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.
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