A Board for the Woman Who Taught You to Eat

Mother’s Day is Sunday, and the internet would like to sell you a brunch reservation, a bouquet that arrives half-wilted, or a card with a watercolor teapot on it. We’d like to suggest something else.

Feed her.

Not a production. A board. A wedge of something good, a little pile of almonds, a spoonful of honey, a knife, and an afternoon with no particular shape to it.

Because if you think about it, that’s what she did for you. She fed you slowly, over years, without making it look like a performance. She put food on the table when you were too small to thank her for it. She taught you that a tomato in August tastes nothing like a tomato in February, even if she never said it in those words. She probably taught you to love at least one specific cheese — the one that was always in the fridge, or the one she rationed out on crackers when company came over.

So this year, instead of a reservation, build her a board.

How to build it (no rules, but here’s a shape)

One soft, one firm, one with some age on it. That’s the whole formula. Three cheeses is plenty — more than that and you stop tasting and start grazing.

•       Something soft and spring-y — a fresh chèvre or a young, bloomy-rinded round. May milk is sweet and grassy right now, and it shows up most in the youngest cheeses.

•       Something firm and friendly — a nutty alpine-style or a well-aged gouda. The cheese that doesn’t ask anything of you. Slice it thin, put it next to the almonds.

•       Something with a story — a wedge of something aged, a little funky, a little expensive. The one you wouldn’t have bought for yourself at her age. Tell her where it’s from when you cut it.

Around the edges: a small pile of almonds, a spoonful of good honey (local if you can), a few radishes with their tops still on, a hunk of crusty bread. Strawberries are just starting — a small bowl of them is perfect.

To drink: whatever she actually likes. A crisp white if she’s a wine person, sparkling water with a lemon wedge if she isn’t, strong black tea if it’s that kind of afternoon.

Come see us

We’re open Wednesday - Sunday 11-8 this week, and we’ll happily put a board together for you if you’d rather not assemble it yourself — just give us a call or stop in by Saturday afternoon. Tell us a little about her and we’ll choose accordingly.

And if your mom isn’t here this year, or it’s complicated, or you’re the mom — eat the cheese yourself. Slowly. On a real plate. That counts too.

With love (and a little butterfat),

Megan