Down St Clements and onto St Agur

Seven years ago, I lived for the year in Oxford. A wonderful city full of dreaming spires, ever-pervading mists and lovely cobbled streets.

I noticed all these things because they were an obvious part of the town, but also because they were (oh-so-importantly) free. One didn’t need any money to walk through the lanes and soak up the serenity. Which was good, because I was poor. £1.60-an-hour poor. “Squirreling away butter portions and stale bread (not a joke), and even finding floor-moneys for a cab ride home one shameful night” poor.

We mended our own clothes (which we’d bought off the tuppence sale rack at Topshop). We made our own risotto out of rice and tomato soup. The height of culinary prowess at the boarding school in which we worked was a Yorkshire pudding that consisted of boiled grey sausages whimpering in a bain-marie of pancake batter.

But our favourite foodie event was the staff welcome-lunch every trimester. Oh it was a dream! We got salads (without mayonnaise). We got dried fruit. And. we. got. cheese.

I approached the blue cheese with caution. I had always hated it back in Australia, but that little wedge of rippled creamy-bluey wonder represented luxury, affluence and everything I couldn’t eat during those cold and destitute days in the dark of winter.

So I ate. And with every bite I created some form of neo-Pavlovian response that associated blue cheese with everything that was right in the world.

Before long, I was a regular visitor at The Oxford Cheese Company. I would walk down St Clements Street, past the University Church of St Mary the Virgin and into the covered market off High Street to sample the offerings. My reputation as a cheese-fan grew so strong that one of the Argentinean girls working at the school pulled me aside one day and said, “Doesn’t that cheese make you uh, sometimes, not be able to go to the bathroom?”

¿Que?

Internal workings aside… 

In my journey to the centre of blue, I was pulled aside one day and introduced to something very special: St Agur.

With a tiny sliver offered clandestinely before supper, I was blown away. It began a true love of cheese that has grown and grown. Despite my lack of funds, I was still able to enjoy the foods I really loved – I watched my pennies and saved up for the important things.

When I sit down with my St Agur tonight, I’m reminded of those early days. The delicate and creamy flavour has that dusty bite that I grew to relish, and even the name itself brings back memories of days spent with six lovely young women in the world’s most beautiful city.

Some cheeses deserve long descriptions detailing tasting notes and subtle nuances of flavour. And some cheeses just deserve a good trip down memory lane.

Blue Monday

It’s only early in our journey, but it’s time we got the important stuff done. There’s no avoiding it. Any good cheese blog (she says referring to an imagined and fictionalised collective) must do it at some point or another.

It’s Blue Monday.

Now I don’t want to frighten off those who are only finding their feet in the fromage ménage, but a good blue is the staple of any cheese lover’s repertoire. If you’re new to this, I understand you may want to watch from the sidelines (please remove your sandshoes), but I will eventually win you over.

Introducing Roaring Forties Blue, made by the renowned folks at the King Island Dairy. Wrapped in its waxy little shell, this cheese is a very non-offensive and creamy blue. Less pungent than varietal offerings like Stilton and Roquefort, this rindless number has darling lines of mould that give it a sharp quality, but it still maintains a smooth flavour. Sure it’s the roaring forties, but any roaring is neatly moderated by all that swell forties charm – think polite on the nose, decorous on the tongue, and “ain’t you just the neatest doll” of an aftertaste.

Add it to a plain water cracker to get the most out of its flavour. Match it with some sweet dried fruit to perfectly complement the flavour. Or do as I do now and enjoy it with a glass of red. Seriously, blue cheese and red wine get all up in my olfactory and gustatory grill.

Red wine, white crackers, blue cheese – my Tricolore of Monday night pleasure…

Cheese Party!

There’s something thrilling and oh-so-decadent about receiving an invite in the (facebook)mail that summons you to attend a party devoted entirely to cheese. Sure you’ll get to see your friends and loved ones, and tipple some lovely wines in the process, but the promise of multiple cheese varieties spread out for your consumption is almost too much! Do you offer to bring a plate to show off your knowledge of the genre? Do you arrive early to sample the offerings before anyone has mixed up the cheese knives? (Seriously, keep that gear sorted dude). Or, do you insist that you will be taking your cheese in trough-form only, and would you be so kind to fashion me some form of rudimentary bib?

The cheese party is a curious thing. In my days as a university student, I was invited to a base “Coon & Goon” evening, where we sampled naught but packaged Coon brand cheese, and drank naught but cheap cask wine (“Hey Claire! We found a type of goon that’s cheaper by the litre than MILK”). Unimpressed.

Even so, everyone claims that their cheese night will be the shit, but what does it take to make the grade?

Some tips:

1. Variety is the spice of knife
I want to see blue, creamy, crumbly, smoked, vintage, foreign, local, cow’s, sheep’s, goat’s, yak’s…etc. You say you got cheese? Bring it!

2. Chill out bro
Seriously? You thought it wise to begin serving two hours before the start time in some sort of fit of “host syndrome” panic? No, dear. Keep it chilled in the fridge ’til it’s go-time and your guests will thank you.

3. Crackers
No joke in the title here. I’m for serious. Make the crackers thin and simple, and they won’t overpower the flavours of your cheese.

4. Accoutrements? Why I thought you’d never ask!
Olives, fruit, muscatels, cheese based snacks and perhaps a dessert pie to finish the evening – all these things will balance your cheese perfectly.

5. All you do is wine, wine, wine!
No surprises here. If you want to get the conversation flowing and to make the evening good fun, then booze me up rummy! Nothing says awkward like someone refusing your offer of wine, soft drinks and tap water because they’re not enough of a hard nut. Suckle at the teat of life my friend!

Been to a cheese nights with that kind of quintile-focussed success? I know I have! Amiright Jessica?!