I love cheese. Cheese is the basis of one of my earliest childhood memories, probably because it was a traumatic event. Oh yes. Cheese can be traumatic. Let me elucidate. When I was a very little girl, probably three years old, my family lived next door to a certain Mrs Love. Mrs Love, so I am led to believe, lived up to her name and was a truly lovely lady. Mrs Love had a pantry and in her pantry, Mrs love had a china cheese wedge from which the lovely Mrs Love would often cut me a small piece of cheese. I loved cheese and I loved Mrs Love.
One day, my Dad took me by the hand and took me to visit Mrs Love. Then he smacked the top of my leg in front of Mrs Love. He said that I was being smacked for stealing cheese from Mrs Love's pantry. Apparently I had left my teeth marks in the cheese. It was my first encounter with corporal punishment and also forensic science. Strangely enough, I no longer liked Mrs Love but I still love cheese. Lesson learned.
I suspect, although I don't remember, that Mrs Love's cheese may have been Lancashire. There are three types of Lancashire cheese: Crumbly, creamy and tasty. I have progressed through the three tastes during my lifetime, probably in conjunction with developing, (or perhaps even deteriorating), taste-buds. In my late teens, I started to enjoy mouldy cheeses too and now prefer them with a little port or a glass of red.
In the 1970's a cheese and wine party was quite the thing but as always, I was away dancing most nights and weekends, so I missed out on that trend. I never got the idea of cheese fondue. It seemed boring and a bit sickly. My sister did a great steak fondue with gorgeous sauces and it was a party hit from day one.
Travelling around Europe, I have discovered many foods before they came to the UK. I ate my very first spaghetti in Switzerland, aged 11, my first pizza in Trieste when I was 15 and I dined on lasagne in St Mark's Square, Venice the same year. I have eaten the native cheeses in Switzerland, Germany, Luxembourg, Austria Italy and The Netherlands. My first encounter with Feta was on a Greek Island but there is one cheese producing country that has not yet received my serious attention.
The French produce thousands of different cheeses, so before I shuffle off to Buffalo, (pun intended), I have every intention of tasting my way across the entire landscape, cow's, sheep's, goat's and all. After all, every Chateau has a cheesy neighbor. By the way - if you hold your nose when you eat smelly cheese, you will completely miss out on the delightful taste. Receptors in the back of your nose, combine with your taste-buds to detect flavor. Like cheese and wine, taste and smell cannot be separated. Enjoy.
Little Stinker
Thou stinking lump
with wrinkled skin,
immersed in brine
and shrinkled in.
Thou puke infested, rancid clot
with fragrance
of an unwashed sock.
Thou humming pile of seething cream,
thy honking whiff
is so extreme.
Thou nauseous, noxious teeming turd,
thy oozing guts
are too absurd.
Thou putrid pat with urine reek,
have moulded, rotted,
reached a peak.
Come gasping gourde of tingling bite
infusing taste-buds
with delight.
Thou Stinking Bishop, Gorgonzola,
I love thy flavor –
Hate thy odour.
Have a delightful week. Thanks for reading. Adele Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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