a few things. First, Cheesy Street store or not, I'm completely convinced that I jumped into the right world. There could be a lot more for me in cheese than I had imagined. I know I love making cheese now. Plus, there are plenty of really important lobbying issues for Raw Milk dairy producers where my law degree might actually have some use. I love writing about cheese and food. I've even become somewhat better at tasting and pairing (just barely). No matter what happens (either in addition to or instead of a shop), there's something in the cheese world that I can get involved with and love. 

Second, cheese people are awesome. Remember my fear about ACS being like a legal conference? It was the exact opposite. People actually were kind, easy to talk to, and supportive. Store-owners want to see each other succeed (assuming you don't open up right next door, that is), and cheese big timers I met were actually interested when words came out of my mouth. One established cheesemaker went out of his way to stop me after lunch and introduce himself, apologizing for not getting a chance to do so when I sat at their lunch table. That would NEVER happen at a legal conference! I met a lot of really great people, most of whom I'm sure I'll have the pleasure of seeing or working with in the future. 

Maybe the only place in the world
where tasting spoon-fulls
of butter is a-okay

The closing keynote speaker was Michael Pollan, author of various musings on food, including The Omnivore's Dilemma. He opened talking about our obsession with food simply as the vehicle for nutrients and went on to discuss his philosophy on eating, eating well, and not too much. (The not too much part seemed ironic considering the mountains of food we were seeing on a daily basis). His speech made a lot of sense. I appreciated his barbs at the "food product" in Kraft American Singles, but not so much when he busted out the can of Easy Cheese.  It's hypocritical, I don't eat it anymore, and I know it sucks. But I'm going to stand behind my Easy Cheese until the day my collegiate nostalgia dies. 

There were over a dozen tables
that looked like this at the Festival

The grand finale was the announcement of winning cheeses and the Festival of Cheese. Every year cheesemakers across North America enter their cheeses into one of about 100 categories in the ACS judging competition. I'm told it's the Academy Award of cheeses. Each year the entries have almost doubled. This year 1435 cheeses entered. And it blows my mind to comprehend, but after the awards are announced, each of those 1435 cheeses are on display for tasting. Thus is born, the Festival of Cheese. I think a good Man vs. Food challenge might be attempting to taste each of the entries. I had never seen so much dairy in one room. I tried about twenty, and mostly stuck to award-winners. By the last day, I finally mastered how to avoid a tummy ache. 

The cheesemongering competition on the first day.
As you can see, on the right, there is even a wrapping component.

The Festival

Both my internship farms won awards!