Every meal of every day begins with such a sign — we make our choices based on preferences, whims, little bells and whistles that sound off on a primal level.
Tonight’s impromptu deliciousness began with a package of Trois Petits Cochons “Bloc de Foie Gras de Canard” (made with Foie Gras and Satuernes wine) burning a hole in the fridge, which led to an expedition through the West Village, which wound up with a visit to the pilot pig (left), pusedo mascot of Sea Grapes, one of my favorite wine shops in the city, before retiring to feast.
In between, we foraged at Murray’s Cheese Shop, opting for a wedge of Persille Du Malizu, which, the cheesemonger said: “Here’s where our cheese-tasting ends; this is the strongest cheese we have.” (Ed. Note: Okay, that’s a parahrase.)
The signage, if it’s hard to see, reads: “Ohh spicy! Made with the same high-quality, raw Lacaune sheep milk as Rocquefort, but less salty, sweeter and more balanced than its famous cousin. …”
(pictorial essay continues after the jump.)
The other pick was mine, Cypress Grove Humbolt Fog goat cheese — with that delicious, ashen dusting in the middle.
A pot of Nicoise olives (back center, they’re being dished up)
And some nice domestic Proscuitto (from Canda) and razor-thin cut salumi later….
…. And now the source of my blissful contentment is entirely evident.