Sometimes the rainiest,
Gloomiest of days give way to the coziest of experiences.
In tonight's sleep story,
Rainy day at the cheese shop.
Travel to a charming street in Greenwich Village.
Get lost in the inspiring history,
Sights,
And sounds as stories unfold,
Telling tales of cheesemakers around the world.
As the rain streams down the storefront windows,
You encounter new splendors in this comforting haven.
Come nightfall,
You wander the gleaming city streets and return to a village apartment overlooking the cherry blossoms of Washington Square Park that bring the promise of spring.
Nestled by the fire,
You fall into a deep sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I am Michelle,
Your guide on this journey to relaxation.
Think of me as your dear friend,
The friend who always hopes to bring you to the most cozy places your imagination can conjure.
May you never take the special time for granted.
You've made it through another day,
And your sweet escape begins now.
The tender transition before you fade into the embrace of sleep.
Customize any detail you wish to change to honor your quest for bliss and comfort.
In the sanctuary of your room and mind,
Notice your eyes beginning to feel heavy as they shut out the world and you set the tone within.
Feel your muscles soften like the wax of tapered candles that glow in the windows of charming shops on a rainy day.
Open your mouth and let out a sigh,
Making a sound as you surrender.
When you're ready,
Inhale slowly through your nose.
Imagine the air becomes cool and damp,
Taking on the flinty aroma of wet sidewalks and the clean smell of spring rain.
Feel the air as it fills your lungs and you luxuriate in taking up all the space you need.
Let go with a yawn or a sigh or both,
So warm and snug tucked in your bed.
Your ribs contract,
Your body sinks down,
And you draw within the safe place you've created for sleep.
Enjoy two more rounds of conscious breathing,
Slower and more intentional each time.
Set your pace as you self-soothe and simply feel good as you inhale,
Maybe yawn and sigh.
Once more,
You continue,
Focusing on the silent pauses between the rain as your internal world becomes still.
A blank canvas for visualizing.
Feel free to return your breath to its natural rhythm.
It's time for the story to begin.
Greenwich Village,
A historic neighborhood in Manhattan,
Makes it easy to get lost in the winding streets and lanes that deviate from the predictable grid of the urban world above 14th Street.
Many buildings remain low,
Some but a few stories high.
Built centuries ago,
They are preserved and protected from skyrise developers.
Carriage houses remain,
Now fashioned into trendy apartments,
Giving a glimpse into what once was.
Some dwellings go back to the turn of the 19th century,
Their brick and wooden facades maintained by those who love the village and all its history.
A night's both clear and stormy,
The larger piece of sky may be observed than in Midtown to the north or the Financial District to the south.
Nestled on Bleecker,
A storied street where beatnik poets and folk singers first performed in coffeehouses,
Is a renowned cheese shop that first opened in the mid-20th century.
Not always known for selling cheese,
The space was once a market with bread and eggs and odds and ends,
But the dream of a young entrepreneur who longed to be an affineur and purveyor of the finest cheeses from around the world changed the shop's destiny.
Every wheel of cheese told a story of creative and adventurous souls,
Some happening upon fortunate mistakes that birthed new styles of cheese.
Long before the modern conveniences of refrigeration,
Cheese became a staple.
The controlled spoilage of milk made for preservation at a time when everything was already spoiling.
Just imagine the first souls who were brave enough,
Or perhaps desperate enough,
To take a chance and nosh on an unknown cheese curd.
Cheese mythology places that person somewhere around 5500 BC going on a trek with a natural canteen containing the magical enzyme that formed the first curds and whey.
Its evolution came a long way and the cheese shop on Bleecker was determined to celebrate it.
And share the bounty of cheesy pleasures available to the modern palate.
You walk along Bleecker as rain softly falls on your umbrella.
Reflections in puddles magnify the beauty of the village,
Capturing the colorful storefronts with flashes of taxi headlights in the rippling pools.
You avoid the puddles as a few neighborhood residents,
Having forgotten their umbrellas,
Dash beneath the awnings of shops.
