The Lugano Experience

Ok, so while lauding on the compliments is not exactly comic (and I do strive to entertain), it is probably about time for me to write something nice so that I don’t come off as a complete ingrate.  Even if, in fact, I am. 

So, here goes…

I believe that life is filled with simple pleasures that, when added up (and appreciated), can have a more significant impact on my happiness than any one single event.  (Oooooh, Sven’s getting all philosolophicus).  Not to  say that doing something really great isn’t, well, really great, but sometimes it’s the little things that matter. 

Like yoghurt.  I love yoghurt.  And yea, I know that all you Yankees (moniker in honor of my Roman friend who never gets tired of lovingly calling me an “EFFING YAANKEE”) spell it yogurt.  But you see, yoghurt here may come in a tub like yogurt, and it may have the same creamy consistency as yogurt,  and it may be mixed with fruits like strawberries and kiwi and such like yogurt,   but when yoghurt touches your tongue and those buds fire the synapses in your brain, you are acutely aware that this is not yogurt, it’s YOGHURT.  I mean, damn! 

So, the simple pleasure of eating a yoghurt for breakfast is one of those brief, daily existential experiences.  Are we here merely to enjoy this 42 seconds in the morning?  Can the day get better?  Is this the perfection of life?  If I eat two in a row, will I actually merge and become one with the yoghurt?  Was that a whole strawberry?  On many a post-yoghurt-coital moment I have thought of merely going back to bed, I mean everything else for the day is destined to merely be a disappointment. 

But, then all it takes to move me past this crisis of existential bliss is the thought of… cheese.  

There is a wonderful cheese shop downtown.  Many have told us that it is the best in in Svizzeria where kings and robber barons travel from throughout the land to pay homage to the superior selection of milk curd.  The proprietor is a humble man who chats with familiarity to his steady stream of customers.  The shop itself is small - what you would expect in a village in the 1800s, a cacaphony of smells and cheeses hanging from hooks and packaged in a variety of ways.  Only the refrigerator display reminds you that you are not somewhere lost in history.

Last week Lena and I finally got the courage to visit the shop, and we asked him to give us what he liked the best.  Ok, we should probably examine that… “We asked him to give us what he liked the best.”   There are so many layers of comedy there, I don’t even know where to start.  First, this is me trying out my Italian. 

“Pour Fuh Vor, Seen Yore.  Cheesio you Likeeeo numero Uno” 

He looks at me like I am some pour simple fool that stumbled into his shop.  

“Uhhh.. oh, yea.  Four Maj eee Oh Numero Uno, Pour Fuh Vor Seen Yore”

Another look, and some words exchanged between him and the customer behind me followed by an almost-impolite snigger.

“You want the best cheese?  Well, this is my favorite.” 

Ok, so he speaks English…  Sigh.  He pulled out a small slab of “Tee chinella romeenivono reestola agrumeenti” or something like that… I honestly can’t remember what the hell he called it but it took several moments from my life for him to utter the sound… Anyway, we nodded like two deer in the headlights, I mean, what else to do - we asked for it… And here comes the second bit of comedy… We asked the best Cheesier (or whatever you call a cheese guy) in Switzerland to give us his favorite cheese…

From the shop that kings and robber barons shop from. 

Without asking the price before we agreed. 

Stamp me stupid, please… 

At $100 per kilo (about $60 per pound), I have to say that this was the most expensive milk product I have ever purchased…  Or tried.  Or heard of. 

Walking home from the shop, we were lamenting the $30 dollar cheese nibble in the bag, but we decided to at least give it a try and enjoy it.  It was wrapped in some kind of leaf (grape, I think), and it had a wonderful aroma of wine.  When we cut it, it crumbled, and I thought I heard the distinct sound of a lone violin, but I wouldn’t swear to it.  A piece the size of a dime was all you needed for flavor to EXPLODE in your mouth.  Ok, I completely have forgotten the yoghurt at this point.  My eyes were watering, and I had that sharp pain between my jaw and my ear - you know the one when you taste something so fantastic that your mouth is actually upset for not doing this earlier.  We decided that $100 per kilo was a bargain - this cheese was worth every penny. 

So, this got me to pondering, what are they doing to the cows in Switzerland?  I mean, if happy cows make great milk, are they massaging them?  Letting them spend the day at amusement parks?  Are they feeding them hand picked grass or poppies, or what?  Maybe they just aren’t feeding them beef… 

Well, whatever they are doing, the milk products here cannot even be held in comparison to what you effin Yankees have over in the States - it’s like comparing water to honey.

And on that note, and before I get all misty and sentimental, I am going for my morning yoghurt.  And afterwards, maybe a cuddle.