It had been a particularly brutal day of toil in the vineyard of truth, and all that would salve my wounded soul was the thought of the Italian hunk sitting at home.
By hunk, I do not mean in the literal studly sense, rather a hunk of Italian Taleggio cheese, purloined from the good people at Jones the Grocer in Doha.
And so my tour of European basket case countries continues.
I am a latecomer to the cult of Taleggio, having aligned myself early on in my cheese loving career with the Francophiles…Francophones….or whatever the kids are calling it now.
But, like a persistent Italian man, it won my appreciation. Today’s incarnation was especially ripe and ready for my plunder. I served it on a baguette with fig jam and some cured Iberian pork loin allegedly from “acorn fed pigs” that I forgot I had smuggled in from London earlier this year.
This Taleggio was just on the right side of ripe. It’s a washed rind cow’s milk cheese and this one was fairly mild in the end… and just a little fruity – just like many Italian men!
I love, love, love taleggio. We gorged on it in New York, where it was cheaper than a block of Kraft. I was going to say Coon, but was worried your international readers might misunderstand …
It’s an awesome cheese. Yes, sadly our “national” cheese gets a bad reaction among certain nationalities…