Adventures in Bruges

I’d been meaning to hop over to Bruges (not literally) for some time. Finally, spurred into action by a colleague handing out some delectable Belgian chocolates, I decided that I too, should visit the place famous for cobbled streets, chocolate and Irish hit men.

We sampled many a beer, dutifully climbed the tiny, windy staircase of the Belfry of Bruges, took a charming canal tour and eagerly explored the chocolate museum—Choco-Story. I particularly enjoyed the latter’s assortment of Playmobil displays scattered throughout the exhibition.

Belgian beer

Belfry of Bruges

Three cows in a Playmobil field at Choco-Story

And, of course, there was cheese. I tried an Italian salad with asparagus, sundried tomatoes and Parmesan at chic lunch boutique De Belegde Boterham. Sadly, all ingredients except for the lettuce were scarce, and it could have really done with more crunch. On the plus side, the bread was heavenly—fresh, soft brown slices with sunflower seeds, which mopped up the dressing nicely.

Italian salad

So, what was the cheese highlight of the weekend?

After wandering Bruges’ chilly January streets in search of dinner on our final night, we happily found Est Wijnbar. Aside from their extensive wine selection, they serve tapas and, more importantly, raclette!

Raclette is both the name of the dish and a type of Swiss cheese. Literally meaning to scrape (racler), you heat the cheese and watch it slowly softening, ready to be scooped swiftly onto carbs and greedily devoured.

Raclette

Confession: I had never eaten raclette before, and predicted that this would be one of the most positive (cheese) experiences of my life. Several glasses of Californian white wine later, my prediction was accurate; I was full and very very happy. This wasn’t just due to the wine.

Raclette and accompaniments

Although strong, the raclette flavour is not overpowering, and once spread onto bread slices and sprinkled with a little pepper, it’s incredibly addictive. Along with generous helpings of cured meat, pickles and bread, we guzzled almost all we were given.

The end of the affair

Raclette is a perfect way to warm body and soul on a cold winter night. My advice to you is, whenever possible, order this magnificent Swiss dish; you won’t raclette it.

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.

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

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.