Everyone knows about Groupon. It's that magical coupon kingdom where, for just thirty dollars, you can buy approximately sixty dollars' worth of bullshit. Which is what I did as a gift for Levi. And on Sunday we used those bullshit coupons for a bullshit "cheese making" class. "Cheese making" is in quotation marks because we only sort of made cheese, and I think that the person who taught the class was being punny -- during this two hour class she made "cheese," i.e. cold hard cash, while we, her students, made "cheese," i.e. shitty cheese. Hahahahaha.
"Expert gourmand supplies all materials for a two-hour cheese-making class that produces approximately 1.5 pounds to nibble."
For starters, our "expert gourmand" was a middle-aged woman in an oversized Patriots jersey and severely holey jeans. Or Swiss jeans, if you want the technical cheese gourmand term. I don't know -- I guess when I buy tickets to a food-making class, I figure the person in charge is at least nearly as refined as her craft. But I'll forgive the homeless person loungewear, not that your couch doesn't deserve better than that. What I won't forgive is that the mozzarella we made started off as a gallon jug of milk from Seven Eleven, which she admitted was a last minute buy, but not as an apology. More of as a point of pride. Like, I didn't have time to go to the Albertson's I usually go to (which is not a real grocery store either), so I used my problem-solving skills to buy this gas station "milk". Come on. You're a gourmand, yeah? Then you don't get within a hundred yards of a Seven Eleven unless you're bound and gagged and the guy who stuffed you into the back of his van is stopping in for some crime scene Red Bull.
"While absorbing knowledge of cheese production, students can opt to take turns grabbing hold of butane burners, pots, and thermometers to learn how to make fresh, handmade batches of mozzarella and ricotta cheese."
This part, the part aside from the "while absorbing knowledge of cheese production," I must have missed in the Groupon explanation, as it is exactly what happened. It was like chemistry lab for a paraplegic kid -- just sit over there, Susi, while we take turns grabbing hold of this butane burner. WTF, Gourmand?! You grab hold of the butane burner. I'll hold the fucking pot. And that other guy can hold the thermometer. And that's what we'll do while you tell us about your failed cheese shop, which, upon some Google investigation, turns out was maybe something of a whim on your quest for a new profession -- "I don't honestly know why I chose artisan cheeses[,] but I have no regrets." I'm not going to make a list of things you should do before you open your own cheese shop, but...okay, I am:
Things you should do before you open your own cheese shop:
1. Have a passion for cheese.
So the five of us are sitting around the table taking turns holding the thermometer, and our gourmand blathers on about friends of hers who make cheese, and a fight she got into with a famous cheese guy, and why he won't talk to her anymore, and the man who bought a fence from her on Craigslist who asked her how she pleasures herself, and blah blah blah, and once in awhile one of us would ask her a question about cheese, and it turns out she's never really made any cheese other than mozzarella or ricotta (the production of both of these cheeses, as it turns out, is like boiling pasta), so she'd point to this cheese-making book on the table and ask us to turn the butane burner up or down. And eventually, yes, we did end up with a fuckton of mozzarella, but let us not forget the Seven Eleven, or the Patriots jersey, or the fact that Gourmand has never made any cheese south, north, east, or west of Easy. As in Easy Cheese. Except that's probably a lot harder to make. And, really, less gross.
