I was watching a re-run of a cheese episode of Nigel Slater’s Real Food last night where he described ricotta as being the new black. That was in 1998. If I had to answer that question now, I’d say goat’s is the big cheese and that since 1998, blue veined cheeses have had their moments of glory, marscapone even, surpassed of course, by buffalo mozzarella, and Parmigiano Reggiano, Grana Padano or Percorino Romano. Or so it seems.
I adore cheese. A work colleague of my husband’s recent returned from Paris carting three rounds of creamy white cheese, one very smelly, so I have been in heaven all Easter. Forget a chocolate and spicy bun binge. I have been gorging on cheese on crackers, cheese on seed scones, cheese on home baked poppy seed bread, cheese off the back of a knife… I’ve been sneakily breaking off little corners and savoring the decadent softness almost every time I’ve been in the fridge for anything, or just passing by the fridge. Thankfully, I am back in the daily grind and that means I will have to restrict my cheese habit to evenings only. I enforced the muesli-for-breakfast rule this morning and decreed the cheese will have to wait.
Now what shall I do with a small round of camembert? Contemplating making Camembert and Swedish Lingonberry pastries, using phyllo to make triangles or puff pastry, I remind myself I need to think of the waistline, and option B is probably a slightly wiser option! I like the idea of rubbing the top with garlic, pricking the surface, pouring over white wine, and baking it in its box in the oven; then dipping chunks of crusty bread or fingers of garlicky ciabbata or wedges of apple and pear into the rich gooey moltenness.