But Montclair was naturally optimistic, and he liked the cheese.  I like the cheese too, but it’s not about the cheese.  It’s about the experience of eating a new cheese, in a new place.  Everywhere you go, when cheese is made by hand locally, it tastes different than any other cheese.  And that is the experience that Montclair sought. 

As a fromager, Montclair was naturally a collector and a lister.  It was only when he broke away from home and gave up on his collections of things that life began to truly resonate for him. 

It is a cool evening here in Thalkirchdorf.  Jane and I talk about our plans to cross borders in search of more cheese.  Our son snores quietly.  Outside, a few hundred feet higher in elevation, it snows.  The interior is decorated like almost every other Bavarian restaurant – wood on wood on wood.  And it gives the place a timeless feel, and I can imagine Montclair himself sitting near our table.  Were this 1925, perhaps he would listen in, and admire the fact a family can enjoy the experience of food in an unfamiliar place together. 

Perhaps he would even get up from his table and ask what we think about the cheese.