The Cheese Course

I'm from Iowa.  1970s and 80s Iowa.  If we had a salad, it was iceberg lettuce.  If we had a vegetable, it was probably potatoes or corn.  Green beans in a can.  Dinner was not an experience.  With two big brothers, it was survival.  Dinner at my house was a rhythmic as the week:  Beef Stroganoff every Monday, Tator Tot Casserole on Tuesday...

Then I grew up, left Iowa and met this French man who took me to meet his family the first chance he got.  I didn't eat in France:  I communed with my plate.  I didn't always know what his family was placing in front of me, and I definitely didn't understand anything except their lovely smiles, but I didn't care.  Every meal I had was joyfully made, given, and shared.  I've never sat at a table for so long.  Eating is an experience for the French like no other culture.  I've watched families discuss their ice cream cones in the park. 

My favorite part of learning "French" was the cheese course.  My French man and his family took me to restaurants, and the hostess would bring out a cheese tray at the end of the meal:  twenty cheeses, all different shapes and colors.  Smelly.  In a good way.  She'd name them off in a sing-song way and I'd point like a child in a candy store:  Montrachet, Liverot, Morbier. 

I spent my first sojourn into France learning that cutting the cheese was not a giggling matter.  There are rules!  Eat this crust, but not that one.  Eat this cheese last.  (Really?  Why?....Oh!)  This one goes with that bread.  Oh! Yes it does!

I didn't get this growing up.  We had Velveeta and American.  Cheddar.  Orange cheeses.  So I'm playing catch up.  Over 450 cheeses in France alone.  Over 400 certified and regulated by the government.  I tiptoe around Europe and sometimes come home for the artisanal cheese explosion from the 90s.  (yes, there was one--did you miss it?)  Montery Jack has nothing on a ripe St. Andre, smooth, creamy, it whispers to you:  "yes, I'm cheese, even though I feel like butter."  Pick up a Reblechon for your next grilled cheese sandwich.  A little stinky,yes, but add some salami or proscuitto and this sandwich becomes like those fuzzy slippers you wear to keep your feet cozy.  (a little stinky, yes...)

The cheese course. It's just civilized.  I recommend it.  It gives your meal closure, finishes off that baguette, and cleans your teeth all at the same time.  "Are we done?" is not a question when you have a plate of cheese waiting.  So simple:  two or three cheeses on a plate.  It's the same every night--cheese--and yet not the same depending on the cheeses you choose.  It's a learning experience.  Add some fruit.  Or nuts.  Or dried fruit.  You just can't indulge in a cheese course without comment.  To me, cheese is magic:  a fungus?  yes.  a bacteria?  yes!  a conversation waiting to happen?  bring it on!