I know it's bad for me, but I love the hell out of some good cheese. I think I'm mildly lactose-intolerant, but I just can't help myself. Something about a salty/smoky/savory hunk of funky dairy just speaks to the innermost depths of my soul. My boyfriend knows this about me. So when we were visiting Tennessee a few months ago with some of his family, he and his dad told me about an amazing cheap shop that used to exclusively supply the White House with dairy delights. And fortunately for me, the cheese shop was only a thirty minute ride from our hotel. So we hurried to Simonton Cheese House in Crossville, since we knew the shop closed in a little over an hour. Along the way, we saw a lot of beautiful land and hills. We even cruised through a supposedly haunted area right at mile marker 10. When we arrived, it didn't look like much from the outside. But all amazing gems are hidden, aren't they?
The local lore is, a bus of schoolkids died at this mile marker. So when you shift your gear to neutral, you can feel the car being pushed uphill.