A RAT & HIS CHEEZE I spent much of my childhood at my gram’s motel, the Main Street Inn. She, being busy with room checks, laundry, and the logistical hassles of running a 27-room establishment in her mid-70s, encouraged my independence in feeding myself. To facilitate the growth of my self-sustaining maturity, she kept the fridge stocked with cheese. Not wheels of blue, nor even blocks of mid-level cheddar. No, we kept singles—those delectable pre-wrapped squares in Swiss, cheddar, and “American” flavors. Strictly speaking, these were cheese products, not real cheese, factory-produced, dairy-light and vegetable-oil-laden—more an art of chemical seduction than dairy-based artisanship, and seductive they were. Had I been brought up on pure dairy cheese, the real stuff, maybe today I’d own a beret and be able to grow a sophisticated moustache. Instead, I was, from birth, plied with semi-cheese, and have held in my heart of hearts, a deep affection for the mysterious wonders behind cheese that isn’t. It’s all very official, a sort of VIP farmer’s market wherein no one is a farmer and bouncers man the doors; flash a ticket on your way in, and off you go to see the hipster artisans. The Chicago Vegan Test Kitchen delivered an array of vegan vendors, ranging from an eclectic table chockablock with poisonous-if-eaten soap in the shape of frogs complete with extensive genealogy to the scrummy-if-eaten cinnamon buns and scones of plant-based bakeshops. For those like me who stalk vegan specialty shops planning their next seven meals, the floor of Thalia Hall on Saturday morning is something from a dream. Here, the organizers have gathered the city’s best pop-up goodies. Among them is Cheeze & Thank You (C&TY), a one-woman shop dedicated to crafting the paragon of plant-based cheese, or cheeze, as they call it—this is no coconut schmear for your morning bagel, this is the real-deal, concrete wedge any well-to-do middle-aged career-person has in their fridge for charcuterie night with their Sierra Club colleagues. Bounding up the stairs to Thalia Hall’s event space,
I scoured the landscape for C&TY’s telltale branding: letters that look like they themselves could be made of cheese, perhaps provel, a St. Louis classic, serpentine and slinking in appearance. From my stair-top vantage point I took in everything and zeroed in on my target, eyes fastened to the pink parcel paper secured artfully with twine around perfect triangles of cheeze amidst the buzzing clouds of lactose intolerants and vegans. I ran to C&TY’s table and introduced myself to Megan, the founder and operator whom I’d spoken with at length in the run-up to this event. She gave me a Midwestern hug and we talked cheddar— horseradish white cheddar. By the time I’d reached her—an hour and a half into the four hour event— they’d sold out of all but the one variety; I got the second to last wedge. After saying my goodbyes to Megan, I snuck off into a corner like any good rat with cheeze. Leaning over an empty bar, I untied the twine and unwrapped the wedge of cheddar from its pink parcel paper. Bound tightly in deli-paper, the startling red of the wax coating shone through, contrasting nicely with the off-white of the cheese itself, whose surface was so unblemished and smooth you’d think it’d been using proactiv for years. Using a plastic knife I’d scavenged from another vendor, I cut through the wedge, which was rather difficult; this was no schmear indeed. A work of art so visibly flawless, eating my cheese wedge felt like eating a Little Tikes kitchen set delicacy, only, in place of the hard plastic and synthetic taste, I was met with a Babybel smooth bite and tangy horseradish, phased out by a true-cheddar aftertaste. Spare me your Holland hero gouda, your bleating goat, your maggot ridden casu marzu. Give me not the stinky blue giants of French fame—I eat the bourgeoisie, but not what they eat! Give me your chemical singles, your cheeze, your delectably affordable cashew brie; send all your non-dairy delights to me—I lift my tiny cheeze fork o’er the charcuterie board!
BY EVAN WILLIAMS PHOTOS BY LINA HAJNAL
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bite | winter 2020