Cheddar Gorge: A Book of English Cheeses. John Squire

for the gods.

      ‘Asks for a pound of cheddar … as … for a pound of flour.’

      The recipe of this I published in my This Was England and I seize the opportunity of setting down here that I received letters from all parts of the Empire thanking me for printing it. This recipe was cherished by an aunt of mine. On one occasion a great personage was dining with her; and she gave him this dish of cheese. He asked for the recipe. My aunt asked an important question: ‘Is this, Sir, a royal command?’ Her guest replied, ‘No, no, I ask as your guest.’ My aunt laughed. ‘I refuse,’ said she, ‘to give this recipe to guests, because I hope they will come again to eat it at my table.’ This particular guest assured her that he would come again – and he did.

      The recipe was given to me, grudgingly, on the condition that I did not publish it in my aunt’s lifetime. But, before I was at liberty to play the part of a public benefactor, a lady of my acquaintance begged me to break my solemn pledge on the altar of friendship. When I refused, she coaxed me to come to her house to make this dish for her guests. The ingredients, plus a chafing-dish, would be placed – so she assured me – behind a tall screen in the dining-room. And here, secure from any Peeping Tom, I could play the part of the Regent of France, Philippe d’Orleans, who delighted to cook special plats for his guests. I promised to do this, but, familiar with the guiles and wiles of the Fair, I bespoke not only the necessary ingredients but two others. I found everything laid out; I made the dish; and it was acclaimed with enthusiasm as the ‘best ever’. A week later, I met this lady. She shook her fist at me. ‘You devil!’ Her husband told me that three times had his wife essayed to make the dish, before she guessed that I had been taking gross liberties with her underpinning. Here is the recipe:

Cut half a pound of Cheddar cheese into thin slices and put them in a stew pan. Add three tablespoonfuls of milk and a gill (¼ pint) of cream, the yolks of three eggs and the whites of two. Season with pepper and salt.

      Whip it until it boils – and it is done.

      Let your guests be handed squares of toast. Let the cheese be served in a dish. The guests will spread the hot cheese on the hot toast. The boiling cheese should be free from lumps, smooth as mayonnaise sauce and about the same consistency.

      Unlike Welsh rarebit, this dish of cheese is easily digested.

      I can find no mention of Cheddar cheese in my Dictionary of Quotations. Shakespeare mentions Banbury cheese. Bardolph calls Slender a Banbury cheese in allusion to the thin carcase of Slender. Nobody could indict the best Cheddar as being thin; it is agreeably full-bodied, plump as a well-nourished dairymaid. Bad Cheddar is soapy, villainously so. The noble cheese that was accorded first prize in our Pump Room had the texture of the best Gruyère. A kinsman of mine, now in his eightieth year, eats Cheddar cheese after luncheon and dinner nearly every day of the year. I have not asked him whether he attributes his robust health to this constant absorption of Cheddar or to the glass of vintage port which he sips with it. Heavenly twins they are! God’s Good Creatures.