Date Night: Taking Care of Orphans

I grew up hating cheese.  When I was very young, I got sick on a neighbor's batch of Velveeta-based mac 'n cheese, and I refused to touch the stuff ever again.  Velveeta and American cheese singles, in my mind, were insanely disgusting, and they were the cheeses I was mostly exposed to in my growing up years.  Even after I became an adult, I held fast to my "I hate cheese" attitude, simply because I refused to investigate cheese any further.  I assumed that all cheese was highly processed and generally bad tasting.

I even spent 36 hours in Paris, and barely touched the cheeses there.  I did break down and have a bowl of classic French onion soup.  I remember the cheese in the soup tasted pretty darn good, but I thought that had more to do with the fact that I was, after all, dining in Paris, at a restaurant equidistant from the Eiffel Tower and the Seinne River.  How could it not be tasty?

For the next several years, I assumed that good cheese could only be found in Paris and required a trip across The Pond, and was therefore unattainable.

My attitude toward cheese began to shift a few years later when I took a cooking class that featured the importance of using quality ingredients.  The case in point was Parmesan Cheese.  Our class was first given the cheap, dried, out-of-the-can cheese to taste.  I just couldn't bring myself to admit to a roomful of other adults, in the middle of a cooking class, that I don't eat cheese.  I took a small taste.  Unimpressive, to say the least.  Our chef-instructor kept upping the quality of cheese on us, giving us samples of ever-more-expensive varieties until at last we were eating this insanely wonderful, expensive cheese.  As I ate - and enjoyed - that cheese, it occurred to me that I had misjudged myself.  I didn't hate cheese; I was merely a cheese snob.

Then the Marion Street Cheese Market came to Oak Park.  I was excited but a bit frustrated.  It was entirely possible to blow the weeks' grocery budget in a single trip to that store.  This type of high quality cheese was fantastic but nearly out of reach.  I decided it was worth saving for and including in special occasion meals.

In the last year or two, the Cheese Market came up with an absolutely brilliant idea: they started selling "orphan" cheeses.

An orphan cheese is a piece that is more than a sample, but a bit too small to be sold on its own.  These  pieces are individually wrapped and placed in a basket.  I absolutely love this because it allows me to bring home incredible, expensive cheese at an affordable price.

Tonight, Baird and I were surprised to find ourselves alone for a few hours on a Monday evening, and decided to make it a wine, cheese and fruit night.  We went to Trader Joe's and spent that gift certificate I won from the library.  Then we headed over to Marion Street Cheese Market and rescued several orphans.  They had names like "Bogart," "Rembrandt," and "Big Ed's."  One orphan came from a place called The Cowgirl Creamery.  We ate and drank and watched the 1940 movie The Philadelphia Story. Taking care of the cheese orphans while watching a timeless, intelligent classic film made for a perfect in-house date.