Stinky Cheese

the sweet ole' man cutting the cheese right in front of me

So I finally got a good excuse to explore the local fromagerie (cheese shop) in my neighborhood today. Our last assignment for one of my classes is to bring in an "original French cheese" to present to the class tomorrow. Our teacher, a very serious-faced bookish journalist for Le Monde, has been a tough cookie so far--he has already called me out several times on my pronunciation, which I secretly appreciate. When we get to the topic of American life and dialects, however, he becomes a giddy child, and it's quite endearing. So when Mr. Serious offered to supply the wine and baguette, I knew this was real. Class is over!

We got out pretty late today, so as soon as I hopped off the metro, I scurried over to the little fromagerie. It was almost dinner time, so there was already a little line in that tiny shop when I arrived. The minute those sliding doors opened, the pungent smell of old cheese hit me like a wave. I stared at the rows and rows of funny looking yellow mounds--most of them looked like they were rotting to death. After pacing back and forth a few times, I asked the nice gentleman in front of me for his "conseil" and explained my little homework assignment. He chuckled and patiently gave me a cheese 101 on all the different kinds out there that he personally enjoyed. I was reminded again what I loved best about being in Paris--though I'm still learning, I'm thankful for the ability to chat with the local people here. Like a pro, he ordered a ton of cheese, wished me luck, and went on his way. When it was finally my turn, I repeated my request to the cheese shop owner who was wearing a distinctive Parisian béret--how cute. He gave me a little overview until we finally settled on one: St. Nectaire Fermier.

this one comes from Auvergne, a province in south-central France

I've never heard of it before, so I'm pretty excited to try it. It's a semi-soft cheese made from raw cow milk with a crust like that of Camembert. It's also supposed to have a hazel-nutty taste. Interesting..buying cheese is fun. I hope that man wears that béret again the next time I visit.

There were so many brutal and sweet moments during my first month here in Paris, but I'm thankful. I cannot believe that this is already my last week of classes. I just pray that things don't become so routine here that I lose sight of the charm of this city.

Daddy, thank you for stinky cheese that actually tastes good, quiet moments for reflection, friendly conversations, the soothing rain, the sweet words of my mother, hardships, and your wonderful presence. Daddy, may I learn to surrender to you more and more each day.