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In Praise of Cheese
by Abigail Wyatt

I sing in praise of cheeses all
and so implore my muse
to honour them from Cornish Yarg
through Roquefort and all the blues.
When I nibble on some stilton
or a wedge of Windsor Red
and lay chunks of Double Gloucester
between hunks of fresh-baked bread,
then am I most happy –
more than happy, I am blessed –
for a cheese comes like an unction
to anoint an emptiness.
So it’s Camembert on crackers
and Red Dragon grilled on toast;
gorgonzola on my jacket, but
the cheese I love and savour most
is not a Stinking Bishop,
not a brie or Shropshire Blue;
nor is it yet a Dunlop but
a cheese that’s tested, tried and true.
Though fads and fashions come and go,
there’s no mistaking this,
this cheese is to a Ploughman’s
what a Heaven is to bliss.
On pizza, mozzarella’s good,
on pasta, parmesan;
and feta’s fine for salads –
or a Gouda, or a waxed Edam.
But, when it comes to proper cheese,
a loaf of bread, a jug of wine,
no question and no contest:
good old Cheddar every time.