Innocence Lost: An Ode to Murray

Today, my petite Californian-Korean colorist and I were lamenting over our lost food innocence.  Remember when we used to drink wine out of cask, and cheese from plastic packaging, and think it was really good?  I may have progressed past the evils of fruity-lexia early in my career of under-age drinking, but once I tip-toed past the goon bag, I warmly embraced a medium-bodied red in its convenient cardboard cask.  I felt a bit posh, actually, drinking red wine during my student days, sometimes accompanied by a cheeky slice of coon.  But, a few years later, cask wine was unacceptable and grocery-store cheese was horribly déclassé. I was happy in my ignorance of the finer life, but well-meaning food snobs dragged me into the era of refined taste and the days of cask and coon were long gone.  First it was wax-encased soft cheddars from Margaret River, bought in delis.  Then it was gooey wedges of brie sourced from a Parisian fromagerie. Then, I became able to order cheese with phrases like “cloth-bound”, “sharp”, or “I prefer undertones of licorice” (don’t worry, in the back of my head there was always a voice saying: You_are_ a_tosser).  Then, I was seduced by Murray.  Murray’s Cheese is apparently a New York institution, but all I know is that it’s 73 steps from my front door, and my gym is 221 steps.  It’s an incredible shop, and I’ve never had a bad recommendation.  I may have lost my innocence with food, but like an experienced older lover, Murray is guiding me to be more adventurous and my taste is the richer for it (bank balance, not so much).  If you live in New York you should become a Murray’s regular, and if you’re just visiting you should definitely grab a wedge and have a little picnic in Father Demo Square.  One surprising fact for foreigners: the American cheese they have is excellent.