Alien Time Cheese

All this recent talk of cheese on a number of journals has got me in the mood for a trip down to the little dairy on Tatchbrook Street in Victoria, a fromagerie second only to the Neal's Yard Dairy in the provision of fiendish curdled delights.

Probably the best and ripest Stilton I ever bought was from there, and was obtained shortly prior to NWO Rome. It was so powerful that by the time I had lugged it from London to Birmingham, the cheese liquor had corroded through two layers of greaseproof paper, severely damaged the white paper around that, and was making inroads into the fabric of the brown paper carrier bag. Had the journey been of another hour in duration, I suspect that the Stilton would have made a bid for freedom which would have devastated southern Birmingham and the Chilterns.

As it was, pax_draconis and I spent an hour or so in an incoherent cheese trance of such power that mrcook banned the thing from the fridge and insisted it be locked in the microwave.

It didn't occur to me at the time, and I accepted the explanation that this would keep the cats off it, but I now realise that the microwave was in fact merely a high security holding cell for the Stilton, and could be activated as a last resort to destroy the cheese if necessary.

Sad to say, we left the cheese there all weekend, and I never saw it again. I do not know if the microwave oven survived, or whether by Monday evening, it was dissolving in a pool of concentrated cheese liquor, while the blue Stilton vein lattice stood alone like a coral in tropical seas.

A cheese so powerful that six months on, and 135 miles distant, I still dream of it.

Alien Time Cheese

All this recent talk of cheese on a number of journals has got me in the mood for a trip down to the little dairy on Tatchbrook Street in Victoria, a fromagerie second only to the Neal's Yard Dairy in the provision of fiendish curdled delights.

Probably the best and ripest Stilton I ever bought was from there, and was obtained shortly prior to NWO Rome. It was so powerful that by the time I had lugged it from London to Birmingham, the cheese liquor had corroded through two layers of greaseproof paper, severely damaged the white paper around that, and was making inroads into the fabric of the brown paper carrier bag. Had the journey been of another hour in duration, I suspect that the Stilton would have made a bid for freedom which would have devastated southern Birmingham and the Chilterns.

As it was, pax_draconis and I spent an hour or so in an incoherent cheese trance of such power that mrcook banned the thing from the fridge and insisted it be locked in the microwave.

It didn't occur to me at the time, and I accepted the explanation that this would keep the cats off it, but I now realise that the microwave was in fact merely a high security holding cell for the Stilton, and could be activated as a last resort to destroy the cheese if necessary.

Sad to say, we left the cheese there all weekend, and I never saw it again. I do not know if the microwave oven survived, or whether by Monday evening, it was dissolving in a pool of concentrated cheese liquor, while the blue Stilton vein lattice stood alone like a coral in tropical seas.

A cheese so powerful that six months on, and 135 miles distant, I still dream of it.