Shortly after I connected with the Kitchen in town where I could teach cheese classes, I also started working a nine-to-five day job because, well, my student loans keep reminding me that a graduate degree might be one of the worst investments around. I am fortunate to have found a great work environment and an opportunity to pay the bills during our Del Rio tenure. But at the end of the day it does what most day jobs do: leave me too tired to pursue life passions. In sum, I haven't really been making much cheese at home lately.
That's not to say I haven't had any cheesy stories to tell. I've just done a bad job of motivating myself as both cheese and writing go. I aim to fix that.
Let's talk cheese classes first. Since we last spoke, I started the second semester of classes. Last semester, I focused on home cheesemaking. This semester I decided to focus on, my favorite, cheese-eating. The difficulty of doing a series of tasting classes in Del Rio deserves the attention of its own post.
For the cheesemaking classes I could just order my supplies from the internet, prepare a demo batch the day before, and repeat in class. Doing a tasting class requires considerably more planning.
I've said it before, but as it pertains to cheese, Del Rio is, in a word, lame. You have to go to San Antonio if you want something other than Oaxaca cheese, or a block of Manchego that's been in plastic vacuum wrap for months and, though "imported," may well have been made from the milk of Del Rio's stray cat and dog population from the taste of it. So tack on a 2.5 hour trip the weekend before class. This also means I have to time the class according to a scheduled and independent need to leave town such that I'm not blowing $100 on gas just to get cheese. To add insult to injury, there is no cheese shop in San Antonio. The options are Whole Foods or Central Market, both of which have acceptable selections. They're acceptable, that is, if you don't mind sifting through the pre-cuts, having zero personalized help from a cheesemonger, and paying a hefty mark-up.
Shopping in a specialty grocery store also means: 1) I have to be vigilant about re-wrapping the cheese in breathable cheese paper or wax paper so it can sit in my refrigerator for an entire week before class, and 2) I have to be extra vigilant about looking at the "pack date" on each pre-cut.
Both of those points are often overlooked, but crucially important. Sure if you're snagging a piece cheese from your local mega-center-supergiant-market that was packed and shipped in a vacuum seal, then it was either made to live that way or there's just nothing you can do about that faint taste of plastic. But a piece of Montgomery Cheddar or perfectly ripened Taleggio should never be suffocated by the succubus of shrink wrap for days on end. It should be left intact until shortly before it finds its forever belly, at which point it should be delicately caressed by a carefully folded wrap job in wax or cheese paper. If you see a piece of cheese with a pack date of more than a couple days, and there is any warm body behind the cheese counter, then you insist (nicely) that they cut you a fresh piece. And then you rush that piece(s) home and immediately transfer it from its plastic coffin to wax paper. The cheese and your tastebuds deserve no less.
The importance of who that warm body behind the cheese counter is also of importance. I've been a cheesemonger. I'd like to think a decent one, but at the very least, one who cared about and loved the product. But I also know from the consumer end how a good cheesemonger can turn an ordinary cheese purchase into an exceptional one. If there's nobody there to help you who really knows and cares about the cheeses, then you leave with a stack of forgettable snacks. Those snacks may be tasty, but you have no appreciation of how they fit together, how they were made, why they taste the way they do, and which taste better with your semi-sweet off-dry blush red table wine (the answer is none; get a better wine. What are you? In high school?). Worst of all, you likely won't even remember what you had even if you liked it because you never had a conversation about it. If, like me, you have a working knowledge of what cheeses are what, what cheeses you need, or what cheeses you like, you STILL need a cheesemonger.
You need someone there to guide you to the cheese that has a few days to peak versus what needs to be eaten right away. This was especially important for me because I had a full week to kill before serving it for class. With soft-ripened cheeses, I had to use my best judgment from feeling and sniffing through the plastic.
You need someone there who knows the selection to help you come up with ideas for a specific crowd, purpose, or occassion. Because I didn't have the luxury of previewing the selection a few days in advance I had to pace around the cheese case for a solid twenty minutes, rolodexing the cheeses before me by style, country, milk variety in order to figure out the best pairings and variety. And if they're not going to let you try the cheeses (which any good cheese shop should), you need someone to tell you how cheeses compare in taste.
Admittedly, for the cheesemonger at Whole Foods, I was a tough audience -- like having a lawyer on your jury panel. But at least someone was there, watching over the cheeses on their journey to a good home. Sometimes you need to take the small victories. It feels good to be back.
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