Many wheels of cheese are beautiful, but only a handful are arresting. When I walked into Di Bruno Bros. on 9th Street and saw cheesemonger Rocco Rainone holding what looked like a lichen-covered wagon wheel, I lost all restraint. “What…is…that?” I demanded, pushing past a crate of bell-shaped goat cheeses.
“Puits d’Astier,” Rocco whispered. It sounded like a new frangrance. Pwee d’awz-tee-eh. And it might as well be. Since Saturday, I’ve been patting Puits d’Astier on the insides of my wrists, and wherever I go in the world I leave the aroma of sweet sheep’s milk and hazelnuts. It’s true. Riders of SEPTA, Philadelphia’s public transit system, know me and thank me. Expect men who peddle scented oils from duffle bags to pursue you with bottles of faux Puits d’Astier soon.
To continue reading, please visit the Di Bruno Blog.
Disclosure: Twice a month, I write a post for Di Bruno Bros, one of my fave cheese haunts in Philly. I’m paid for these nibbles and scribbles, which is how I support my obsession.