Many of these shops have served generations of families,
Including an Italian deli and a bakery featuring the best rainbow cookies and cannolis in the area.
The aroma of incense precedes your arrival at a bohemian shop selling paisley tunics,
Handmade jewelry,
And Himalayan salt lamps.
A jazz trio stands beneath the awning of a pub,
Sheltered from the rain,
Yet somehow shifting the tempos of their song to its steady patter.
You close your eyes for a moment,
Inhaling the damp air and listening to the sounds of tires sloshing through puddles.
Animated conversations of scurrying New Yorkers and the distant honking of traffic on 6th Avenue.
A pair of pigeons coo overhead,
Seeking cover on the fire escape of a five-story brick building.
The energy of the village permeates your being,
Alive and unique.
Even on a gloomy spring day,
It evokes a feeling that nowhere else in the world can.
You come upon the cheese shop,
With floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing hundred-pound wheels of alpine cheese and parm,
Serving as tables for dozens of triangular cuts of the aged delicacies for sale.
You open the door into the shop,
Welcomed by the soft gold lighting and dry air,
And shake off your umbrella before placing it in a wooden barrel for storage.
Cheesemongers remain busy behind the case,
Offering samples to customers and expertly using wires and chef knives to portion and weigh pieces.
The hundreds of cheeses in the showcase have traveled from around the world,
From Europe and Australia,
And from artisan domestic producers from Oregon to Vermont,
Using time-honored techniques and traditional methods to elevate America's place in the cheese world.
You peruse the counter,
Inhaling the smell of freshly baked baguettes in baskets before the display.
Notes of butter and cheese waft from panini presses near the checkout,
Where an employee makes decadent grilled cheese sandwiches and melts.
Shelves lined with jams and confites,
Chocolates,
Honey,
And marinated and brined vegetables offer unique pairing options for the cheeses.
A woman named Olivia descends a set of stairs that lead to cozy rooms above that overlook the shop and rainy,
Bleaker street.
Each night,
The rooms welcome guests from around the world who attend classes,
Learning the history of cheese and how to make burrata and mozzarella from curd.
A floral apron is tied snugly around her waist with a cornflower blue strap,
And her hair is plaited in a thick braid that forms a crown around her head.
She smiles warmly and comes to greet you,
Offering a tour of the caves and a unique chance to help her prepare for a class.
You like her instantly.
There's an openness to her eyes and face,
Like meeting a longtime friend who cannot wait to share her passions with you.
She leads you through swinging doors to the back of house,
Where employees prepare charcuterie boards and cheese boards featuring figs,
Nuts,
And dried fruits.
The artistic arrangements capture the essence of spring with salami fashioned into roses and sprigs of rosemary surrounded by golden nuggets of cheddar.
You walk past a wine cellar and to a stairwell that leads to the caves where cheeses are aged and tended to by an affineur in head-to-toe scrubs,
A mask,
And a hairnet.
You stand on the other side of a small window watching the cave master flipping wheels of cheese with his assistant.
The bloomy rinds of brie and soft ripened cheese are gently padded to create a rind,
Thin and delicate.
Some downy white rinds appear like fondant on a wedding cake,
And Olivia mentions how many will ask the shop to create five-tiered cakes made of cheese wheels for celebrations.
Olivia tells you that all rinds are edible,
If not palatable,
And only you may be the judge of that.
She does joke,
Though,
That in the world of cheese etiquette,
While consuming a rind is not mandatory.
She never met someone who only goes for the rind,
So it's advisable to not just leave it on the tray when at a party,
And to take it with you and perhaps discard it.
As you watch the activities in the caves,
Olivia delves into her past,
Sharing how she spent many years of her life in what people would perceive as glamorous or an aspirational career,
Working in the film industry.
But it was a frenetic life,
Often leading her to sleepless nights and frigid locations for exterior shoots.
One rainy day like today,
She found herself in the village for a shoot.
Soaked to the core as the cameras were being moved for another shot,
And she was left to stand around and wait.
