Constance Ore is a retired Teacher, Choir Director, and Organist. And a formidable cook.

April 20, 2007

Filed under: — Constance at 8:35 pm on Friday, April 20, 2007

blackbirdsWindy.jpgThere is a fierce wind today and as I type this I can look out of the high windows to watch gray and pink clouds moving very quickly across a pale blue sky. The branches of the cottonwood off to the southeast are filling up with aerodynamically prudent blackbirds all facing into the wind. Alphie is lying here with his head resting on the sill of the open south window and Charles is finishing off last week’s Sunday New York Times. This is a tranquil ending to a week where death arrived inexplicably to some people, while others were spared just as inexplicably. Humanity tries to grasp the meaning of such events and through all the interviews and analysis and media coverage, there is a sense of seeking tidiness and order that cannot be found in a complicated and messy world.

StinkingBishop.jpgAfter this round of Chemotherapy my tongue has lost much of its ability to discern tastes. The sensation is like having scalded it with a drink of a too hot beverage, and it has improved only a little by this 33rd day. I told daughter Janna and was bemoaning the fact that as an avid cook, I miss this sense more than any other loss to date. She determined that perhaps some pungent cheeses might call my taste buds to attention and ordered some for me. The British descriptive paragraph reads as follows: Stinking Bishop – Select Cut – Winner of the 2001 Best Exported British Cheese Award, Stinking Bishop is a washed rind cheese dating back to the Cistercian monks who once settled in Dymock where this cheese is made. Washed in fermented pear juice (also called “Perry”), the cheese develops a stinky, pungent, orange-colored, sticky rind. Named after the Stinking Bishop pear varietal, this cheese is a spectacular dairy experience.

tgvDefenseFromage.jpg
Janna also ordered a cheese from France which has this description: “Made in a tiny town in the Burgundy region of France, Epoisses is one of the great cheeses of the world. It is a name-controlled cheese that has a very pungent aroma and rich, creamy interior.” The scent is presented this way: “Please beware: Epoisse is so stinky that it is banned on public transportation in France, a country usually tolerant of such aromas. This aroma will prevail in the box on arrival, so don’t be alarmed.” The Italian cheese carries this information: “Taleggio’s soft, incredibly flavorful interior is creamy in texture and has a pungent aroma. The cheese imparts the essence of the Italian countryside in such a demonstrative manner that you could swear you were sitting among the cows on a grassy hillside in Lombardy.”

Now this gathering of pungence from around the world would never have occurred to me, and there is something wonderful about adding a daughter’s creative moments into the texture of my days. I am looking forward greatly to the delivery of these viands and I will surely wish to share them with all my family and friends.

4 Comments

Comment by Heidi

April 21, 2007 @ 3:57 pm

Mom

Actually, WebMd has nothing on it about the lost of taste or how to regain it once it is suppresed so I think that Janna has something – that girl has her existential stink going on!

Sorry – Its hard, really hard not to be a big sister in this malodorous situation

“When you get a good stink on, you are at one with the cosmos!” Takayuki Ikkaku, Arisa Hosaka and Toshihiro Kawabata, Animal Crossing: Wild World, 200

Love! H

Comment by Mindy Werling

April 22, 2007 @ 12:06 pm

Dear Connie,

Good luck with the cheese! If I wake up some morning, and a north wind is blowing a particularly stinky odor into K.C., I will know that your cheese arrived safely.

Mindy

Comment by Carolyn

April 25, 2007 @ 1:49 pm

First there was metaphorical slobber, and now there is existential stink. With the psalmist I can only say such thoughts are too high for me; I cannot grasp them.

But as a parent, I know slobber and stink on other levels…one of them being passed on by that sometime bishop’s assistant now residing somewhere in Minnesota who taught us all to sing:

Gertrude Steinmetz ate some beans
Had some gas and said “Oh my!
This is worse than pickle pie!”

Ah, dear Gertrude! How we loved ye!

As it would happen, while I was sitting with my laptop making discoveries about stinky cheeses I haven’t known, the spouse-of-me was attempting (being continually interrupted with my laughter, mostly aimed at the French who ride trains) to read a book by Thomas Lynch, in which he wrote of walking home one night in Galway with another poet friend, after having partaken of a particularly bad curry and plenty of lager. He wrote that they crossed the river bridge “with the elemental fire of flatulence burning behind them”.

It definitely didn’t fit into any existential classification of stink, but it sure was fun.

God bless the cheesemakers, the daughter who sent it, the one who helped us understand that it is far more than we realized, and also the one who cuts it, and eats it. Amen.

Carolyn

Comment by dick gale

April 26, 2007 @ 3:08 am

Bonjour Connie et amis:

Actually, we did not smell it . . . All the French cheese notes and the picture of the TGV French trains fit well, since we are spending 10 days in France. Six days in Provence near Avignon, where I write this, and then for quick days in Paris, before we again board a true world-shrinker (for us, at least), the 11 hour Paris/LAX non-stop Air France flight home (no, we don’t miss changing planes in O’Hare).

———–
Our thoughts continue to be with you. The taste problems must be a challenge, but that challenge certainly has not dimmed your natural environment observations. (Actually, the “aerodynamically prudent blackbirds” [great phrase!! T-shirts, maybe, or the name of a new rock band] are so aligned because they are listening the your spouse’s organ piece included on your previous blog.)

Thoughts do continue to be sent your way. Beamed downward to you on the flight to Paris – route took us over the northern midwest, and then sent west to you as we flew through the shortest (and mostly sleepless, for me) night.

There is a curiously “spirituality” that I feel here in France. It is a Catholic country, yet the woman who I hope will be their next president is an unmarried woman with four children. Despite the county’s problems, even the unemployed youth near Paris have a more secure health care availability thsn Susan or I. If I can’t, or shouldn’t, drive as I age, I would still feel that public transit could easily get me where I want to go. And, there is truly a positive feeling to be in a country that is not destroying its young soldiers, its economy, and its place in the world, in Iraq. This is admittedly a broad (perhaps strange to many/most) sense of a positive spirituality that I do feel here.

So, take care, and keep those blackbirds aligned!!

dick (and susan, off to French fabric shops w/ her sister, and booker, the terrier, who is “vacationing” with susan’s mom and her small poodle in CA)

—-
booker@fea.net

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