Feeling sheepish

Sardinia, land of history, hiking, cycling, sheep and azure coastlines along with blood soup and maggot cheese—casu marzu (literal translation: rotten cheese, mmm). Actually, I haven’t been to this picturesque island; my parents have just returned and report that it’s a cheese-lover’s dream. To my delight, mum brought me back some, and thankfully it was larva-free.

As I eagerly sliced open the vacuum packed wedge of Caciotta Ovina, it felt dense and smelt rather powerful. It has a pale yellow, grainy hue. However, on meeting the knife, it doesn’t crumble like other hard cheeses; in fact, it peeled gently off the knife onto my assorted crackers with the elastic quality of Cheddar or Gouda.

Sheep’s milk naturally contains more fat and protein than cow’s or goat’s and I could perceptibly taste a difference. Alongside the unfamiliar flavour, it tasted piquant, like a soft version of Parmesan.

Caciotta Ovina

Even after a large Sunday lunch, inevitable hunger pangs struck again in the evening, and it wasn’t difficult to decide what to do about it: more of my new best friend from Sardinia! In fact, the Caciotta Ovina tasted even better—unsurprisingly—melted on toast with Britain’s favourite fashionista’s Peach & Apricot Chutney.

Getting to the Pont

In another random act of cheese grabbing last week, Waitrose’s Petit Pont L’Eveque A.O.P. seemed ripe for the taking. It was ripe enough for eating too! Rather like brie, with its white edible rind and soft yellow insides, it has a firmer texture with delicate holes sprinkled across it, like angelic airy freckles. Rather fittingly, the cheese was originally known as “cherub,” before acquiring the name of the village in which it was made. 

The taste is somewhat stronger than brie; Waitrose says, diplomatically: “a piquant fruity tang.” Another commonly used term in the cheese world is “funky,” which I would personally attach to this particular cheese. It is quite smelly too—nowt wrong with that of course. 

As a huge avocado advocate, I smushed (the technical term) some into one half of an English muffin, layered some layers of Petit Pont onto the other, and finally topped with some quince jelly and balsamic vinegar. A little strange maybe, but I enjoyed the sweetness of these condiments coupled with the strong flavoured cheese and creamy nourishing avocado. L’Eveque, c’est magnifique!

My first carrot cake

What does one do with leftover carrots? Obviously, you make carrot cake, which I have never attempted before. The outcome? Scrumptious! I followed a simple recipe from Bake For Britain published by Summersdale.

Does this really belong on a cheese blog? Let's just say, you don't want to know how much cream cheese and butter I used for the icing. Happily, the outcome was pure, delicious, nutty goodness and a great source of vitamin A. Let us eat carrot cake!

Holier than thou: Leerdammer vs. Maasdam

I don’t usually give much time to Dutch cheese. It’s nothing personal, I just get sidelined by all the seductive French fromage, not to mention stinky Swiss produce. This time, during my usual mosey down the cheese aisle, something bright yellow caught my eye. Not mustard, nor a canary or a daffodil. Leerdammer.

A lot of vowels, a few holes. Why not! It only seemed right to pick another Dutch number for this battle of the tastebuds. I might add that neither brand burnt a hole in the wallet. It also occurred to me I could eat more than usual to make up for all the extra air in each portion. That’s logic right there.

Leerdammer

Melted Leerdammer with avocado and quince jelly

Unlike last week’s funky cheeses, Leerdaamer is mild-smelling, smooth and has decent holiness. Maybe I imagined it, but I felt slightly blessed after eating it. The soft elastic texture and mild taste reminded me of Baby Bel. After some quick Googling, this isn’t surprising because Baby Bel’s parents—the Bel Group—also produce Leerdammer.

Melted, it was even better. Gooey and creamy, it went down a treat with my crispy tortilla (perhaps a tad too crispy due to our ultra-powerful grill), quince jelly and avocado. Well done! 4/5.

Maasdam

Not as deliciously creamy as Leerdammer, this traditional Dutch cheese is firmer and nuttier. Not that I’m opposed to nutty, far from it. Like Leerdammer, it is superior when melted. Although I must say it didn’t ooze with as much abandon. Not as fond of this one. 2/5

Melted Maasdam with carrot and courgette frittata

Overall, I clearly preferred Leerdammer. The two aren’t so dissimilar; and yet, it’s the small details that make a hole lot of difference.

Three smelly cheeses

It’s been a difficult time in my kitchen. Each time we opened the fridge door, a pungent odour instantly filled the room. As if we’d been hoarding a full bin bag in the fridge (we hadn’t). Most days, Stuart protested about the stench, but I remained hard-nosed about the situation, biding my time in order to seek some suitably smelly cheeses that I could compare and contrast. Happily, after more than a week of hoarding Epoisses in the fridge (which I don’t recommend, by the way) finally, I got around to finding some other stinky specimens.

Lynda from the Waitrose cheese counter was distinctly amused when I requested "your most stinky cheeses!” Sadly, there was no sign of the smelliest cheese in the world, nor even the smelliest in Britain. However, she did gallantly offer me two choices that she felt stung the nostrils (in a good way).

Tête de Moine

This is a Swiss cheese from the Jura region. Uncooked, it smells not unlike a charity shop, with a powerful musty aroma. It has a firm almost rubbery texture encircled by a pastel orange rind. I’ve since learnt it tastes fabulous when melted, similar to Raclette.

Tête de Moine with couscous and roasted veg, topped with balsamic vinegar

Arrigoni Taleggio

Softer and shinier than Tête de Moine, this Taleggio has a subtler scent. Square in shape, it is firm yet squidgy and retains a robustly sour flavour.

Berthaut’s Epoisses A.O.P.

Recently featured on the Great British Bake Off, Mel described Berthaut's Epoisses as “the essence of a thousand students’ socks.” It is by far the smelliest cheese I’ve encountered. On slicing, it oozes eagerly out of its orange rind as if desperate to prove that its stink is worse than its bite. I was surprised that actually, its flavour is indeed less fearsome than its aroma will have you believe. Salty and unashamedly gooey, the cheese’s rind is washed in Marc de Bourgogne brandy, which is detectable on tasting.

I tried all three of these stinkers with Mary Berry’s peach and apricot chutney, providing an inoffensive and sweet contrast, as well as Gail’s rye and poppy seed loaf, which I thoroughly recommend. Unlike blue cheese, which tastes stronger than it smells, these reeking cheeses have a deceptively subtle taste. You might want to, but don’t turn your nose up before trying some.