She stepped into the shop,
And instantly it felt like a homecoming.
The warmth,
The soft lighting,
The camaraderie of mongers passionate about their work.
A cup of tomato soup and grilled cheese with french onion confit and hallerhacker on a Pullman loaf later,
And the crew nearly needed to pry her from the shop.
Olivia soon got involved with the growing education department,
Learning in the most wonderful way anyone can learn.
At her own pace,
By engaging all her senses with tastings and teachings,
And simply eating her way through the store,
She absorbed the stories of cheese pioneers focused on preserving the enduring spirit and practices of those who came before them.
Olivia invites you to follow her to the classrooms,
Where you will assist and learn firsthand how to build the perfect cheese board.
She leads you up the back spiral stairs to a classroom with four rows of rustic wooden tables facing the front and a glass wall that looks down on the shop.
The weakest of umbrellas are turned inside out and upside down as the march winds howl through Bleeker Street,
Bringing with them a steady stream of nearly horizontal rain.
You cannot be happier to be inside the warm shop,
Soon to be lost in the ritual of setting up for the event.
You need do nothing more than follow Olivia's lead.
And notice that sometimes it's nice to go along with someone else's plan,
To not have to figure out anything on your own.
She brings you to a farmhouse-style sink and like the furnishings in the room,
It gives an old-timey charm.
Something entirely unexpected in the heart of modern-day New York City.
You wash your hands with the almond goat milk soap,
Inhaling the sweet and natural smell as you find comfort in the rich lather and warm water.
She hands you a white apron that you put on along with a baker's hat.
Olivia shows you how to prepare each setting.
With rectangular slates,
She wipes clean with sanitizing wipes that fill the air with the faint smell of alcohol.
She puts out glassware and places fancy cheese knives with two prongs at the end that act like a fork.
The blades resemble the eyes of Swiss cheese,
With various holes in the stainless steel that prevent soft,
Unctuous cheeses from getting stuck to the knives.
Olivia curates an experience,
Setting an ambience enhanced by the dim lighting of wall sconces and flickering candles placed along the tables in front of the room.
Bossa Nova music plays softly as you methodically carry the heavy black slates in stacks,
Arranging them down the rows in perfect alignment.
There is a meditative quality to this experience.
The counting and arranging causes your mind to be still.
You get pleasantly lost in each task in the simplicity of preparation.
As you mention this to Olivia,
She smiles warmly.
Her eyes caught up in a memory that allows her to drift for a moment before she looks at you.
You're in the cheese zone,
She jokes as a glint returns to her eyes.
You assist in replenishing glass jars with chocolate-covered almonds,
Dried cherries,
And glistening Marcona almonds and place them around glass carafts of water and small bouquets of dried flowers in crystal vases.
The transformation of the room from stark and barren to warm and inviting is now ready for the preparation of the main event.
Olivia brings you to the butcher block counter in the back of the room,
Where seven different cheeses await to be thoughtfully cut and placed on the slates.
Each cheese represents a style,
Rife with stories of its history and evolution through time.
The first is a fresh sheep and goat cheese in a jar of oil from Australia.
With fresh sprigs of thyme and peppercorn,
Its herbaceous aroma evokes thoughts of spring picnics with crusty baguettes,
Sparkling beverages,
And a thick plaid blanket sprawled across a knoll of emerald grass.
Olivia passes you a box of latex gloves and once the gloves are properly put on,
She offers you a jar,
A spoon,
And a cheese harp.
The harp is a wonderful tool,
With a long steel wire that slices through the cheese with ease to create a perfect cut.
You follow her lead as she halves the cubes and places a piece of the white cheese in a small red ramekin on a serving tray.
One by one,
You slice through the cheeses and place them in the red row of dishes.
You learn how the recipe was inspired by Greek feta.
Feta,
Meaning slice,
Was yet another happy cheese accident when a soul long ago encountered the enzyme in the lining of his satchel made from a lamb.
