Personal Blog #1 The Trials and Tribulations of Jackson Myrick: Cheese Aficionado

Many people form obsessions early in life. Some learn to appreciate the finer points of a musical genre, others spend their free time and money chasing the newest video game, and a select few blessed souls develop a adoration for books. As for myself, I have the misfortune of being a cheese gourmand.

Arriving from Nashville, Tennessee after four days spent crammed in the front seat of Mom's Prius (how we managed to fit everything into that car I will never fully comprehend), I realized the fatal flaw in my ingenious plot to escape my birth-state. Not only did I leave all of the friends I had trained so carefully to be fitting companions behind in Tennessee, I knew only of a single store

in the city I could rely upon for the atypical concoctions of curdled cow milk that pervaded the foremost thoughts of my mind, and it was situated well out of reach while attending university. Luckily, before I fretted the entire small stretch of summer preceding classes away, I stumbled upon a little gem named Caputo’s Market Deli. Now I am not generally one given to waxing poetic over first impressions, but in this case the compliments are merited.

Having heard that there was a store that sold gourmet cheese across the street from my favorite bookstore, The King’s English on 15^th East and 15^th South, I wheedled and implored my way into a ride and stipend to bless the establishment with in the week running up to move in day. I burst through the doors like a western villain stepping into a saloon, expecting to within moments turn my nose in disdain at the processed dairy these people dared to label as artisan. It was not to be, the elongated window seated in the front of the store well arranged and presented with relevant detail relating to each specimen’s place of origin and additional notes on the flavor that would soon be experienced. I lapsed into my natural state of rapture, gliding to the glass and scanning the contents, leaving behind a giggling mother whose knowing smile was plastered on her face. (This is actually a picture of the downtown location)

In dreamlike solitude I remained until an employee asked if I would like to have a sandwich. Hastily I ordered a Caputo and turned back to my treasure. To this day I have visited only one store whose showcase of cheese has outdone either the Caputo’s branch store or main store in terms of quality, Murray’s Cheese Shop of New York City fame, the store I later that day learned was the inspiration of Caputo’s cheese section. I tentatively proceeded with a test of the employee who had offered to cut some cheese for me after I had finished my sandwich. A good employee is much like a sushi chef, thus I proceeded, giving him several examples of what I like and sought to see whether he had the palate and knowledge to recommend cheeses I would enjoy (a taste of the cheese is offered prior to purchase to confirm the buyer’s interest if this route is followed). I left that day having tasted three cheeses I had never had the pleasure of acquaintance with, no mean feat considering my repertoire, along with the employee’s name.

Not content to leave that day without total victory however, I chatted with the employee during checkout while carrying my couple pounds of delectables, resulting in the eventual turn of the conversation to classes on cheese that were hosted by Caputo’s. Needless to say, I jumped on this topic and by the day of November 2^nd I had recruited a fellow doomed soul, Adam Jones, to share the experience with. The class was held at the downtown location of Caputo’s, my first visit to the main store, and the beginning of a night full to the brim of reverie and a Zen-like appreciation of true dairy products that the two of us shared. The class was taught by Matt Caputo (hm, I wonder if that last name is in some way significant) with a family friend and long time partner teaching the optional wine course, which we unfortunately were unable to participate in.

The class itself was an absolute joy, going over the specific definitions and differences between farmstead, artisanal, and factory cheese punctuated by Matt’s rather snarky outlook on the loopholes which were extensively abused by mainstream companies in order to be able to stick the more prestigious labels on their processed cheeses (Yeah, you know those gourmet cheeses in the grocery store? Lies! Those are not truly gourmet or artisan!). He also briefly delved into several cheese laws in European countries which dictate the use of certain labels, examples of this being Parmigiano Reggiano and English Stilton, where if those names were used by someone not fully in line with the regulations they are extremely liable in the courts of law. Also a brief amount of time was spent on the cheese making process, albeit extreme abridgement, and the three main factors contributing to cheese quality were detailed: the milk used, the cheese making (raw materials used by the cheese makers throughout the process and the techniques), and the affinage, or aging, of the cheese which is widely considered the most important part of the process.

We were then shown the cheese cave, an expensive contraption used for the optimal storage of cheese and the preservation and enhancement of the innate flavors. I will not be going into the details of the Cheese Cave, but let’s just say that it acts as an intense humidifier (over 90% inside) and temperature regulator as well as an isolated storage unit. Here is a picture of it:

Finally with all of the paperwork finished and the relief of not having a pop quiz at the end of the class settling in, we arrived at the cheese tasting course, initially slated at nine cheeses but increased to ten by Matt’s blessed whims. In truth I held a pure expression of delight in my soul as various triple creams and imported delicacies found their way to my delighted storage facility, my mind overrun by the histories of each cheese, vignettes passed down through the ages of their origin and extrapolations on flavors that rained as poetry upon me. Of the ten cheeses I had partaken of a mere five previously and only heard of six. Adam and I left that day with wonder in our eyes and contentment in our bellies, our wallets considerably lighter as we made our way back to the car with pounds of little expressions of joy in either hand. These are the things I adore unabashed, my tiny obsessions and fulfillments thereof turning an intimidating move to an unfamiliar place to the winter of camaraderie and my contentment.