Mind-Expanding Munster Cheese
Somehow it seemed appropriate, what with our current president and the French one striding lockstep and lockjawed on the Trib’s frontpage, that I found myself tonight in a room full of attractive French people eating French cheese. I guess it’s okay to like the French again, not that I ever didn’t, I just felt, rightly or wrongly, that I couldn’t talk about it because of 9/11, etc.
I had an illegal Reblochon, which started to change my mind about not caring that we have a 60-day wait for raw cheeses. It was a major mouth-filling, nose clearing, eye-opening munch.
A cheese called Monk’s Head from the Jura-Suisse region was presented with a special cheese-specific device (how can one not love the French for stuff like this!?) that involved a center-post and a cutting-edge that one spins around, shredding off the top layer of the caramel-like cheese into delicious threads. Fabulous.
The Epoisees was excellent, though I’d had it before, and there was a cheese originally made by Tallyrand (a truncated pyramid, a dis to Bonaparte…a long story), and then…the Munster. We’ve had it zillions of times, versions of it, on school lunches and bad submarine sandwiches, but this Alsatian version (the ur-Munster?) had mushroomy depth and undreamed dimensions, a juicy double-down taste of rich milk and refined funk. It was like cracking through artifice to the Platonic ideal of Munster, as though all we'd tasted before was a pale reflection, an imitation, a watered down wanna be sad sack facsimile. This Munser was real and just about the best thing I ate all day.
"Don't you ever underestimate the power of a female." Bootsy Collins