Cheesy pride

I ended up at a cheese (and wine) tasting at 09:00 one morning this week – the bizarre and hedonistic story of my life, for which I daily thank God.

And while I try terribly hard to avoid cheese – for shallow, weight-related reasons, rather than intelligent health concerns – I absolutely adore it. I choose cheese over dessert, chocolate or anything sweet every time.

Of course, sitting in my epicurean ivory tower, I am thinking of artisan cheeses, made in lyrical country towns by charming character-filled folk who know each cow or goat by name.

But the tasting was of Simonsberg cheeses. Nothing cutesy, lyrical or quaint about them; they’re part of Parmalat.

I was fully prepared to nibble on a wedge or two, utter the odd platitude and politely slip out the door. But the bestlaid plans….

The first two cheeses we tried were a six-month matured gouda – I could eat it every day – and a 12-month matured cheddar, which reminded me of my East End grandfather who believed cheddar should be as strong as possible, almost burn the roof of your mouth and be eaten in huge hunks with pickled onions and washed down with off-the-shelf lager. Beer, especially warm, not being my thing, I was more than delighted that we had a little well-chilled, off-dry De Grendel Rosé to help things along.

Both were truly lovely cheeses made even more delicious by the fact that they are readily available and affordable. In my grandad’s day, we used to have to go to Wellington Fruit Growers in the centre of town and buy third-grade cheddar – it was the only thing around that had any flavour at all.

I also discovered that, for some unfathomable reason, we South Africans consistently choose bright yellow hard and semi-hard cheeses over their undyed white (or straw-coloured) counterparts. Why, I can’t imagine – considering that the main ingredient in cheese is milk, which, as far as I know, is always white.

We tasted Brie and Camembert (known in the industry as white-rind cheeses) – absolutely lovely, mostly due to the fact that they were at optimum ripeness.

So here are a few things I didn’t know: the only real difference between Brie and Camembert is their shape (round or triangular), their size (big or small) and a variation in ripeness; otherwise they are made using the same milk and the same method. The other slither of useful information pertains directly to Simonsberg. Apparently it is the only white-rind cheese producer that doesn’t have a sell-by date, but rather a ‘best to eat’ date. The date on the back of the pack is an indication of when the flavour and texture are optimum and the cheese best scoffed. So if you’ve got a swanky dinner or just like your cheese to be at its oozing best, then wade through the cheeses at the supermarket and buy one with a date that’s closest to when you want to eat it.

Conversely, the blue-veined cheeses (which came next) must be consumed before the date on the pack, the usual ‘best before’ approach. We sampled the decadently creamy Simonzola – the SA answer to Gorgonzola and the Creamy Blue, a Danish-style well-matured wedge of deliciousness that just screams for a stuk of waatlemoen konfyt.

And the moral of the story? The SA dairy industry has come a long way, and it’s not just the burgeoning artisanal cheese guys but also the big players who are making meaningful inroads in the education of local palates. So to end on a cheesy note, thanks guys, perhaps Monty Python was right… Blessed are the cheese-makers.