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“Not that this is boring. It’s fascinating. Totally. And if you’ve memorized the schematics, you can replicate this in the basement of your clinic. I bet you could get a cow and a goat in there, at least for starters.”
I give her fingers another squeeze. “I believe I have what I need. Should we go back into the shop for a sample?”
She nods and gestures to the processing room below us. “It was a good idea to put the mechanical part after the animal part. I don’t know if standing above a room full of sheep makes anyone hungry.”
We move past the other people who are still asking tour-related questions and through a door. Back inside the shop, I look around for the kid we spoke to earlier.
“How does this work, I wonder?” I say, not that I expect Sage to have answers.
She has answers. “I bet it’s just like anything. You ask for what you want and then you get what you want.”
She’s not talking about cheese. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I am an open door. I bet she can see everything I’ve ever thought and dreamed and hoped for.
I stand there gobsmacked. Ask for what you want. Get what you want. It’s like magic, but without the mystery. I kind of like the whole idea.
Before I know it, the kid is back. “I hope you enjoyed your tour,” he says, that same smile spread across his face as he talks mostly to Sage. “How can I help you now?”
“We need a few excellent options for a small party.” I try to sound normal, but I don’t remember what normal sounds like. Is my voice always this loud?
“We recommend between two and three ounces per guest,” he says. Two to three ounces? Is that a joke?
Sage nods as if his math is completely reasonable. “There are sixteen guests,” she says. “Some of them will be very hungry.”
He points out a selection of premade cheese boards, beautifully decorated with fruit and nuts. They look amazing.
Sage shakes her head. “The doctor is very particular,” she tells the kid, and she makes sure he knows I’m the very particular doctor by running her free hand over my shoulder. “He’ll need to ensure all the flavors mesh well.”
The kid nods. “Sure,” he says, as if people demand such things all the time. He points to a counter at the side of the shop. “Come on over and I’ll cut you some samples.”
He goes around the counter, and Sage and I sit on the tall stools. She makes her stool do a full 360 spin, then nods at me as if to say she approves the seating.
Sage puts both hands on the counter. “All right. What sheep’s cheeses have you got? A nice Manchego, maybe?”
I glance at her from the corner of my eye, and she’s sitting up so straight, she’s almost as tall as I am. “And I’d love to see your double Gloucester. Unpasteurized?”
I’m not sure when I lost control of this adventure, but Sage takes over and the kid and I just watch in awe. She asks for the closest version of Wensleydale, telling the kid she understands that it can’t be true Yorkshire Wensleydale if it’s made in Vermont. She adds a little chuckle that sounds like she’s auditioning to be cast as Pretentious Shopper Number One in a movie.
When he turns to the refrigerator case, she leans over and whispers, “I’m channeling my Grammy. We did this cheese tasting one time in Lucerne, and she pretended to be the world’s expert on every single thing they brought out. She used words like nutty and buttery and wonderful acidity,” she says, punctuating each comment with a flutter of her hands.
“The best part was sitting beside her knowing that her favorite thing to eat is a grilled cheese sandwich on white bread with Kraft singles.”
I gasp in feigned shock. “Individually wrapped?” I ask.
She nods. “Yep. No knock-off store brands, though. Only the very best for my Grammy.”
Sage’s performance definitely impresses the kid, who is named Jason and lives down the street. He pulls out at least a dozen cheeses, and he offers fruit and crackers and bread and honey to complement each bite.
“There are tastings with wines on the weekends, but I’m not old enough to serve, so I can’t offer you that.” He sounds sincerely sorry not to be able to give Sage the full treatment, but she shakes her head.
“No problem. This is perfect,” she tells him, shooting him that smile again. I’m willing to bet a great deal of money that he’s going to be completely in love with her by the time we leave the shop. He’s definitely halfway there already.
I’m at least three-quarters in love. Or at least very deeply in like.
And then there’s the cheese. It’s amazing. So much different flavor and texture. Sweet and salt and cream and tang. I watch her taste each sliver and slice and cube, noticing the way her mouth moves. I pay attention to the way she speaks to Jason, giving him appropriate levels of attention and gratitude, and then how she turns to me. She asks questions. She listens to my opinions and shares her own.
I have never enjoyed a morning this way. The room is perfect. The chair is perfect. The light, the food, the building. And mostly the woman.
How do I replicate this? I don’t mean what will be another date we can go on, another adventure where we can learn about something new. I mean how can I make this—time with Sage—part of my daily life?
