Cheddar gorging

Last month, more than 200 cheese judges (one of the best jobs possible, surely) surveyed 4,443 cheeses from 26 countries at the biggest and best cheese awards in the world: The International Cheese Awards Nantwich 2014. 

It only seemed right I sample one of the many winners; unfortunately for me, the Supreme Champion this year was a Stilton. Needing an alternative, I decided to try one of the many other victors: Waitrose’s Extra Mature Cheddar, a cheese that I rarely buy, perhaps because it just seems too obvious.

A sturdy six in the strength rating and a Supreme Champion of the 2011 Devon Country Show no less, I had high expectations this mature cheddar would blow my tastebuds away. I wasn’t disappointed. Still creamy despite its maturity, it has a slightly nutty and granular texture; it’s not the most popular cheese in the world for nothing. 

I tried it on one of my favourite crackers, also from Waitrose—Crunchy & Rustic Fruit & Nut Crackers, along with another 2011 gold taste winner: quince and damson jelly. The contrasting sweet and nutty flavours, as well as the soft versus crunchy textures worked perfectly.

Extra mature cheddar topped with quince and damson jelly.

What else could I make with this esteemed cheese? A quick search on BBC food brought me to a summery risotto. I tweaked this recipe slightly by adding preserved lemon, spring onions (I’d forgotten to buy a regular onion), tarragon and parsley fresh from the garden (not mine, my parents’—cheers ma and pa). Despite it being a vegetarian dish, Stuart heartily approved. And, if I do say so myself, it was pretty darn good.

I’m always happy to validate the work of the Nantwich judges and after my foray into the extra mature cheddar world, I can confirm that this cheese is much more than the sum of its parts.

Asparagus and garden pea risotto with extra mature cheddar and parmesan

Snack attack

What’s the best fodder for a two-hour train journey? In that pre-dinner hour when it’s too early for a full meal and too late not to eat something. Luckily a Kerry snack pack, Dairylea Dunkers and some Indonesian style sweet chilli crackers came to our rescue in Birmingham Moor Street last Sunday. They certainly filled a small hole. You could even dig a small hole with the dinky fork provided by Kerry.

Shovelling the tomato relish onto the multigrain croutons and topping with a precise triangle of mature cheese was a small pleasure in itself. Mum seemed to enjoy her Dunkers. It may not have been a first class feast, however the delights of cheese take many forms; sometimes you just have to embrace foil wrapped preservative-laden produce, especially late on a Sunday afternoon.

First time's the charm

Morrissey and Albarn both sang about charming and charmless men respectively. I’m going to sing the praises of a charming cheese, aptly named Sussex Charmer—“Unique Mature Cheese.”

Eager to try a new brand, I picked up this intriguing little number from Sainsbury’s. The description assured me that this cheese was the most exciting I’d “ever herd of.” A pun on packaging? Well I never. As a pun-lover through and through (see previous post), I was thrilled; this could potentially be the cheese of my dreams.

It then went on to detail a secret recipe, which combined tradition with Parmesan and that this would add “pedigree to the noblest of cheeseboards.” Was this actually the charmless man painted by Albarn: educated the expensive way, with educated airs and family shares? The Blurb (sorry, couldn’t resist) also said it made “charming cheese on toast.” Bold claims indeed; fortunately, I was willing to believe them.



Raw, it does indeed resemble Parmesan: hard, granular, crumbly and with that deliciously familiar tang.



Where it really reaches its full charming height however, is as promised: melted on toast. Not just any toast would be good enough for this member of the cheese nobility, clearly, so I bought one of Gail’s hearty seeded bloomers, which seemed gallant enough for the task.

I was generous, piling slabs of the Sussex Charmer on two huge hunks of bread and topping them with some Worcester sauce once the cheese was oozing. The result? Perfection!

A crunchy, colourful side of green beans and beetroot complemented the golden main course well.

Speaking of Parmesan, and having found some in the fridge, I sprinkled it on a variation of a Spanish Omelette I rustled up recently. Life doesn’t guarantee many things, however it's a fact that Parmesan always delivers flavour.

And, while I may not know as much as the pantry boy in The Smiths’ song, I am confident that anyone could succumb to the Sussex Charmer, with its pun-friendly packaging and glorious melted goodness.

Parmesan melted on a fried potato and onion omelette.

To Brie or not to Brie

That is the question. It was inspired by two influences: 1) Linnea requested a post about Brie 2) I just learnt that Benedict Cumberbatch will star in a new production of Hamlet next year. And now I’ve been thinking about it, there are definitely some parallels between Shakespeare’s great tragedy and this popular cheese. 

“Soft you now!” Hamlet cries near the end of his famous speech, which perhaps overtly refers to Ophelia. However, I like to think he was referring to the squidgy texture of Brie. And “O! that this too too solid flesh would melt” to me, clearly expresses his desire for a more mature and therefore runny cheese—perfectly understandable. “Fie on’t! ah fie!” sounds suspiciously like it should be “Brie on’t! ah Brie!”

Like Hamlet, I am fond of this rich and creamy cheese. Who isn’t? Its pliable nature goes divinely with a sweet accomplice, namely cranberry jam or redcurrant jelly. I tried Le Rustique’s Brie de caractère, which indeed did have character. Mild with a slightly sour note, not unlike the Kidderton Ash I tried last month, there is something rather comforting about it.

I tried Brie de caractère melted on an oat pancake with redcurrant jelly.

Although this looks like a horrible injury, it tasted yummy.

I also tested one of James Martin’s recipes: figs with Brie and parma ham. Easy to assemble and absolutely delicious. James suggests a modest portion for one: two figs paired with two slices of parma ham, some Brie and redcurrant jelly. I duly scoffed five.

Incidentally, figs were a common Shakespearean theme, often indicating an insult or an unimportant or worthless matter. I find this strange as I have nothing but praise for figs and this understandably prevalent cheese. The answer to my question? Of course it’s to Brie.