Mark My Words

A partnership blog post, written in partnership, not with a cheese-making establishment (sadly), but with two bloggers!

Part 1: Shelly

I used to really respect Midwest Mark. Note the past tense. 

I came to blogging honestly. I started when I quit my job and sold all my belongings, then got married to a guy who quit his job and sold all his belongings. We hit the road with our new Airstream trailer; in five years we stopped for the night in 300 different places across the U.S. and Canada, and I blogged about nearly every stop, with the intention of updating friends and family. 

I followed a few travel bloggers when I started writing, but it wasn’t until I stumbled upon Mark’s blog that I found someone who could actually write. Whose life wasn’t particularly extraordinary, like mine was, but who wrote extraordinarily well, about anything at all. Mark’s friendly responses to my idiotic blogging questions made him quickly become my blogging mentor. 

Mark and I are about the same age. Both on second marriages, both with young adult children, both with careers in wordsmithing. We both like to kayak, and we both like to say “Geez Louise.” We even got along fine when we met. I was soon to learn that we had a honking big difference, though. The Cheese Curd Divide.

Now, having driven along so many blue highways, I’ve eaten a lot of good food. That’s why it’s particularly funny when people recommend I eat food that’s a specialty in one place but not in the place where I am right then. Don’t recommend the beignets, the BBQ, the blue crabs, the tacos, unless we happen to be in New Oreleans, Texas, Maryland, Mexico. Specialty food certainly can be prepared well anywhere you can get the ingredients, and if there’s no chance you can get to a food hometown then for sure eat it wherever you find it. But, for me, I so fondly remember eating soft shelled crabs on the eastern seaboard, and I’ll always think of that experience each time I eat them again. Anywhere else, and they’re previously frozen and probably overly breaded. 

This is why it amazes me that I had to argue with someone who lives in Wisconsin about the merits of fresh cheese curds. I mean, really? Mark should know better. But he didn’t, and I didn’t understand why. 

When I visited the Midwest, I’d stop by cheese factories and enjoy a taste of the real thing, cheese curd made that morning. Oh so briny, oh so sweet and snackable. After I met Mark and found out he’d never had truly fresh curds, in my efforts to convince him of the error of his ways, I left him a voice message of the sound fresh curds make between your teeth when you bite them, the distinctive squeak. That’s not easy to do when you’re not particularly close with the person on the other end of the phone, let me tell you. I’m sure I sounded like a mouth-fetish stalker. 

Still, Mark managed to sidestep my mouth sounds. He’d only tried fresh curds once, many years ago, in a state not known for its cheese, and was unimpressed. He didn’t see why fresh Wisconsin cheese curds were a big deal. When his family visited and they enjoyed trying and comparing a bunch of fried cheese curds around town, he even developed a cute little rating system for his Wisco Wednesdays blog series about all things Wisconsin, an icon that looks like a fried cheese curd. That’s cute! Go ahead and love fried cheese all you want, Midwest Mark. Come talk to me when you’ve tried truly fresh curds, though.  

Then he wrote an entire blog post, a long one, too, about cheese curds, and only glossed over day-fresh curds. That’s when I lost my shit. Here is this well-respected guy, who loves Wisconsin and makes his blogging name Midwest Mark, and says he loves cheese and goes on and on, and the dude writes a whole post about cheese curds, and he’s never even tried Wisconsin’s best, the type of curd that I, a known friend of his, declares to be the finest form of cheese curd in existence? He’s never even tasted the very best type of cheese curd out there, and yet he declares himself to be an expert? Well, Midwest Mark, I no longer respect you like I once did.

Okay, perhaps you think the curds you can find in Midwest grocery stores that say “fresh” on the package are what I’m talking about, and you, too, think I’m insane. To me, though, there are three types of curds. 

1. Fried: Mark’s fav.
2. Fresh: I guess you can call them that, although it’s confusing. I just call them cheese curds.
3. Squeaky: These you eat the same day they’ve been made, and they are as different as fresh are from fried.

