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Nov. 8, 2004 I stepped into a cheese shop on Sunday, a place I had never noticed before, nestled back in the corner of an outdoor market. It was cold outside, and the protection the awnings provided from the wind made it a most appealing adventure for the girlfriend and I. The smell – rich, milky, with a hint of smoked provolone – was intoxicating. Dripping cheeses hung from soft cloth behind the counter; ham and sausages were being sliced up on a manual slicer in the back. The entire place seemed to come out of the late nineteenth century. Up front, amidst the seas of white cheesecloth and ropes of clove and dried chilies, just below the bronze scales and measures, was a glass case filled with freshly sliced Brie, Cheddar, Swiss and Bleu. The three aisles leading up to the glass were stuffed with the regular necessities: a row for crackers hand packed into cardboard boxes, cheese knives and fondue spoons, various preserves of every measurable color and size. On the right, a jar of small snail shells was waiting to be used in fish stock. This cheese shop, this anachronism, drew me in closer. To the left of the bulky glass case was a smaller crate adorned with tiny jars of caviar and packed tight with ice. I glanced up and saw a fresh ham hock being wrapped up, no doubt destined for someone’s soup or stew, its vacant spot in the case filled by a quartet of beautifully pink, fresh lamb chops. It was a feast of colors – the pink of the lamb, orange of the caviar, delicate green and blue marbling of the Stilton; everything seemed to be defined by a color. An oven in the back clanged open, and out rolled three small wheels of Brie, wrapped with utmost delicacy in filo dough, pinched at the top, and stuffed with apricot and apple preserves. Along the edges of the dough, where the delicate paper had torn, bits of molten apricot bubbled out onto the tray. As soon as they were put into public view, the cheeses were snapped up, their perfumes trailing out the door and into the cold, windy afternoon to the tune of fifteen dollars a piece. I thought of how this crémerie-boucherie must have had a hard time during the “freedom fry” craze, after the French showed that stubborn independence and cursed all things European. How tough it must have been to throw out the beautifully rosy bacon, the sensual rounds of Camembert and Mozzarella, tossed into the garbage for so many mangy dogs, always free of charge. The garlands of clove and garlic, their scents intertwining with cheeses, must only have served as decoration during that time. No one rushed for their stuffed Bries then. Patriotism demanded humility. Then it dawned on me: this day, Sunday, is the first day I have not thought about politics at least once. I didn’t think about freedom fries or liberty cabbage until a day later; when I sat down to put it all down on paper. It was just Jordanne and I, and the wonderful milieu of the fragrant, historical cheese shop. When I go back, half of me expects it to be just a vacant lot, more symbolic than anything. When I go back, I intend to rush to the front for the stuffed Brie. The shop survived, and still does, like so many other things, to offer its Camemberts as nineteen dollars a pound, sausage links at twelve, Cheddars at thirteen. People will always come back to what is sensual and fragrant about life, what is satisfying on such a basic level. It may take time, but prejudices fall. The anger and hate seems so misplaced when the silky musk of Brie is only ten dollars a pound on sale. ------------ About the author: Max Burns is a 17-year-old Democrat with moderate, centrist ideals. He blames John Kerry's 2004 loss on John Kerry, and is authoring a pamphlet on how to refine the Democratic Party for Victory in 2008 and beyond. For more information, check out The New Democrat. Read the fantasy-fiction novel "Alcardia". Email: DeMBurns@gmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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