Right. If you don’t like cheese, I would stop reading now. About 70% of my waking life involves the handling, slicing, tasting, smelling, wrapping, displaying and selling of cheese. It’s not what I ever thought I would be doing but here we are. So if you don’t like cheese, it sort of undermines my existence in a round about way. And I can do without that kind of negativity. In addition, if you are allergic to cheese (and many people are, the world is a sick place) I wouldn’t bother either as it’ll probably just be boring.
SO cheese. I work in a deli in Broadway Market, Hackney. I am currently in the process of learning about 50+ different cheeses from around Europe. Now it may sound completely inane but I really underestimated cheese as a ‘thing’ before I started selling it. It is a defining factor in a certain way of life. Before I go off on one, I should state that I think cheese is really good and incredibly interesting and we should all eat lots of it. BUT what is even more interesting about working with cheese is ‘Cheese People’. These are the kind of people that come in on a Saturday morning and spend seventy pounds on cheese. SEVENTY pounds. It’s a lot. Buttttttt I suppose if you have the money and cheese means something to you, then that’s fine, its enjoyable, its been a long week, treat yourself! Who I am I to judge? But I do. I do judge.
When I work behind the market stall on a Saturday said ‘Cheese People’ come over and instantly think that I am one of them. I can give them a sample of any random cheese and they take it, looking directly into my eyes, boring into my retinas like in no other social situation. They smile and nod with an amused yet shocked expression: “Well THAT is just amazing, isn’t it?” Of course I agree. I have to. They are about to spend a lot of money and this in turn may reflect well on me. Many people know exactly what they are talking about. They have a modest body of knowledge that you cannot mess with. On the other hand, there are an equal number of people who are simply caught in the rush of market time and would react in the same way to a piece of proffered tarmac. I have the knife and therefore I have the power. Its probably too far to make some sort of cheese stall related world community analogy here, but you may if you wish.
So with cheese being treated like gold in the microcosm within which I spend a lot of my time, the realisation of just how ridiculous people can be comes at the end of the day when I am at home and cheese is a long way out of sight. As I think I have harped on about before, high end products such as cheese and wine generate the commonly termed ‘massive dickhead contingent’. They get off on knowing a little bit of specialised knowledge and practising their sex face whilst eating slithers of Brie. And I suppose people like me lull them into a false sense of security. I confirm the correctness of their facts or big up their musings on the certain taste of a cheese. I play along with the laughter, ooooooo that IS sharp, WOAH that really packs a punch. But the truth is, I AM LYING. I probably don’t know any more than they do about cheese, I am learning and interested but in reality the whole transaction is a farce. People trust the one behind the counter. I am essentially getting paid to pump up someone’s ego. And it comes in at seven pounds an hour.
I am not a 'cheese person' but I was both shocked and appalled when a boy of 17 with whom I worked asked what Brie was. We sell a Brie and Cranberry Panini at Costa; and he didn't know what Brie was! Livid.
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