Dear Cheese Man,
Hello there. I’d like to start off by saying that we ride the same subway line. Why have I never seen you before? I see the man who panhandles with a live snake, the performance art clown and the lady who plays the “Chicken Dance” on her recorder ALL THE TIME. But I have never seen you and your cheese wheel before. A man wrote into Gothamist complaining about your stinky cheese and the way you ate it:
“Homeboy was seriously enjoying a half wheel of what must have been a severely aged Brie with crackers. He’d dig his gross fingers into the Brie, dig out a piece, slap on a cracker and throw it down. The Brie was highly fragrant and most straphangers were appalled. He also licked his fingers after each bite (perhaps my biggest pet peeve/gross out move) …It gave me the chills to watch his saliva soaked fingers dive repeatedly into that ripe cheese.”
While I agree that it’s not proper public transportation etiquette to eat anything, let alone pungent food on a tiny, enclosed subway car (or to take up two seats during rush hour — shame on you!), I can’t help but admire the complete dedication and passion with which you consumed your cheese. Oh, the way you shoved that cheesy cracker in your pie hole like you were saying a prayer. In a city full of people who are forced to eat on the go, you do it with panache, sir. I also admire your digestive resilience. I once ate unpasteurized camembert and had stomach pains for two weeks. The fact that you tackled that whole block during your evening commute while reading the paper, speaks to your constitution. Was it your appetizer or your entire meal? I’d like the chance to ask you in person. Over manchego, perhaps?