While I wish more than anything that I could stay in this golden phase of my life, a phase that consists almost entirely of late nights, papers on Salinger and Nietzsche, coffee, and cheese, I’m afraid all of it is a week from being over. You see, I’m graduating from UC Davis this quarter, and, sadly, leaving my internship at culture with this final blog post.
So, considering the fact that this post might be the last legitimate excuse I’ll have to order an entire cheese plate for myself, I asked Will if I could try doing it on my own. No cheesemongers, no explanations—just an interaction between myself and a pretty perfect plate of cheese.
Bear with me. There will be puns.
As you may remember, several weeks ago I posted a whole wheat goat-cheese and peach pizza, proof that I'd acclimatized to Northern California.
Lauren spotted this innovation and struck back, challenging me to a Cali-cuisine duel and throwing down the gauntlet with a salad. It was a nice attempt, with backyard greens and spearmint, plus grapes, apples and dill havarti. But was it California? Sure, there were home-grown Napa grapes, but the DOP chestnut honey was the tip: Lauren's heart still lingers in Italy.
Her salad looks tasty, but it doesn't really answer the ultimate question: What Would Alice Waters Do?
Oyster mushroom ceviche, that's what. It's local, it's fusion (Bay Area hippie-veggie with Central Valley migrant-Mexican), it's completely bonkers, and it's delicious.