(Jennifer Polixenni Brankin)
Talk about the daily rind.
Since the late ’70s, when he helped launch the original Dean & Deluca in SoHo, Steve Jenkins has been the city’s godfather of gouda.
New York’s original authority on Stilton, triple-cream and Parmigiano-Reggiano, Jenkins was the first American inducted into France’s elite Guilde des Fromagers, in 1976. He’s since attained the guild’s highest status, “Prud’homme” (roughly translated to “wise man”) and won a James Beard award for his seminal guide book “Cheese Primer.”
Married and living on the Upper West Side, Jenkins is currently the manchego maestro at Fairway Markets, where he’s been since 1980.
The gregarious 61-year-old spoke to @work about how cheese lured a struggling actor from Missouri into the world of artisanal food, and became a lifetime calling.
What was your first job in food services?
Not sure this counts [laughs], but when I first got to New York, I was an out-of-work actor. So I delivered 5-gallon jugs of Mountain Valley water. I finally got a job as a bartender at a place that was essentially a hooker bar, at 77th and Broadway. Hookers would come in to divvy up the territory, put on makeup, talk to their pimps.
How did you first find work in cheese?
At one point, I worked at a kite importer, unpacking boxes of kites from China. I left to be in a play in Florida, and when I came back my job had been filled. But the owners said some friends of theirs had a cheese shop at 91st and Madison.
Did you know much about cheese at the time?
I knew nothing about any food, much less cheese. The only reason I pulled it off was because none of our customers knew much either. I just knew I’d get a paycheck. I said I’ll come in early, stay late, I’ll sweep, I’ll mop. I was determined not to go back to Missouri a failure.
In 1977, you helped open the original Dean & Deluca.
A salesman friend told me to go down to SoHo. There’s this little store opening, and you could be a manager. So I met Giorgio DeLuca and Joel Dean, and I was their first hire.
You had developed a palate by this point, right?
No, I was a philistine. I was just charming and articulate. It was practically an acting job, with this huge counter as a stage. I could barely pronounce things. But I made whatever I had look and sound glorious.
I’ve stolen everything that’s made me a success from Europe. My first trip was in 1978, and I imitated every visual that French shopkeepers did.
But I also discovered something that was ultimately more important. I found this peasant discipline in setting up and breaking down a shop counter. I’d be out at Les Halles to watch them set up, and I’d watch them break it down at 7:30 each night.
What’s so profound about wiping down countertops?
I found a great virtue in that approach to life. These people weren’t embarrassed to be in a service economy, wearing an apron. I learned there’s a great pride and satisfaction when you work your ass off and pick something simple to be the best at. That took a big load off my shoulders, that weight of moving to New York and striving to be some successful actor.
After faking your way in, how did you become an expert?
It was when I immersed myself in the literature of gastronomy that I stopped being an actor and started being a cheese monger. I became fanatical about the geography of each ingredient. What specific region or subregion of whatever idiot nation produced this cheese or this mushroom? I learned the difference between Savoie and Brittany. Lombardy and Puglia. It became my mission.
At Dean & Deluca, what was it like trying to import cheeses past the FDA and into the US?
I did it by smuggling. If I declared it, they’d have refused it. It says “fromage au lait cru” on this box of camembert, which means raw milk. And our laws said they must be aged 60 days at the point of origin. So I’d peel the sticker off. Or rewrap it with the paper turned inside out.
Who knew cheese could be so lawless?
There was nobody else doing this. That made it almost proprietorial. These were mine. I was striving to be something New York never had before, a master cheesemonger. When I was inducted into the fromager guild, to me it was like being named to the Supreme Court.
What’s been the most fun part of your job?
Probably the most enjoyable thing in my silly career was the signage I produced. I turned it into a sort of a folk art. I realized I couldn’t talk to 6,000 customers a week. I needed a sign to grab your attention. They’d be informative, but also fun. I’d describe fresh figs as “raw sex” or camembert cheese that “smells like the feet of God.”
Hasn’t the food world gotten a bit too precious, with “gourmet” this and “artisanal” that?
I’m anti-pretense. I put food on such a pedestal that I’m sure I contributed to that. But I’ve always stressed that all this stuff historically has been peasant food. All this gourmet stuff is absurd; it’s an elitist, clubby pursuit. Don’t let people tell you thisgoes
with this. Nothing goes
with each other. That’s up to you. That’s the fun of food, tasting and deciding for yourself.