Cheese

Over a delicious lunch (fresh warm baguette, creamy mozzarella, Parma ham and black pepper), Diesel and I had a rather heated debate about cheese. It all started with a rather harmless comment, and went a bit like this:

Diesel: ‘I think if I could only eat cheese from one country for the rest of my life, it would be Italy’

Me: ‘That is ridiculous. What about Roquefort??’

Diesel: ‘Italy has blue cheese’

Me: ‘Yes, but it’s not Roquefort’

Diesel: ‘No, but you could just leave some Gorgonzola in a cupboard for a few weeks’

Me: ‘You Sir, are an idiot’

Diesel is an idiot sometimes, but the question did get me thinking. If I could only ever eat cheese from one country for the rest of my life, which country would I pick? France seems the obvious option. It’s not that I eat Roquefort that regularly; it’s just that I can’t imagine never being able to eat it ever again. It is far and away my favourite cheese in the world. I like strong cheese, the more stinking and oozy the better, but nothing, absolutely nothing I have ever tried compares to the assault on the senses that is Roquefort. Eating it is a bit like being kicked in the face. It is so savoury and intense; it somehow makes your mouth feel bigger and tastes just ‘more’ than anything else ever does. However, having said this, if France was my choice, I would never be able to eat mozzarella again. I do enjoy mozzarella on pizza, but a good quality mozzarella is amazing on bruschetta with olives, ripe tomatoes, fragrant olive oil and fresh basil. Incidentally, Tesco 'Finest' mozzarella is one of the best shop bought mozzarellas available. I don’t like Tesco (there isn’t a Tesco on the whole of Guernsey. We’ve only got Waitrose darling), but it is the best I’ve ever eaten outside of 'Pizzeria Papagonies', which for my money is THE BEST Italian restaurant in London. It’s not swanky, it’s not expensive, and it’s not stylish (It’s in the middle of Finsbury Park for Christ’s sake). But, it does the best pizza money can buy, some of the best pasta, amazing gelato, perfect bruschetta, and a lovely owner who remembers you once you've been in a few times and will always find a table for you no matter how busy they are.

Mozerella aside, what about Gorgonzola? Dolchelatte? Parmesan! What about Greek Feta? Or Canadian cheddar? Or Indian paneer? And then there is of course, British cheese. As a nation we are not always respected for our culinary heritage, and I have to be honest, mild cheeses like Wensyledale and Lancashire do leave me cold. But our cheese is something of which we can be rightly proud. Especially the huge range of delicious cheddar we produce, and of course, everyone’s stinking Christmas favourite: Stilton. When I was a sixth form student at Kineton High school, there was a small deli/sandwich shop in the village (it’s changed hands since). The ‘deli sandwich’ as it became known remains firmly stuck in my memory. Although we all had our own favourite filling, they were always made fresh in front of you by a lovely old chap who cut the ham to order and sliced massive wedges of whatever cheese you wanted. He wasn’t shy with the mayonnaise either (that sounds gross. It wasn’t meant to). My personal favourite, and one I have been trying unsuccessfully to re-create ever since, was the following: smoked ham, mature cheddar, lettuce , thinly sliced cucumber and mayonnaise on a soft while roll. I ate that sandwich pretty much every day for two years and probably still would if I could. If I gave up English cheese, my quest to re-create this sandwich would be over. I just don’t think that is a life I would want to live.