Do Androids Dream of Eclectic Cheese?

In light of recent, shall we say, “disappointments” in the blue cheese arena*, I have hunted down a blue that I’m happy to say is multo-delish.

Yes, I’ve discovered the Simon Johnson store (with its gourmet cheese room) is a short walk from my work. Yes, I often leave work with the kind of hunger-crazies that cause me to make rash decisions. And yes, when I’m in a cheese room, I experience a kind of mild excitement-stroke that results in leaving with much cheese.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Just like on my previous trip to Si-Jo’s, I asked the lovely cheese attendant to offer advice on a blue, and she recommended the Bleu de Lacqueuille.

It’s delightful, it’s delicious, it’s de-lovely. And seriously, the makers must have had a field day buying vowels. 

Ms. Si-Jo (I know, I really should have made a note of her name) conceded the cheese was a little salty on the palate, but that it did not have the cloying aftertastes of many blues, thus making it perfect for pre-dinner nibbling.

Or pre-dinner “horfing down the gullet like a cheese-starved albatross” – as was the case with me. But don’t worry, I totes savoured it!

The thing I loved most about this cheese was the fact that it not only offered a complexity of flavour but also, within the actual slice taken from the wheel, there were different notes in different sections.

Creamy in parts, with sharp bites along the tantalising fault-lines of mould, this cheese reached its apogee along the crusty edges. It was as though I’d travelled forward in time, and the cheese had aged a few years into something one might find hidden in the darkened cloisters of a French monastery.

And so, in this delightful time-travelled induced coma of mine, I urge you try Bleu de Lacqueuille. From my nightmarishly dystopic vision of the future, I may even send someone back to tell you to try it, and you, like the John Connor that you are, will take heed lest you melt into a molten pool of cheese.

At least that’s what I think that movie was about. I don’t know – I’m too busy blissing out on Bleu.

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* In the vein of the post-apocalyptic mood I seem to have conjured in my writing, I like to think that the Blue Cheese Arena is a cross between Rollerball, Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome, and Pride and Prejudice – where cheese lovers fight it out in a death cage to see who most recently acquired a wheel of delightful Stilton from Netherfield.

Some cheeses are just more equal than others...

You know, it has become apparent that I might be a little too effusive in my praise of cheese. 

Sure, I love it just a whole bunch (almost enough to make me get all Marge “Fargo” Gunderson in my turn of phrase) but quite frankly, I think of it as a foodstuff deserving in said praise.

Imagine my surprise then, when I discovered a cheese that was, as the French say, très mal. Well, perhaps not very bad, but still a disappointing manifestation of $6.30 that was poorly invested.

King Island Ash Blue. There, I said it. I love blue. I love ash. In fact, when I saw the two together, I was concerned that they would create some sort of singularity of awesome that would lead to a collapse in the very fabric of time. Or at least give me some GRADE A CHEESE DREAMS!

Not the case. I was underwhelmed to say the least. It was blue in the same way that Adam Sandler is a comedian. Technically true, but an insult to the definition. (Sure, he used to be great. But then came ‘Little Nicky’ people). It was blue enough to frighten off blue-haters, but seriously lacking in punch. It was creamy-ish, without having any luxuriousness of flavour or texture. And the ash seemed like a contrived “isn’t this so provincial?” afterthought.

This pains me to say. It’s a perfectly passable cheese, perhaps even a great gateway blue for newcomers. But it lacks that excellence that I’ve come to demand as a barely-read blogger with little-to-no qualifications.

But that’s all water under the brie.

It did lead me to think: maybe all cheeses are not created equal? Maybe some are so amazing you want to start a blog about them (hells YES I did!) and some are not only underwhelming, but they make you want to yell, "This thing just plain sucks out loud!"

After discovering that some cheeses are less than mind-bending, I decided I needed to discover them all. I must talk to you, dear readers, and find out your loves and loathes in the cheese world.

Send me your thoughts cheese fans. What do you dig and what do you despise? I’m sure I’ll have time to read comments from both my blog readers!

