“Regardless of any budget I may have put myself on in the past, there are three things I can always rationalize spending money on: good coffee, good alcohol and good cheese.” I wrote that a few years ago, when I was a poor college student, and it still rings true today, now that I’m a poorer college graduate. I received my B.F.A. in Creative Writing with a minor in Gender Studies from University of Maine at Farmington last May. I’ve spent my time between then and now living in Phillips, Maine, a tiny, rural town of 1,000 nestled in the mountains. I also got married and worked in the kitchen of a seasonal Maine inn.

I’ve always been unhealthily obsessed with cheese. Just after I turned thirteen, I visited my aunt in Paris, and gobbled up wedges of Brie and Camembert, much to her surprise. When I was in high school and thought I was lactose intolerant (back when lactose intolerance was cool, remember that?) I still snuck cheese, even balls of fresh mozzarella straight from the container, munching them like hand fruit. Smoked Gouda and Granny Smith apples were my breakfast of choice once I started buying my own food. A sandwich, to me, is not complete without a layer of cheese—it would be missing its salty, tangy soul.

A love of cheese is something I share with all my friends and my wife. We also share the desire to move outside of Western Maine, to better jobs, varied opportunities and Starbucks whenever we want. I’ve been looking for job opportunities in the Boston area for a few months now, and when I saw Culture’s posting for editorial interns, I was thrilled at the prospect of combining my love of writing with my cheese obsession. So here I am, back in civilization, craving cheese every time I leave this office.