Stilton and other blue cheeses

Though I'm a blue cheese addict, I can quite see why some people are totally put off by the stuff . A ripe head of Stilton, crust and all, is a positively medieval looking thing. Running a mile almost seems like the more sane reaction.

 

Then there's the smell, which is often said to be "footish". And so it is, for a good reason: the very same types of bacteria that are introduced to blue cheeses - brevibacterium, for example - are also responsible for the perfume of a smelly human foot. Strange, somehow, that for many of us this odour is a delight, holding as it does the promise of the remarkably intense and almost indescribable combination of salt, sweet, creamy, sharp, and - in the best blues - the savoury depth of umami.

There's a sort of mystique attached to the process of making these cheeses, from the creation of the moulds to the passage from unripe to practically walking off the plate, and this mystique is much bound up with origins. The blue's story most quoted - in differing versions - is that of Roquefort. The romanticised legend of its beginnings involves a shepherd who forgets his lunch of fresh sheep's cheese in a cave. In some stories he stops lunch in order to run after his sheep, in others he discards the meal to run after a comely mountain wench.

Some good time later he finds the cheese again, somewhat dodgier in appearance than when he left. Being jolly hungry (and, one can't help thinking, slightly daft) he scoffs it anyway, and decides it's pretty darn good. To this day, the cheese is still matured in the caves of Mount Colambou near the village of Roquefort-Sur-Soulzon, if it is to be called Roquefort.

Every nation proclaims their blue to be the king of blues: the Italians will tell you that Gorgonzola is the ultimate blue, the French ditto for Roquefort. When it comes to a Port companion, though, British Stilton is usually seen as the fi rst choice. Stilton has a surprisingly shorter history than its chief rivals: Roquefort and Gorgonzola, for example, are believed to hail, respectively, from 1070AD and 879AD. Stilton, in comparison, is a spring chicken of a cheese, with its origins somewhere in the 18th century, when a certain Cooper  ornhill pioneered its production, fi rst distributing it from his home village of Stilton. For a cheese to go by the name of Stilton it may only be produced within three particular counties in England - Derbyshire, Leicestershire and Nottinghamshire - and all Stilton worldwide hails from just a handful of dairies in these parts. (Curiously, it may not be produced in the village of Stilton.) Stilton has the status of Protected Designation of Origin conferred by the EU.

MOULDY MAGNIFICENCE

As with all blue veined cheeses, Stilton is created by introducing a saprotrophic fungus (a family of fungi which feed on dead organic matter), in this case, penicillium cultures, more specifi cally penicillium roqueforti. The penicillium culture - nowadays laboratory created, as is the case with much rennet (the substance used for curdling milk into cheese) - is added from the start.

The cheese is aged from raw curd to finished product for about nine weeks, though at this point it's still very sharp. Another six weeks or more will allow the cheese to become its best buttery self. As with other blue veined cheese, it may not be pressed: air is important in allowing the moulds to thrive. Stainless steel needles - not copper, as some fear - run through the cheese during maturation, add the extra air needed to get the veins flourishing, radiating from the centre.

Not unreasonably perhaps, some people are concerned about the eating of moulds. While there are certainly many moulds which are highly toxic to humans (such as the cancer-related mould found on peanuts), penicillium roqueforti is absolutely safe. Roquefort, which is made from unpasteurised ewe milk, is sometimes viewed as more risky than the pasteurised cows' milk Stilton and Gorgonzola, though this is really only an issue in pregnancy. There are also theories that moulded cheeses seem to increase candida albicans.

On the safety front, a commonly asked question is how to tell if your blue cheese is "off", seeing as mouldiness would seem to be the thin end of the spoiled-food wedge. Pundits say there are definite things to look for: the white parts turning a more yellowy-khaki colour, the veins becoming greener, the rind being slimy and an ammonia smell - quite different to blue cheese smelliness. These symptoms indicate that your blue has had its day.

Naked or perfectly paired?

Though great blues - well structured and well ripened - can be quite wonderful "naked", when combined with other flavours they become truly mind-blowing. Perhaps more so than any other cheese type, their intensity and complexity is really best when jammed up against a countering flavour. Whatever you do, the big rule is never to serve blue cheese chilled; it really wipes out their character.

When blues are served uncooked, fruit can't be beaten; it brings out the natural sweetness in the cheese, and mellows the salty and sharp aspects perfectly. With Stilton, pears, apples and walnuts are failsafe British accompaniments, but the French accompaniments of acacia honey and strawberries with blue cheese is as great with Stilton as with Roquefort.

The fact that there's air within the cheese for the purpose of nurturing the blue veins is what makes Ported Stilton work: extra holes - and sometimes a wee moat - are created to assist copious amounts of Port becoming absorbed into the full head of cheese before serving, usually over a period of some days. A quicker, if more rough and ready method, is to simply mash the Stilton up with the Port. This is heavenly on a slice of crisp apple or even with melba toast.

With the creamy mild blue Dolcelatte, the classic fresh figs partnership really can't be bettered. For an extra dazzling, almost indecently delicious treat, try this combo with the cheese slightly melted over the figs, either under a grill or with a blowtorch. The melty thing is also brilliant with guavas (really!), as guavas share that odd almost tropical fecund sweetness with figs.

Fruit first poached in Port, and served warm over most good blues is a perfect and elegant way to end a meal, perfect for those who don't go for straight sweet puddings. On the savoury front - and yes, I know it seems slightly piggy, perhaps even heresy to aficionados - blue cheese on a good burger is absolutely gobsmacking. I can't imagine life without a regular dose of the smelly stuff.