I am clicking-my-heels-happy to be back in Brooklyn. And while it’s taken me some time to arrange my furniture and purchase plants, I’ve slated a full fall syllabus of activities. Mozzadrella swoons with aplomb!
I turned 26 on Thursday, walked down to the Brooklyn Bridge to see the waterfalls, and tried fruitlessly to find an electric blue blazer. On recommendation from my pal J’Wep, I also visited the East Village Cheese Shop on 3rd Ave., near 10th Street. I thought him a mendacious yutz when he spoke of Jarlsberg for $5/lb. That’s a cock-and-bull fiction.
“Look for the butcher paper in front,” he said, “with unreal prices. I promise it’s there.”
As it turns out, cheap imported Swiss cheese is not just the stuff of daydreams—in addition to bargain brie, muenster, and feta pre-cut in the cooling case. The wheel selection at East Village is not for the haughty curdspert; these are pretty standard middle-drawer items: President, St. Andre, Fromager d’Affinois. And since there’s a no-tasting rule at East Village Cheese, it’s fitting that you basically know what you are going to get.
There were a few surprises, though, like Moriber, which is a French cheese with a thin tasteless band of ash horizontally bisecting the wheel, traditionally separating the “morning milk” from the “evening” milk. Now it’s purely decorative. Which I appreciate.
The bevy of soy cheeses was mysterious, perhaps because I find soy cheese puzzling in general. (I’ve never been comfortable with soy—it’s just too creepily versatile). In particular, the soy blue cheese struck me as too common in color to play-doh to take a chance on.
Speaking of chances, would it be just too stale for me to get a leather jacket? What if it was green instead of black?