Women who stare at goats…cheese.

You know that experience when you went to the first school dance, and you were so freakin’ excited you didn’t know what to do with yourself?

You put on your favourite jelly sandals, glitter lip balm and blue hair mascara, and that moment you walked into the hall and caught sight of all those boys from the boys’ school, you were like “this is so exciting and scary I think I’m going to scratch my face off!”

And you did. Just a little.

I had that experience today, 15 years after the fact, when I entered the Simon Johnson fine foods store in Sydney’s fancy-pants waterside suburb of Pyrmont.

Seriously. I don’t use the phrase amazeballs very often (oh wow I do) but this store was so sexy I could have died.

Everything featured matching labels, there was a significant collection of olives and, my dear cheeselovers, a fromagerie!

Some cheeses at Simon Johnson's fromagerie.

When you walk into the room, the aroma is face-scratchingly amazing. I could smell a thousand cheeses all at once, vying for my attention like so many awkward and toe-shuffling fifth grade boys.

But unlike the boys, these cheeses didn’t avoid my gaze, leaving me paired with the shifty one up the back in some form of nightmarish dancing competition while he fist-pumped the air to the strains of the Macarena.

Because to have done so, my friends, would have been seriously un-amazeballs.

I gawked and poked, and I chatted to the delightful young attendant who, with her lovely hair and coral lipstick, was the perfect chaperone for my experience.

As has been my wont of late, I was eyeing off the goats cheeses. After a little chat with my chaperone cheese merchant (“I like my goats to punch me in the face with flavour”) I chose the Tomme de Chevre Glac Affinee.

A-maze-balls.

Being a chevre lovre I didn’t know what to expect. But the Tomme de Chevre was so smooth and rich (with that goaty punch that I so love). It was surprisingly soft and creamy for a cheese that appeared to be so firm, and its dry and crumbly rind offered a sharper contrast to the subtle flavour within.

It was almost as if we chose each other, Tomme and I. Across the room we just…connected, and before long we were doing our own gustatory slow dance.

Yeah. We’re going steady. 

Can I Get a Gru-Yeah!

Every so often, even the most hardened cheese lover comes across a dairy delight that they haven’t tasted. You’ve tried your fair share of bries and camemberts, you’ve dabbled in aged cheddars and blues, you’ve gone abroad with feta and haloumi, and you had that ill-fated foray into plastic cheese in year two (even back then, you somehow knew that only a cretin would could enjoy a frugally-portioned slice of horror that had been sealed in its own plastic sarcophagus, sans refrigeration).

Sure you’ve done all these things. And yet, some of the most basic cheescapades have alluded you.

Enter Gruyère. The overlooked and underloved Swiss cousin that’s all like, “Yo guys! I came to the party! I brought this delightful dessert pie.” It’s time we took a moment to do the gru…

Background bio:

• A hard cow’s milk cheese, cooked to perfection.
• You down with AOC? Yeah you know me! This fella has Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée all over it, meaning that only cheeses made in Switzerland are true Grues.
• It’s similar to the French Comté or Beaufort cheese. Of course.

Serving suggestion (straw not recommended, thick rind TOTALLY RECOMMENDED!)

I’m tasting the South Cape Gruyère today, the antipodean relative of the real deal, and I must say it’s just lovely. Like any good—albeit young—Gruyère, it has a light and nutty flavour that lingers sweetly on the palate. Although it’s a little pungent on the nose, it’s incredibly smooth and moreish (so what if I ate most of the cheese before I even sat down to write about it?) and goes wonderfully with a little fruit.

Sure it’s not a true Gruyère, but could you really say your sparkling wine is from Champagne or your mustard is from Dijon? You could? Oh. Sorry. This is awkward.

Anyway, after tasting a few slices, I feel a little embarrassed. How could I let such a great staple of the cheese world go unnoticed for so many years? Well, this shall go on no longer. It’s official – Gruyère and me are meant to be!