Hard Goat’s Cheddar
Before I begin, a special “shout out” to Michael from Beemster Cheeses - I am having so much fun with the three Beemster mice you sent me via The Lady for my enjoyment. The Lady tosses them down the tile hallway and my chasing them amuses The Lady and The Man…humans…it doesn’t take a lot, does it?
You may recall that I am not a fan of Caerphilly, a tasteless English cheese that reminds me of grade school craft paste that The Lady brought home for me to sample and review. Well, she topped herself by bringing me a sample of hard goat cheddar…what was she thinking?
It’s a well-known fact that The Lady hates goat cheese, ergo, doesn’t it logically follow that there would be no reason whatsoever that she bring home hard goat cheddar for me to taste and review? None, nada, ziparoo…Other than she has decided to take up cat torture as a sport…but I am one crafty feline, if it’s torture she wants, bring it on…where to start…2am is always a good time to wake and annoy her…works every time…oh right, back to this cheese review thing…
The Lady calls The Man every day when she leaves work…ah…isn’t that just adorable? She told him once that it is eleven minutes from the Glenn Jackson Bridge to our garage door. Last night I got a whiff of something that smelled like a rutting billy goat when The Lady was maybe four minutes north of the bridge. We tomcats (sadly, former tomcat, in my case) are renown for our keen sense of smell. One Burbank tom was rumored to walk two miles or more for an “available” female. As the minutes (and miles) ticked away, the smell got stronger and fouler. I had The Man let me out on the deck to check the yard for roaming Capra aegagrus.
When I heard the garage door opening, I was knocked over as the odor invaded the house and took my breath away. I began to hallucinate; something I gave up when The Brain instituted his “Just Say No” drug policy back in the 60s (Nancy Reagan ripped The Brain off and he’s still pissed…) after Timothy Leary’s feline observer “Tuned in, Turned on and Dropped Out” having fallen prey to the allure of the ganja. The good doctor did redeem himself when he wrote the best-seller, Your Brain is God; no doubt paying homage to The Brain. I digress…
The Man looked at me; I looked at him and we both bolted for the door to make sure The Lady hadn’t died upon arrival…nope The Lady was fine…it was what she carried in her hand that was causing my eyes to sting and my whiskers to curl.
Where do I start?
The first question is “Why in the world would any self-respecting Cheesemaker (even an English Cheesemaker) produce such a vile cheese?” This of course begs the second question, “Why in the world would any self-respecting cheesemonger (especially The Lady) sell such a vile cheese in her lovely kiosk?” And that of course begs the third and most perplexing question for this feline foodie, “Why in the world would anyone, even of the humankind persuasion, eat this vile cheese willingly?”
As has been discussed here, many stinky cheeses taste divine; Epoisses being the quintessential example; but there was no way in hell that this cheese was going to taste better than it smelled…nope, just wasn’t going to happen.
Amy, aka The Queen of Cheese and The Lady’s BCFF (best cheese friend forever), is not a big fan of this cheese either and for similar reasons; it smells horrific; it invades the nose; sets up camp; and refuses to leave.
In a previous incarnation, Amy raised goats and made fresh goat cheese also known as Chevre, if you are of the hoity-toity persuasion. She told The Lady a story about taking two of her goats to the vet during a rainfall. The female goat, known as a nanny goat (how cute is that?) happened to be “available” and loved to go for rides. She eagerly jumped up into the back of her SUV, ready to rock n roll…don’t these goats understand what a ride to the vet means?
The billy goat, named Copernicus, was not as eager to go to the vet, (perhaps he had heard “tales from the vet”). Even with a willing nanny already in the SUV, Copernicus resisted. Amy shoved; Copernicus shoved back. Amy lifted; Copernicus became dead weight making for some heavy lifting on Amy’s part. In the process Amy was covered with mud and pungent billy goat rutting aroma; the smell made more intense by the wet rain.
Personally, I understand the dilemma that Copernicus faced – getting laid immediately (strong incentive for any male) or the possibility of the vet neutering you and never getting laid again…what’s a guy to do??? This feline foodie hopes that Copernicus returned home intact (my first trip to the vet, I was not so lucky…).
According to The Lady, Amy relives the day every time she smells this English answer to German limburger.
Now that I have laid the groundwork, does the cheese taste better than it smells? Absolutely not…if anything, it tastes worse…what’s with the English? They really know how to give cheese a bad name.
One English Cheese maker claims that their hard goat cheddar is the perfect balance between goat and cheddar – my ass.
I give Hard Goat’s Cheddar NO Paws because this cheese should be dragged into the litter box and covered with sand; which is precisely what I did.
There are NO serving suggestions.
There are NO wine pairings other than if forced to eat this cheese; drink as much as possible to get drunk to forget the horror.
Ditto with beer pairings.
Source: Goats, God’s way of telling you that there are worse things than humankinds…
Awards: yeah, right…like that could ever happen.
Parting comments: Under NO circumstances should you eat this cheese unless you are crazy and The Lady tells me there are a lot of crazy folks who love this cheese…Sheesh…humans…