Cheddar

It would seem the British have always been blessed with good cheese. That's not to say the rest of Europe aren't catered for in the cheese department - France, Norway, Denmark, Sweden and Germany all have massively distinctive varieties of cheese. Then there's the Dutch varieties, which I used to turn my nose up at, only having experienced what was labelled 'edam' and 'gouda', and which came complete with a mad woman with a flag and a smile that would shame a shark, which somehow projected beyond the waxy coating to illuminate the surroundings with a ghastly, Netherlandish air. I rightly put those words ('edam' and 'gouda', should you forget) between apostrophes for a reason: having tasted something I bought from the supermarket called 'Old Dutch Master' (note respectful apostrophes with capitalisation contained within). I am in a state of near ecstasy over this particular variety of Dutch cheese and can only assume there is better to follow. I conclude that an aged edam is at least as exciting as an aged Cheddar or a toughened-up Lancashire. Emmental, Brie and Rauchkäse: you have nothing to fear from this. Europe is safe, and America should quake.

Today's lament is for American cheese. What went wrong? We browse your supermarket aisles, America, and we find 'sharp cheddar'. Worse still, upon further investigation, 'Vermont cheddar' appears, or 'Colby', 'Longhorn' or 'New York Style'. It's okay - we too have these abominations that do not deserve to be called cheese. They're clearly labelled 'cheezstrings', 'Dairylea' or 'SUPERMARKET OWN BRAND DO NOT TOUCH'. No-one in their right mind dares to touch these things. It would appear, watching Jeremy Kyle, that we make allowances for those with children in tow, and that brings up a different world, with the accompanying irony of the common intimations of 'bringing up'.

Let us clear our palate. Cheddar in the UK isn't always capitalised. In fact, anyone in the UK, or indeed the world, can make cheddar by following the appropriate recipe, which usually involves kneading the curd with salt, cutting and allowing the whey to drain off, then repeating until you have something firm enough to age. Anything which gets to such a stage is usually marketed in the UK as cheddar, although I privately think of it as a 'cheddar-style cheese', which works pretty well for me, anyway. Certainly, any cafeteria or restaurant I've been to which claims to offer a cheddar-based product has always provided something I have taken or mistaken for cheddar. I dread to think what would happen in the US, but here in the UK it seems easy provide something similar to cheddar. (America, it's probably obvious by now that I hate your cheeses. Even Monterey Jack. Sorry.)

For real Cheddar, with the capital and the people who taste it and fashionably faint, by which I mean they actually contact brow with hand and lapse backwards, you have to visit Cheddar country, in the same way that anyone wishing to procure real Champagne would have to visit… well, the nearest supermarket. But relax… your supermarket has reached out to Champagne country for your posh wine, has it not? Well, it's done the same for your Cheddar. Nearly.

Cheddar has no protected designation of origin, and in fact it's only Stilton which has achieved any sort of protected designation of origin in the UK, which means that any bugger with a bit of congealed milk can call it cheddar, and even capitalise it if they wish. The European Union, bless their hearts, are a bit more stringent and will only allow you to label something as 'West Country Farmhouse Cheddar' if it's made in a traditional manner with local ingredients in either Somerset, Dorset, Devon or Cornwall. Join with me and 'whoopee', and then taste many of the bland, pointless, soul-destroyingly tasteless cheddars you can buy across Europe, to say nothing of the massive range available to the UK anti-gourmand.

Here in the UK, I have come to a solution, and that is if you can't find something labelled 'West Country' then avoid anything that says 'mild', 'everyday' or 'mature'. Go for 'extra-mature', and don't be fooled by things like 'young but mature', 'milky and full of taste' or 'magic and with a hint of plastic!'. Hold out for your rights like Jackson Browne, and all will be well. Don't be tempted by Philadelphia, Quark or <shudder> Supermarket Own Brand Slightly Yellow Cheddar. Similarly, don't be swayed by waxy-paper wrappers, sheeny-silk-pink plastic wrappers, rustic-looking paper-that's-actually-plastic trays. Do you really think the best product commands the best package? Use your judgement. Ask to taste. Let them prove it to you… make them prove it to you.

Cheddar… mmm. If you try.

Jarlsberg

Jarlsberg cheese, and let's all pronounce it with a 'y' instead of a 'j' right from the word go ('Yarlsberg, darling?' - 'Yes please, dear...'), is a Norwegian cheese that is absolutely delicious and also has the benefit of looking exactly like cheese is supposed to look in cartoons.

It's mild, but full of flavour. It has big holes in it, and with only a little coaxing you can get a mouse to peek out through one while you take photos and subsequently post them on flickr for fun and profit. It's slightly rubbery, with a yellow, waxy rind to it that you don't eat. (You do nibble as much cheese as possible off the rind before throwing it in the bin, but that's uncultured so make sure you treat it as a chef's prerogative and only do it in the privacy of your own kitchen. It's like those tinned confit of duck legs you can buy in France - if there's an extra one when you open it, keep your mouth shut and pop it in the fridge for breakfast tomorrow...)

