I wanted to note this morning that the steeple on London’s Cathedral of St. Paul’s burned on this day in 1561 after being struck by lightning. It was never rebuilt, which struck me (sorry) as a particularly appropriate decision. After all, if God preferred his house without a belfry, the truly devout would surely take his demonstrative hint.
But then I found an incongruous bit of history that intrigued me more. On June 4, 1411, King Charles VI granted a monopoly to the town of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon for the ripening of Roquefort cheese. The history of their cheese making by ripening in caves dates from time immemorial, so what King Charles thought he was bestowing seems presumptive in the extreme. I suppose his grant precluded others from claiming to make that unique flavor of sheep’s milk cheese, which interestingly is still limited under trademark law to this particular area, even though the demand long ago exceeded what could actually be processed in caves.
The Greeks deemed the art of cheesemaking to be a gift of Aristaeus, the god of shepherding, though it found its way into cultures throughout the world. At some point, I ran across a somewhat silly quote on the subject of cheese, which cultured in its own way into a little poem, which I thought I’d share:
Ode to Cheese
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese
Gilbert K. Chesterton
So much of what mankind has come to cherish
we first found when things turned bad
grapes into wine – malt beer – old bananas to bread
and perhaps even the eternal fruitcake
But above all these we must praise the creation of cheese
the gift of Aristaeus whose alchemy turned soured curds
into aromatic edibles enjoyed wherever creatures yield milk
with each land’s method duly prized as best above all
Cheddar – Gruyere – Danish blue – Greece’s feta
Stilton – Camembert and even Stinking Bishop
the names roll on the tongue as easily as their tastes
all essences as diverse and divine as its tasters
All cheeses aged to essence to form the perfect
appetizer hors d’oeuvre lasagna or dessert
What would we make of chips without queso
Norway without fondue or macaroni without its Velveeta?
I suppose it is true that poets have been strangely silent
on the subject of cheese in all its creamy flavors
but that is because they have been too busy savoring it and in fact
I hear the faint cry of ham and rye calling for some Swiss even now
