“And I thought to myself, ‘a little fermented curd will do the trick’, so, I curtailed my Walpoling activities, sallied forth, and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles! So have you any…
Brie, Roquefort, Pol le Veq, Port Salut, Savoy Aire, Saint Paulin, Carrier de lest, Bres Bleu, Bruson?
Japanese Sage Darby?
Czech sheep’s milk?
Venezuelan Beaver Cheese?
Oh, never mind, how are you on Tilsit?
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Ah, sweet, tangy, smoky cheesy memories, Gerard! I had one of the best jobs working as a baker in an emporium where, in addition to the artisan breads and pastries, we sold smoked meats and cheeses! Good news, too! They send stuff anywhere! https://sclydeweaver.com/shop-online/
I love cheese. In fact, you could call me a cheese-head.
I often use cheese as a way to highlight the idiocy of what the EU experiment has become…a control freaks wet dream.
Consider France; they have been making cheese for about a thousand years. The French make cheese from goat’s milk, sheep’s milk, cow’s milk. They add ashes, fruit, nuts, age it in caves, in cellars, with white mold, with blue mold and so many more. The French produce something on the order of 700 different types of cheese.
In recent years, the European Union Central Committee decided that the French (and everyone else in Euro) must adhere to new more hygienic and sanitary means of cheese production, aging and storage……because, naturally, those bureaucrats in positions of authority on the EU Central Commission surely know more about cheese and cheese making than well, people who have been making cheese forever!
Oh, and the pic at the top of the grilled sandwich looked similar to the Reuben I made two days after
I always have leftover corned been and the two things I like to do most is make a Reuben and make some corned been hash topped off with an egg.
Classic Reuben sandwich;
Rye bread, basted with Russian dressing.
Thinly sliced corned beef, some type of Swiss cheese, and a final layer of sauerkraut.
Assemble and grill on a well seasoned cast iron flat top (no oil needed).
One consistent complaint I have with diners that still offer the Reuben is that they usually put a lot of oil/grease on the griddle before placing the bread into that puddle of hot oil, thus making the sandwich greasy and substandard.
Charles de Gaulle:
“How can anyone govern a nation that has two hundred and forty-six different kinds of cheese?”
I’m down with Kevin on the mistake of grilling a Reuben (KING OF SANDWICHES!) in a pool of oil. Sacrilege!
My biggest regret about moving to Northern California is the unavailability of Caerphilly Cheese which is, with its dry crumbling tangy curd, my favorite eating cheese. Can’t be found anywhere around here and indeed can’t be ordered for less than a ransom anywhere online if you can find it at all.
“Hey! I keep spare cheese in my pants, just in case we get bombed.” [Winston Churchill.]
“Hey! I could use a bit of Camembert right about now?” [Napoleon at Waterloo.]
“Hey! Who the hell’s throwing gouda?” [Abraham Lincoln, at Ford’s Theater and Marine Salvage.]
“Hey! The science tells us to put a slab of Limberger in your mask, and also down your pants. No, really.” [Doctor Prissy Coif Cancer Throat, aka Tony Fauci]
“Hey! I make cheese in my shorts. I call it Groinzola.” [Scott Neckbeard, artisanal cheesist.]
Reuben = KING OF SANDWICHES
Yes! You got that right, G. It beats a Monte Cristo hands down.
This Caerphilly Cheese is new to me. I will have to search for some….online there is a 9# wheel for nearly $150. I will need to taste the cheese before I invest in a nine pound inventory.
And as always, Lance, thanks for the gut splitting humor.
Venezuela hasn’t produced any of its famed Beaver Cheese in a couple of years. Apparently Venezuelans have eaten most of the best milk producing beavers in the country. Sad.
Frasier speaks for me, Lance:
Roz: It’s from my family. They’re in Wisconsin at my Uncle’s dairy farm having a family reunion.
Frasier: Oh, why didn’t you go, Roz?
Roz: There wasn’t time. But now I wish I’d gone. Frasier, we always have so much fun. Like this one time there was this huge cheese party and one of my uncles started speaking in cheese language. You know, like instead of saying, “Hello, how are you?” he’d say, “Hello, Havarti.” Someone else would go “Oh, I’m Gouda.” Oh, I don’t know, what would come after that?
Frasier: If I’d been there, the sound of a gunshot!
And I pass right by the straight line concerning Beaver Cheese left by Andrew.
As Wallace used to say- “Cracking cheese, Gromit!”
Caerphilly is available at igourmet.com, sometimes it is available at dibruno.com, but not currently.
Vanderleun, try a hunk of the Prima Donna from dibruno, that one is a keeper for certain.
Snowdonia makes a lovely, if not the loveliest Red Thunder (Leicester) cheeses I’ve ever tasted. It actually makes you giggle. Never had Caerphilly, though, but I’m going over to S. Clyde’s to pick up some of the Red Thunder and some Norwegian Brunost and Danish Lurpak butter to go with the Brunost. Skankinavia 4eva!
Grew up in exurban Texas. Nana came down every year with half a wheel of Locatelli pecorino romano. We made ravioli every summer with some of that wheel. Grandpa came over from Sicily so this was real deal.
That wheel did not last a year and when it was done it was Kraft green can. Sad days.
Every year, as that wheel got smaller the ass whoopin’s of cheese thiefs increased dramatically (three boys). Every year through high school until we could get it locally.
Someone gave us a wheel of Humboldt Fog one time. Took one taste and threw it to the coons, who liked it apparently. Not into the fancy stuff and every goats cheese I have tasted was terrible. Tonight for supper I made subs with american, smoked gouda, and havarti. Along with bonfire chicken, cajun turkey, and boones black forest ham, and 9 diff veg’s on trigo wheat sub rolls. dam!
Pah! Also fie.
This nauseating outpouring of love for “cheese.”
The word itself is risible—-cheeeeez—the moreso there is baking powder in your moistened shorts.
Pun on ris… Get it? rIse.
Okay, then, screw…
Why, when we were kids, living in a pot hole on Market Street, we couldn’t afford “cheese.”
No sirree, we made a paste of dust and pigeon shit, aged it in an old boot, and ate it on roofing shingles. I mean, we SAT on roofing shingles. YOU probably thought that we SPREAD it on roofing shingles. Well, there you go being wrong yet again. You and your presumptions.
You’re a cheddar man than I am, Gorgonzola Din.
Lance sez: “Why, when we were kids, living in a pot hole on Market Street, we couldn’t afford ‘cheese.'”