Other words that describe Jarlsberg (Yarlsberg, remember!) are nutty, mellow and buttery. I simply use 'delicious'. It melts nicely without spewing out masses of unpalatable grease, works superbly as little cubes in cheese scones (you know, rather than size-zero-model-thin grated shavings which simply get lost in amongst all the flour...), or as an ingredient for cheese straws, sauces and even in souffles. True, it's not as strong as a ripe Gruyere or a nicely mature cheddar, but that's not always a bad thing - even the most splendid Stilton can be a little too much at times, no matter how much Port wine you have to hand. Jarlsberg has nothing, believe me, in common with 'American Cheese' or Kraft Singles. Dairylea Lunchables (an abomination) can go fish. 

Monterey Jack pales in comparison. Even the veritable Port Salut, my seventh favourite cheese, has nothing on Jarlsberg. (Although it must be noted that Jarlsberg is only my sixth favourite cheese.)

I laud Anders Larsen Bakke, who died in 1899 but between his birth year of 1815 and that lamentable day managed to produce the (sixth) finest cheese I've ever tasted. Astoundingly, they stopped making the stuff in the nineteen hundreds, goodness knows why, and only caught up with the scene again in 1950. Mad.

Wikipedia tells me, and I have no idea how it knows, that one ton of Jarlsberg cheese is eaten every hour. It doesn't say by whom, and I don't like to ask.

Cheese Straws

Cheese straws are long pastry fingers with, as you might have guessed, added cheese. A sort of long, cheesy biscuit, if you will. They sit nicely alongside sausage rolls, chunks of cheddar and pineapple on cocktail sticks and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off as quintessential British party food. A glass of crisp white wine, a plate of cheese straws and a doily, and you're away...
Ingredients
100g (3.5 oz) butter
100g (3.5 oz) plain flour
150g (5.25 oz) deliciously tasty cheese (go for a mature, strong flavour)
Salt and pepper to season
1 egg yolk
Method
Sieve the flour and grate the cheese. Cut or rub the fat into the flour, just as if you were making pastry, and add the grated cheese. Mix in a sprinkle of salt and a grind or two of pepper. It's important to use a good, tasty cheese here - after all, if you're going to use butter to make something pastry-based, you might as well splash out on the cheese as well. If you're stuck with supermarket brands then a good pinch of cayenne pepper can help add to the bite.
Use the egg yolk and a couple of tablespoons of water to bind the mixture together into a ball. Be careful here - it really is just like very cheesy pastry, so if you go wild and add too much water you'll end up with tough cheese straws. You want it to just hold together; if you can get it to do this with just the egg yolk then so much the better.
Flour a work surface and roll the dough out to about 5mm (1/8th of an inch) thick, gently pressing it into a square, if you can. Then simply cut it into strips about 1cm wide. You could also do them a little wider, if you want chunky cheese straws. Pop them on a baking tray, possibly lined with some non-stick baking paper, leaving a small gap between each straw.
Nearly there now... pop them in a 220°C oven (that's about 425°F) for about seven minutes. You could put them in a lower oven for longer, of course, but whatever you're doing, it's wise to check these after about six minutes. They're supposed to be a beautiful pale golden brown, you see, not black...
This basics of this recipe come from a wonderful book I found under the stairs called 'Bestway Cookery Gift Book', a treasure trove of pre-war cookery. My favourite recipe is for boiled calf's head with parsley and brain sauce, although I've never dared try to make it. Mmm!

Amuse Bouche

Amuse Bouche, on occasion known as amuse gueule, are delicious little delicacies served in many good quality restaurants to tantalise and whet our palates in anticipation of the meal to come. Indeed, the very phrase amuse bouche translates as mouth amusement, a little treat to excite the tastebuds; a taste experience crammed into just one mouthful. Once a relatively unknown feature of French culinary tradition, amuse bouche have now become increasingly common, the modern equivalent of the once-popular hors d'oeuvres.

Sometimes an espresso cup of soup, a single scoop of savoury sorbet, a mere spoonful of dressed salad (perhaps actually served on a spoon) or a single, bite-sized tart, the attraction of the amuse bouche has to be its sheer decadence. Rarely, at home, would one devote the time to produce food in such tiny servings, all for a half-minute of heaven before the main course. Eating out, however, and the situation sees a sharp change: if someone else is prepared to stand around and do it for you, and serve it cooked to perfection at just the right time, a bite of Blue Cheese Foam with Port Wine Reduction seems like just the thing to pass the time before the starters arrive.

However, one shouldn't give the impression that the amuse bouche has to be complicated. Rick Tramonto's book Amuse-Bouche: Little Bites That Delight Before The Meal Begins features page after page of these miniature treats, many of which incorporate no more than four or five ingredients. The simplicity of Creamy Corn Grits with Butternut Squash and Sweetcorn sits happily alongside Charred Lamb With Truffled Vinaigrette and Oven-dried Tomatoes, both just begging you to put in the time and effort.

For an even simpler start, straighten shrimp on bamboo skewers; two per person is adequate. Marinade in soy sauce and ginger for at least half an hour. Remove from the marinade, dip into sesame seeds and briefly grill just prior to serving. Provide a small bowl of chilli dipping sauce.
Your mouth, and any dinner guests, will thank you for it...