Then
Suffolk makes a cheese, but does not give it any name; and talking of
that reminds me how going to Le Quesnoy to pass the people there the
time of day, and to see what was left of that famous but forgotten
fortress, a young man there showed me a cheese, which he told me also
had no name, but which was native to the town, and in the valley of Ste.
Engrace, where is that great wood which shuts off all the world, they
make their cheese of ewe's milk and sell it in Tardets, which is their
only livelihood. They make a cheese in Port-Salut which is a very subtle
cheese, and there is a cheese of Limburg, and I know not how many
others, or rather I know them, but you have had enough: for a little
cheese goes a long way. No man is a glutton on cheese.
What other cheese has great holes in it like Gruyere, or what other is
as round as a cannon-ball like that cheese called Dutch? which reminds
me:--
Talking of Dutch cheese. Do you not notice how the intimate mind of
Europe is reflected in cheese? For in the centre of Europe, and where
Europe is most active, I mean in Britain and in Gaul and in Northern
Italy, and in the valley of the Rhine--nay, to some extent in Spain (in
her Pyrenean valleys at least)--there flourishes a vast burgeoning of
cheese, infinite in variety, one in goodness. But as Europe fades away
under the African wound which Spain suffered or the Eastern barbarism of
the Elbe, what happens to cheese? It becomes very flat and similar.
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