Life is great; cheese makes it Feta

Feta is like a soggy version of snow. Like mozzarella, it has a moist (sorry), soft texture, and unlike mozzarella it is exceedingly salty. Used in moderation, it adds a wonderful tang to otherwise inoffensive dishes.

Feta

I’ve mentioned Feta briefly in a previous post, which mainly covered my adoration of the aubergine. Since then, I’ve attempted some other Feta-related feasts, and I thought it only right that I share them with you.

First up, a simple snack: Feta on toast with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. This works because the sweet, crunchy pepper perfectly balances the salty, crumbly Feta—a glorious union of contrasting textures and flavours.

Feta, red pepper and balsamic vinegar on toast

And then there was the oh-so-simple pasta dish, adapted from Good Housekeeping’s recipe. This happened after I took pity on some Feta sitting forlornly in the fridge, and decided to roast it for dinner. After a short blast in the oven, the hot, sweet, juicy cherry tomatoes proved a delicious accompaniment to the cheese; I didn’t so much eat as hoover this meal.

Roast tomato pasta with Feta

Did you know that Feta has ancient origins and can only be produced in Greece, yet its name is actually borrowed from an Italian word meaning slice? Watch this video for 23 other fascinating cheese name snippets. 

The title of this post is my own twist on a quote from a cheese murder mystery author—eat your heart out, Broadchurch! With titles like As Gouda as Dead, Clobbered by Camembert and The Long Quiche Goodbye, author Daryl Wood Gerber has deliciously cornered the market in cheese-related crime. I'm with her alter ego Avery Aames: Cheese certainly does make life Feta.

Taleggio, Feta and the mad apple

I’m not sure exactly when my love for aubergines (or eggplants) began. It was most likely years ago during holidays in the Middle East, where aubergine dishes like baba ghanoush are as prevalent as sunburn (I speak for myself). Unlike my skin though, cooked aubergines result in sublime deliciousness.

The eggplant didn’t enchant everyone when it first burst onto the European scene in the mid-16th century. Related to the attractive but deadly nightshade family, including poisonous Jimson Weed and Belladonna, first impressions of the aubergine were fearful; thought to induce insanity, they were nicknamed mad apples.

Luckily, prejudice against aubergines slowly disappeared. And at some point, cheese got involved, which is where the magic really starts. To prove this, I followed a reliable recipe for Aubergine Parmigiana, which combines grated Taleggio and Parmesan with a tomato, pepper sauce and, of course, several aubergines. I recommend making/eating this dish if you seek intense feelings of elation and joy.

The makings of Aubergine Parmigiana

Aubergine Parmigiana

What a party in the mouth: Salty, slightly sweet sauce, cheese melted to perfection, fleshy aubergine and peppers, yum yum yum! Sweet, rich fig and red wine sourdough bread made a perfect accompaniment, serving as a sort of doughy spoon for the Parmigiana. Stuart’s verdict was “this is pretty good.” Uhhhm, understatement!

After this initial aubergine success, I made Ottolenghi’s roasted aubergine with fried onion and chopped lemon from his superb Jerusalem cookbook. Can you tell I’m fond of Middle Eastern cuisine? I served this for lunch as a side dish, and although I burnt the onion, my guests assured me the aubergines were tangy and tasty, offset by slightly melted chunks of salty Feta.

Roasted aubergine with fried onion and chopped lemon

I’ll continue to indulge my aubergine and cheese infatuation, and I urge you to try it; you’d be mad not to enjoy this perfect pairing.