September 23, 2007
I hope that in a few years when I am old and have to stop eating cheese that I find something I like just as much to replace it. That's not going to be easy.
I grew up in a household of Colby cheddar, the cheese calendar punctuated by the occasional appearance of yummy smelly Liederkranz. As an adult I toyed with Limberger (favorite catapult projectile of the Little Rascals), and came to favor goat cheese during my restaurant years. When I was in the interview process for the forklift job, I remember thinking that if I got the job I would always be able to have a log of goat cheese in the fridge. Still love cheese that much. On crackers. On spaghetti. Studding my chili in a configuration that mrguy calls "Cheese Stonehenge".
Yesterday, when my travels to the not-open-on-Saturday typewriter repair place took me past the cheese store, I stopped in. Last time I went there I struck out with a cheese that seemed to be on its last legs: smelly, grainy, bitter Danish somethingorother. I hate to waste cheese, but I let it fester and then threw it away. Despite my error last time, I took my chances on a runny round of La Tur. It sat in a cupcake paper inside a plastic cup that was further shrouded in saran. It looked dangerous.
Last night I opened it up and dug in. When I cut into the rind, the outsides disintegrated into rivers of smelly cream. The aroma filled the kitchen. I put it on some fancy crackers and mrguy said "You first". Oh my gosh it was good. Smelly but goaty, with runny outsides, cake-like insides (a texture that's not to be believed). I guess you're not supposed to accompany it with homebrew, but boy that was tasty.
This morning I woke up and all I could think of was that cheese. It wasn't so photogenic after I poked at it and carved it, so I offer a picture of the label.