Feta slices were stored in barrels of brine,
Safely left to exist much longer than milk would.
Cheese's milk's leap towards immortality,
Olivia explains.
She shows you how to drizzle the yellow gold oil and arrange the sprigs atop the creamy squares of cheese.
The makers of this cheese are a couple,
And one is a veterinarian devoted to tending to the animals to give them the best life and procure their milk for this farmstead cheese.
The ramekins clink against the slates as you place them one by one down the rows.
Once finished,
You are given rounds of triple creme bloomy rind cheeses,
Often miscalled brie as brie somehow became the poster child for all surface ripened cheese.
The white round fits in the palm of your hand as Olivia shows you how to section it with a slight bend in the wrist as she presses the wire through the cloud-like rind,
The lush velvety creme line,
And denser white paste in the center.
You slice the wheel in half once,
Twice,
And then four more times to create eight perfect triangles showcasing the ideal ripeness for this French-style cheese crafted centuries ago.
With extra creme added to the recipe in the early 1900s,
Beyond the common four ingredients of milk,
Rennet,
Salt,
And cultures,
The cheese took on the richness of butter.
You place the second cheese on the slates,
Perfectly aligned next to the ramekin.
From there,
Olivia breaks into a square cheese with a bright orange rind,
The funkiest of the cheeses on today's board.
It lends an earthy,
Foot-like odor the byproduct of the constant washing of the cheese.
This practice began with monks who aimed to wash away the mold on cheeses with a brine solution,
And when they did,
Bacteria appeared to create a vibrant exterior.
Olivia cuts small square pieces and places them on sheets of waxed paper that you use to transport and arrange them on the board.
The candles create vibrant patterns of light and shadows on the subway-tiled backsplash as the rain continues to fall outside and patrons enter the store downstairs.
The next cheese comes from a cloth-bound wheel,
Smelling of both fruit and fresh-cut grass and even a touch of horseradish.
You help remove the cloth,
And Olivia instructs you how to chunk the wheel,
Chipping away golden nuggets with a small almond-shaped knife with a wooden handle,
Not much larger than your thumb.
Soon a hill of rich yellow cheddar with white crystals covers the cutting board,
With smaller pieces cascading down from the wheel like tumbling rocks.
There's something fun and playful to this process,
A freestyle movement with no concerns about precision or perfection.
After placing these beloved cheddar pieces on the slates,
You encounter an alpine cheese,
A cooked pressed milk-style cheese from Switzerland.
With a long flat knife the length of a small sword,
Olivia bears all her weight down on the aged cheese,
Portioning it into pieces that resemble tall slices of pie.
She then turns these triangular pieces on their sides,
Slicing through the paste and rind to make smaller triangles.
Aromatic notes of dried pineapple and caramelized onions rise from this cheese,
A cheese ideal for melting atop soups and in sandwiches and fondue.
Olivia tells of the cows involved in making this cheese.
Just before summer arrives,
They are marched to the top of the Jura Mountains,
Mountains free to roam and forage through wildflowers and grasses that impart rich flavors and nutrients into the raw milk that's crafted into the cheese.
Over the centuries,
Cheeses like this had such value they were used as currency and to pay taxes.
The next wheel,
A sheep's milk cheese from the French Pyrenees,
Offers the slight smell of creme brulee and a kiss of smoke.
Yet when you smell the rind,
It has the strange aroma of oysters.
The wheel is smaller than the last,
But cut similarly.
You fashion the triangular pieces in opposite directions when you place them down,
Creating a mesmerizing pattern that stands out against the black slate.
The last cheese is a blue,
Quite the divisive style.
But Olivia defends she selected a gateway blue for those in need of something milder and creamy.
This time she returns to the harp,
And you help to slice through the small pieces she gives you,
Creating delicate triangles of creamy ivory cheese modeled with blue and blue-green dots and veins.
Olivia tells you about the folklore of blue cheese,
How a boy was once walking along the shore with his rye bread and cheese.
The sun was intense and he tucked into a cave to enjoy his lunch in the shade.
