I’ve mentioned before that every single wheel of Parmigiano Reggiano comes with a number molded right into the rind. Above the date of production, this tells you where the cheese is from, either a small region or a particular farm, depending on the size. Sometimes I even buy numbers in particular if the parm is notably special, but you can’t go too far with that since the season in which the milk was produced plays a factor too.
However, in 15 years of cheese I never got this number before:
That’s right. 415!* Represent!
It’s already divided the department between those of us who grew up in the Bay Area and can’t stop joking about it, and the transplants who wish we would just shut up.
But we can’t stop talking about ourselves. That’s how we do it in the Sco.
I’m going to have to see if we can get more.
*415 is the area code for SF and Marin now, but it was the area code for the whole Bay Area when I was growing up.
We had a big cheese contingent at the Neko Case show last night. Neko was amazing. I actually left liking her music more than I did when I went in, and I liked it plenty upon arrival. It’s poignant, sad, hopeful, nostalgic, and filled with the detail of every day life, sometimes all in the same song.
When we all got to the BART/MUNI stop after the show I was struck by something. Maybe it was a reflective mood inspired by an hour and a half of Neko Case. While we once all lived in walking distance from Rainbow, now I was the only one left in San Francisco. This entry/article/rant has been said many times before, to be sure. But I felt the sadness for a moment. Our communities that once existed and the way they could have grown – and we could have grown old – together.
It didn’t help when the first song that came on this morning as I sat down to the computer was J Church’s “The Satanists Convene” which is a song about everything this city has lost. And of course we’ve lost Lance too. His songs occasionally made me cry when he was alive. While his songs were also part sappy/part serious, some certainly have become more poignant since his death.
Perhaps returning to the Warfield also contributed. I hadn’t been these since (I think) a 1992 Cramps Halloween show. Just to prove how old we are, I attended that show with friends whose youngest daughter was one-ish. These are wonderful people that I’ve been friends with since the ‘80s who fled the Bay Area for more affordable living in rural Pennsylvania, but returned last year. Earlier this week that daughter won a $10,000 scholarship for her singing from Beach Blanket Babylon. You can’t predict these things. And some of these things are good.
I suppose poignancy was the theme of the last 24 hours. I didn’t choose that theme. It just happened.