We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
One of the Bird Dog daughters, and my lad, know that it is easy to please Dad with a selection of stinky, strong, expensive imported cheeses from The Grand Central Market in NY. At Sunday's Mom's Day cookout we had a killer cheese platter. Even a goat brie, which was a first for me.
All present were lovers of rare and strong cheeses. Since I have heard Steve Jenkins interviewed on the radio a few times recently, I began to pontificate about what I had learned from him. (He is the cheese-buyer for Fairway, the world's most prominent cheese pro, and author of the Cheese Primer.)
Jenkins preaches serving cheese with fruit, nuts, or honey - never without. To demonstrate his correctness on the topic, I pulled some hot pepper jelly (like this) and some fig preserves out of our dying fridge. Fresh fruit is good too, but I am partial to the preserves. I think everybody present was converted.
Our error was in offering the cheese board before the steaks, instead of after. The savoury course. Well, nobody's perfect.
(ahem) that deeeeep page number, i should explain, for the benefit of my hairs, that the book is organized by states of the union, in alphabetical ardor. Further, the book is no encyclopedia --it just picks the cheeses he especially like. Indeed, he picked but two from Texas --mine, and Paula Lambert's up in Dallas, the Mozzarella Company.
I hadn't fully understood what a big deal this is. This book would've been the time to try to recapitalize and hire a #2, to get away from the 16 hr, 7 days a week chief-cook-and-bottle-washer-and-livestock-breeder and REGULATORY interface schedule that in the end wore me out. Two-thirds of my stock was pledged to financiers and i owed the bank for my third --at 9.5% the bank interest was costing exactly what i needed to add a deputy mgr.
So, raising four kids and putting 'em thru college was about all my cash-flow could manage. Result, i could not grow out of the bind --actual physical floor space in the cheesery needed expanding --additional paid-in capital (not capital with a prime+2 handle on it) is what i needed, and to raise capital, my friends, is precisely when one needs to not be worn-out, exhausted, frazzled and preoccupied by execution of relentless daily detailia.
--so I flunked --as soon as i had enough of the combined educations and farm real-estate paid off, I f**king quit and slept for the next year. Ended up with the real estate, plus some nice careers and families launched among the four farm-raised chilluns.
Regret is the 15 years building a bona-fide brand --and then not selling the label, the brand, but just letting it disappear from the stores. Chalk that up to 'burn-out' --a deadly creeping psychological malady that hides from the victim the value of the project.
We have an annul springtime ritual of motorcycling from where we live to Monroe, Wisconsin to have a fresh limburger and onion sandwich on rye bread at an old-timey bar called Baumgartner's.
Monroe and nearby New Glarus claim to have more master cheesemakers than anywhere else in the US, perhaps the world. Anyhow, the only place in America where limburger is made is located a few miles out of town.
Fresh-from-the-factory limburger is delicious. It has the texture of a good brie, is tangy, and does not yet have the pungent odor associated with limburger.