Oh, Cheeses!
I can picture myself spending the rest of my life eating cheese on a train. Not like a subway train; that’s disgusting. I mean eating an assortment of fine cheeses on a commuter rail. I recently experienced just that, and let me tell you … pretty great. Pretty f-ing great.
I love the comfy seats with their fold-down trays. I love mini bottles of wine. I love the excessive packaging. There’s something so satisfying about popping open the plastic container, tearing apart the individual plastic wrapper, pulling back the tinfoil, and then peeling away the outer wax. It’s like a goddamn matryoshka doll of cheese.
A plastic knife wrapped in plastic? Crackers parceled out two at a time? Are you kidding me? It’s like Christmas morning.
Is there a way I can monetize this newfound interest? Maybe make a career out of it? People always say to do what you love. Well, I love eating cheese on a train. Maybe I could become an ultra-niche travel writer. “The cheese and hummus tray on the 178 Amtrack between D.C. and Boston is a resplendent escape from the humdrum life of the regional commuter…”
“The tiny block of pre-packaged Tillamook had a hint of almond that betrayed its modest roots…” And, then I’d say something really profound. Listen, I’m not giving away this stuff for free. A man has to make a living.
There’s something so European about eating cheese on a train. Not that I’m a Europhile. Lots of things about Europe are horrible. For example, Europeans. But, I will admit that Europe knows how to eat cheese, and that’s while speeding along at 80 miles per hour.
(Though, they’d probably say 129 kilometers per hour, which is pretentious and gross. Shut the fuck up, Pierre.)
Listen, what I’m really saying is this: If anyone is hiring or knows of anyone who’s hiring a professional railway cheese eater, please pass along my contact information. I can provide references from past trips who can attest to my enjoyment of cheese and train travel. Also, I’m from Wisconsin, so I understand cheese on a very fundamental level.
Cheese is in my blood. Literally. My doctor says I need to cut back.
