Large Fierce Mammal

Alimenti Formaggi (Cheese Making) from the 14th century Sanitatis Casanatense (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacuinum_Sanitatis). Some things are timeless — that may be a 14th century Dog, but I recognize the look on his face.

The production of cheese predates recorded history. It originated through the transportation of milk in bladders made of ruminants’ stomachs due to their inherent supply of rennet. There is no conclusive evidence indicating where cheese-making originated. However, it may have originated either in Europe, Central Asia, the Middle East, or the Sahara. Cheese-making was known in Europe at the earliest level of Hellenic myth …. According to Pliny the Elder, cheese became a sophisticated enterprise at the start of the ancient Rome era …. During the ancient Rome era, valued foreign cheeses were transported to Rome to satisfy the tastes of the social elite. ~ History of Cheese

Discounting its unfortunate flirtations with pestilence, Human history has a glorious tradition of making microbial life its friend. Without it there’d be no wine, beer, or any other alcoholic beverage for that matter. No Sauerkraut. No yogourt, and no cheese, that being the subject today.

Every nation has its traditional and iconic kind of cheese. So much so that some (as with Champagne, Port, and Scotch Whisky in the booze world) cannot be made under the originating region’s name anywhere BUT the originating region, lest ye die. Or at least be sued..

What inspired today’s poem was the gift of a singular cheese that came (briefly) to my mouth just before the turn of the century by way of acquaintance with a Nova Scotian woman who went on a toot to the Island of Saint-Pierre and ended up living there in a relationship with a French gent lasting several years. Saint-Pierre and its companion Miquelon, are two islands located off the southwest coast of Newfoundland, at the entrance to Fortune Bay. Officially the Collectivité d’Outre-mer de Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon (Overseas Collectivity of Saint Pierre and Miquelon), the islands are a part of France. Yes, that France.

Ownership is a legacy of the fight for supremacy over North America between two colonial superpowers that ended in what I enjoy half-jokingly describing as the ultimate proof of just how much the English hated the French — after a lengthy pretense of wanting them, they let France keep Saint Pierre and Miquelon.

If anything, the history of Saint-Pierre and Miquelon has been tumultuous. They have long been a territory that has been exchanged, sometimes violently so, between the French and the English as they waged conflicts in the larger world. Originally a French settlement, the British took control of the islands in 1713, 1778, 1794, 1803, and 1815, with the French taking back possession between each of these occupations. Eventually, the French took control of the islands once again in 1816, this time permanently. ~ 5 really cool things about Saint-Pierre and Miquelon

It was when she was back in Nova Scotia on one occasion for a family visit that the Cheese Bearer was invited to a dinner event at my home, then in Lunenburg, and contributed a type of cheese she said was considered a delicacy on the French islands.

I don’t remember what it was called, but in short, it looked like Brie at first glance, had a fudgy texture, an unhealthy beige colouration, smelled like a shit filled diaper and tasted like the contents. In truth, it could have been one of those practical jokes people pull just to see who’ll take a bite, but knowing the person involved I doubt it. I can’t tell you how high in my estimation the culinary culture of St. Pierre soared at her revelation that the people there would consider what I sampled as being too “young” to be eaten just yet.

Moving on, here are three video expressions describing a couple of the cheese varieties mentioned in today’s poem. First, an explanation of “sharpness” in the flavour of Cheddar.

Next, a commercial for Nolan’s Cheddar that parallel’s my own view of how cheddar should taste.

And now for something completely different.

If you’re still here after that, I present the long awaited poem.

The French Will Eat It

By LFM

I’ve smelled cheeses fair and foul,
With tastes from bliss to boiled owl,
Fair curds to make the angels sing,
And fudgy turds, the best to fling.

Whether eaten now or then,
The type of cheese decides the when.
While cheddar’s aging on the shelf,
Casu marzu eats itself.

Danish blue will bloom to death,
Ere Jarlsberg breathes it first sweet breath
Creamy brie is worth a song,
Unless it sits around too long.

Every nation has its kind,
And of those, some will call to mind,
“Who’d do this once, and then repeat it?”
Never mind, the French will eat it.