a little boasting from me...

update on my food writing class: yesterday, our instructor returned our first writing assignment, to write (anything) about our cheese-tasting experience in the first class session. i got rave reviews from him (Holy cow (so to speak)! Absolutely fabulous (in British terms). All clever comments from me aside, this is a really great piece of writing. I can't wait to see your next assignment!), and he read my piece aloud to the class. a bit nerve-racking, but also made my day. i was too chicken to post what i wrote before i got his feedback, but now, childishly tickled by the praise, i share it below:

Sitting in class, I am repeatedly reminded that my hands smell like onion. The lingering smell of onion annoys me, whether on my hands or in my mouth. Even so, I can never resist those ruby rings perched atop a burger or tossed into a salad. It was the latter that did me in this time – I'd fixed a Greek salad for myself before class. I remember learning somewhere that the trick to ridding a knife of the persistent smell of onion is to clean with lemon juice. I picture the inside of my refrigerator and remember with shame that all I have is one of those lemon-shaped bottles of concentrate. I don't see myself squirting that onto my hands.

Fortunately, by the time we get to the cheeses, the smell of onion has left my mind, distracted by the prospect of more food, mystery food. I arrange in a line the three cheese cubes we are given, designated numbers one through three, from lightest to darkest in color.

The first smells of French bread, and a shred of red wax hints at its previous packaging. I bite in – it is soft, smooth and mild. There is a slight tang and nuttiness – is it possibly almond that I taste at the end? Whatever it is, the flavor is familiar. Immediately my mind starts to guess what the cheese is, and it jumps to Borough Market.

During that wondrous semester abroad in London, I was reunited with one of my best friends from high school: a cynical, opinionated foodie deeply suspicious of vegetarians. With her as my guide, I was able to forgo the disappointments, frustrations and wasted funds typically associated with exploring the food scene in a new city and skipped directly to the good stuff. On one particular occasion, I followed her and her roommate to Borough Market. Her roommate was there for only one reason, to purchase some comté cheese. After winding about the stalls and taking our share of samples, we finally came upon the golden tower of stacked cheese wheels. With her measly student budget, the roommate bought only a sliver and cradled the precious piece in her hands as we left.

I decide that the cheese I am sampling now is not the comté I tasted then, but rather the cheese from the counter that was adjacent to the comté display at the market. I had not asked what it was but just grabbed a sample from the cutting board, grateful to have maneuvered my arm through the crowd.

I give up and decide that my best guess for Cheese #1 is Edam. I remember the occasion I first tasted Edam – in Amsterdam, at the home of an aunt of sorts. She, her two other sisters and my dad had grown up together in China. She lived now with her blond, lanky Dutch partner. They had no intentions to marry or have kids – their arrangement was so modern and European in my eleven-year-old mind. It was my introduction to cheese that did not come in perfectly square, individually wrapped slices.

The second piece of cheese on the paper plate is a canary color, darker than the first but only marginally. Like the first, it too is soft and smooth in texture, but this one tastes smoky to me, almost like barbeque sauce. Somehow, I also taste a tartness like yogurt.

Finally, I come to the last piece. In my mouth, the texture is grainy at first and the flavor is very salty. It looks like wax and is much darker in color, like horse chestnut honey. I immediately recall that perfect Minneapolis summer day at the Mill City Farmers Market, where I was looking for a parting gift for my manager. I had tasted a number of honeys before deciding that the horse chestnut one would be just right for my Air-Force -turned-corporate-finance manager who had grown up on a farm in South Dakota, introduced me to the term "catty-corner" and who I knew struggled to make mac & cheese out of the blue box. Along with the honey, I had selected a jar of strawberry-basil jam and a box of lemon shortbread, all locally produced, for him, his wife and their three young kids.

I realize that the third cheese is my favorite. It tastes almost of soy sauce and is instantly satisfying, something that I might crave, knowing that a nibble would be sufficient. This is the cheese I would want to keep in my fridge. I proceed to alternate nibbles between the three cheeses, ending with Cheese #3. I let the flavor linger in my mouth as I leave class, pleased, and I am barely bothered by the thought that I need to scrub the onion scent from my hands once I get home.

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it's not perfect - there are awkward bits and maybe some parts and characters are exaggerated - but i'm happy that i was able to make a good first impression.