I am half-way through my 1/4 lb of Le Bleu Des Basque (purchased from Quality Cheese, 24.99/lb, Basqueland). Mary took one “no-thank-you bite” and went off to read her book — the same book she was reading while I cooked dinner. Put down the book, Mary. Mary doesn’t like Bleu, although she admitted that this was better than any Bleu she had previously tolerated. I am quickly approaching 2/3 of the way thought this cheese.

A blogger’s first post is supposed to include some kind of mission statement — or perhaps a manifesto. I am a bit too busy eating this cheese to come up with one. My apathy is encouraged by a bottle of El Burro Kickass Garnacha 2006 (Pike & Western Wine Shop, $12.99, Spain). The proprietor suggested this bottle as a good accompaniment to the asian-marinated flank steak (Fero’s Meat Market, ~12/lb or so, local) that I intended to grill on the roof of my apartment building. On first opening, the bottle was all spice and no fruit. After sitting a bit, and pairing with the cheese, it’s all fruit. This wine is like a continuously-steeping pot of gun powder tea in reverse: each sip is good, but challenging in different ways as the steeping/breathing progresses.

I love this cheese. Bless Cyndal, the woman who suggested this cheese as my inaugural Cheese of the Week. Bless the bakers at Le Panier who made the yummy (lightly grilled) baguette that this cheese briefly sits upon. As you will soon learn, my taste vocabulary is lacking. I resort to words like, “Yummy” and “Fucking Delicious” when describing my food. This cheese is fucking delicious. You can almost taste the stateless-nationhood of the cheese. Ok, I’m stretching here. The jackass wine is talking.

This blog is here to explore what it is like to live a few blocks away from Pike Place Market. It is also an excuse for me to try a new cheese every week, among other things. This blog will be useful to others who shop regularly at the market, as well as the passing traveler interested in experiencing The Market beyond the guide book. I’ll share a recipe or two when I hit one out of the park.

Tonight, I did not hit one out of the park. It’s 85 degrees Fahrenheit in my top floor apartment. I didn’t let the grill warm up enough to properly Maillard a tasty crust. Luckily, Fero seasoned the crap out of this steak and it was still tasty, if a little over-marinated and falling apart. In the future, I’ll just buy one of their un-marinated flank steaks and marinate it myself.

I stocked up on dairy from Nancy, the extremely charming proprietress (with a refreshingly colorful vocabulary) at The Pike Place Market Creamery. Organics feed AA eegs, unpasteurized milk and whipping cream, European style butter — it’s like something out of The Omnivore’s Dilemma, a book that partially inspired me to start this blog. But when you think about it, the majority of what I purchased doesn’t conform to the “Eat Local” mantra of Pollan’s book. My wine and (fucking delicious) cheese are from Europe. My sub-par, oversized brussel sprouts are from California. My Divina tapenade is from New York. I’m going to have to try harder if I really want to eat locally.

I have more to say, but this entry is already four times the length of what I expect will appear on this Blog going forward. Thank you for humoring my verbosity.

-Phil

P.S. Mary is my fiancée, not a child in my care as my post might have accidentally implied. She’s quite brilliant. I am madly in love with her.