I like the Bedford Cheese Shop, I really do. The people who work there are really nice and they have many expensive snack foods that I enjoy looking at and even occasionally buying. That said, their famed cheese descriptions have gone from cute to dear-god-just-write-your-novel:
“If this cheese were a person, it would be a cigar-smoking, loud-mouthed, high-stakes roller with poor bathing habits”
“Gives your mouth the sensation of licking a damp carpet of grass.”
“This is the cheese of rodeo cowboys, professional wrestlers and other American heroes. And you too will feel like an American hero when you eat Vermont Shepherd Reserve.”
“Smells like a drunken sailor on shore leave, and it’s just as randy.”
Worst of all, they attract the kind of clientele who appreciates such descriptions and so when I do go in there I am forced to stand in line behind some guy who needs to taste 25 cheese in search of one he ate on spring break from Brown that tasted like virgins and strawberries, with a touch of dirty youth hostel linens.