When he spotted a young girl walking on the beach and was instantly smitten.
He forgot about his lunch in an effort to catch up.
And while no match was formed,
Months later he returned to the cave and discovered the blue mold on his bread had jumped onto the cheese.
He ate it and lived to tell,
And thus became the origins of a new style of cheese.
Olivia jokes that he may not have been brave or desperate at all,
Just merely too curious for his own good,
But it ended well,
At least for those who love blue cheese.
You finish plating the blue cheese,
And it's time for you to say goodbye to the blue cheese.
You're eating the cheese as Olivia cleans up the back,
Carefully wrapping the leftovers in wax paper for you to take home.
She gathers your apron and removes hers,
Hanging them in the hall and disappearing to freshen up.
You stand perfectly still,
Taking in the peaceful,
Romantic energy of the room,
Grateful to be part of what will be an exceptional night.
Olivia reappears in an elegant black cocktail dress and checks in the guests who filter in from the cold,
Rainy night.
They hang their coats and you watch their faces relax,
In a sense of deep appreciation and awe when they encounter the slates for the first time.
The room is soon full of life,
Of animated chatter as Olivia closes the door and walks to a tall cafe table at the front.
She tells the story of how she winded up in a cheese shop,
And there are collective awes and some jealous guests who wish for a career change themselves.
She encourages everyone to slow down and engage in their senses as the tasting begins.
The room is full of curious souls who come to realize how lucky they are to live in a time when these delicacies exist and are easily found.
You go through the lineup that you plated,
Hearing stories again and some new ones as well.
As the attendees engage with Olivia's vast knowledge,
Moments float by,
Your palate charged and satiated by this journey through cheese,
A comfort food on a night where comfort is sought.
As the class comes to a close,
Everyone lingers for a bit,
Having found a sanctuary in the village on a stormy night.
You help clean the slates and glasses,
Lost once more in the methodical tasks that connect you with the present moment.
One by one,
The guests brave the night and slip away onto Bleecker Street beneath their trench coats and umbrellas.
With one final pass,
You and Olivia go throughout the room and blow out the candles.
The space is once more quiet and stark,
But this time it feels sleepy or perhaps it is you that has become quite tired.
Olivia offers you a canvas bag of treats for all your help,
And you share a quick hug,
Thanking her for a lovely evening.
You return to the store floor to retrieve your umbrella,
Just as a monger makes his way through the shop with a bucket and mop,
While others restock the shelves as closing time looms.
They wish you a good night,
As if you are now part of their team,
And you step out into the village.
The wind has lessened,
But the spring rain remains steady.
You take your time,
Reflecting on all that's transpired as revelers spill out of pubs,
Comedy clubs,
Jazz bars,
And karaoke spots.
The rain is not much of a deterrent for the night scene in Manhattan.
You come upon Washington Square Park and its iconic arch.
Entering a pre-war building to its north,
The building retains a timeless feel,
With marble floors and a set of wide stairs that lead to your apartment.
Once inside,
You place your food items in the fridge and enjoy a quick hot shower before changing into pajamas.
The bedroom,
With its exposed wooden beams in the ceiling and ivory painted brick walls,
Boasts a functioning fireplace.
In a week or two,
It will be much too warm,
So you enjoy what may be the last fire of the season,
As you strike a match and the kindling catches,
Soon engulfing a log.
As the fire crackles and pops,
You settle atop an antique canopy bed,
Peering out the window onto the cherry blossoms in the park below.
Pink petals fall into the rippling puddles,
Adding pops of color illuminated by street lamps and enhanced by the sparkling rain.
You sink deep into the bed,
Feeling a tiredness in your muscles.
Your face relaxes,
But you close your eyes.
Lulled by the symphony of the rain,
Sparks flying up the flue in the distant muted sirens of the city.
Grateful once more for the comforts of the modern world and for the stories of what came before.
Drifting into the timeless realm of slumber.
Finding peace.
Finding safety.
Finding comfort.
Finding sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Good night.
