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.…