A couple of months passed after my creepy voicemail to Mark, with no fresh curd action on his part, and I started to doubt my cheese curd craze. Friends visited us who wanted to try squeaky curds, so I rode my bike to the farmers’ market to get some made that day. One friend was so freaked out by the squeak that she didn’t finish the bowl I’d placed in front of her. She’d thought previously that the squeak was made outside of your mouth somehow, I don’t know, like you magically squeeked like a kazoo afterwards? I don’t think even she knew what she was expecting, other than not the squeak between your teeth that salty, wet curds make. 

Maybe I was wrong, and fresh curds aren’t that great. Maybe Mark has actually had them and just wasn’t that impressed, but didn’t want to make me feel weird?  Maybe it’s just not my business what cheese some guy named Mark has tried and not tried, and I was making a big deal over nothing. That’s when I received a text from Mark that I forever will cherish. I’ll let him finish the story.   

Part 2: Mark

Look, I respect Shelly, and appreciate her wisdom. When she first reached out to me for blogging advice, she was very complimentary about my writing; flattery will get you everywhere, so I was happy to help her out. And I’ll admit “Blogging Mentor” has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Now I know how Mr. Miyagi felt when schooling Daniel-san.

Blog on, blog off, Shelly.

Anyway. As hooked as I was on Shelly’s travel adventures, I thought it was pretty cool when she and her husband, Tracy, decided to trade in their Airstream for a home on a foundation instead of wheels, right here in America’s Dairyland. Suddenly, we were practically neighbors (though I’d have to drive almost two hours roundtrip if I needed to borrow a cup of sugar, so maybe neighbors is a stretch).

She’s right, though. We went back-and-forth on cheese curds for a long time. Turns out we’re both pretty passionate about what we like. But we’re just doing our civic duty: as Wisconsinites, we are required to harbor strong opinions about cheese or risk being booted to (gasp!) Illinois.

My sole experience with day-fresh curds (Shelly’s option #3) was at the Tillamook Cheese Factory (since rebranded Tillamook Creamery) on the Oregon coast. At the end of the free self-guided tour, they had bins of fresh curds set out for sampling. “Unimpressed” is putting it mildly. Look, it’s okay if certain things squeak. Like mice and un-oiled door hinges. But cheese? That was definitely weird.

You can just imagine my reaction when I got the voicemail from the mouth fetish stalker!

Honestly though, I don’t blame the squeak. My cereal snaps, crackles, and pops, and I don’t give a damn about that. I just found the fresh curds to be kind of pointless. They were salty, rubbery, and bland. I much preferred Tillamook’s blocks of sharp cheddar. So, I basically filed away that experience as a “been there, done that” thing.

And then we moved to the Midwest, and our cheese aisles expanded. In Rapid City, we found StoneRidge Markets “fresh” cheese curds from Wisconsin, and decided to give those a chance. They were much better than the samples I’d had in Tillamook: softer, tangier, creamier.

But Shelly continued to insist I’d never had fresh cheese curds. Our friendly but spirited debates went something like this:

M: Did too!
S: Did not!
M: Did too!
S: Did not!

Well, you get the picture. Shelly was adamant that fresh cheese curds, made that day, were on a whole different level than prepackaged “fresh” curds (the apostrophes are her doing) sold in the grocery store. She even sent me pics.

Fine, I said. I’ll give them a try to see what all the fuss is about.

A couple of weeks ago, Tara and I headed to the Dane County Farmers Market. One vendor was selling fresh cheese curds made that morning, so I finally had my opportunity!

This is the text Shelly was referring to. The one she will “forever cherish”:

SHELLY YOU WERE RIGHT.

There. Happy now? It’s uppercase and everything.

The truly fresh curds really were worlds apart from the packaged curds in the store…not to mention the Tillamook Cheese Factory’s samples. Squeaky? Yes…but that was part of the charm. They were also creamy and delicious. Definitely a step up from any other curd I’ve had.

I mean, I’d still choose fried curds over fresh almost every time, but at least we’re seeing eye-to-eye a little better now!