Anyone who knows me knows that I love, love, love….cheese. Cheese is the best thing in the world. When I find myself in a genuine curated cheese shop, I literally want to drop to my knees and weep.
Tomme de Savoie, Tallegio, St. Nectaire, Roquefort. I could go on and on.
Actually, I have more than a love for cheese. It’s a respect, a reverence.
I need to smell it, sit with it and observe quiet time with it. I can not carry on a conversation while eating cheese. A few years ago, while in Paris, I was enjoying a light breakfast with my cousin, Xiomara. She was telling me something about her daily life as a middle school teacher in Switzerland, when she suddenly stopped talking. She said she’d never seen such a look of ecstasy on the face of someone who was not having sex. She actually had the feeling her chatter was an intrusion and she felt awkward, watching me enjoy a lovely bit of St. Nectaire.
Her chatter would have been an intrusion if only I were able to hear her. I was in the zone and we both knew it.