My experience of a new society this week was absolutely legendairy. Brie-liant, in fact. I had emmenthal amounts of work to do, and it was really starting to get my goat. Ricotta put an end to this, I thought – it’s putting my parmesanity to the test. Roquefortunately, I found a camembetter way to pass my evening.
A Cheese Society is a quince-essentially Cambridge concept: spending the evening in mature company and discussing fraiche ideas is what has earned the institution a reputation for paneering research and inspiring formaggionation.
Despite having stiltons of work to do, I was getting truly cheesed off and my thoughts were beginning to curdle. So to spare myself from going crackers, I took some time off to pursue an activity more suited to my tastes: sampling a variety of fine cheeses.
I arrived feeling lactotally starving, but had to hole-d off from launching in straight awhey so that the President of the Cheese Society could wax lyrical about the different varieties on offer.
First up was a yarg, which, he hallouminated us, has a texture that changes the deeper you delve into the cheese, from creamy under the rind to a crumbly centre, which is rather pungentle and therefore ewe chutneed to handle it Caerphilly.
Before I had a chance to feel blue about this cheese running out, a new one was produced: Lanark Blue, an unpasteurised ewes’ milk cheese which, he assured us, was utterly grate. The maker nose his stuff, it seems – the cheese is hand-made and hand-moulded, and it is one of the first blue ewe’s milk cheeses to be produced since the Middle Ages.
By this point I was feeling rather full, but I was determined to wedge in some more. Cote Hill Yellow, an unpasteurised cows’ milk cheese, has won numerous awards, and judging by the cries of “Holy cow!” and “Gordon rennet!” that my companions were buttering, I was expecting it to be fontinastic – and let me tell ewe, it was pretty edam delicious.
I feta not try any more, I thought, but the next one looked too gouda to resist. Rind you, port was now being served, and woe is brie, I couldn’t manage both. Quel fromage. My only gorgonzolation was that the society already has plans for another tasting evening in the cheddiary. “Will you gruyere?”asked the President. “I’d be quarking mad to miss it,” I replied. “It’s a Wensleydate,” he smiled. “Don’t you pecorino it,” I answered. I just mozzareally hope it won’t be mascarpostponed…