Welsh rabbit leeks

A recipe from my book An Appetite for Ale - an adaptation of a great idea from cookery writer and top London chef Mark Hix: pouring a Welsh rarebit over cooked leeks. (Pic by Vanessa Courtier)

Serves 2-3
6 even-sized leeks - about 500g in total
5 tbsp full-bodied English ale, such as Ridley’s Old Bob
150g strong cheddar cheese, grated
1 level tbsp plain flour sifted with 1/2 level tsp powdered English mustard
1 1/2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 large egg yolk
3 tbsp double cream
Freshly ground black pepper

Trim the leeks removing any damaged outer leaves. Cut vertically half way down each leek, fan out the leaves and rinse under cold running water to remove any grit. Cut the leeks across in half and arrange in the basket of a steamer. Steam for about 4-5 minutes until just cooked. Pour the ale into a saucepan, add the cheese, sprinkle over the sifted flour and mustard and stir. Heat over a low heat until the cheese has melted and formed a smooth sauce. Take off the heat and beat in the egg yolk then add the Worcestershire sauce and cream. Season with plenty of freshly ground black pepper (you shouldn’t need salt). Heat the grill. Arrange the leeks in a baking dish and pour over the rarebit. Place the dish under the grill for about 2-3 minutes until brown and bubbling. Serve with crusty bread.

Is this the most expensive cheese in Britain?

Having half an hour to kill and being in Borough market, I made my way to one of my favourite cheese shops, Neal's Yard. It had the usual array of tempting offerings, some familiar, some new but my eye was caught not so much by a cheese as a price - the £55.60 per kilo they were charging for Rogue River Blue.

There are extenuating circumstances. The cheese is not British, but American: one of the few unpasteurised cheeses being produced in the States by the Rogue River Creamery in Oregon. Is there any justification for importing it when we have so many great blues of our own? Well, yes, it's unique, being wrapped in vine leaves soaked in pear brandy a flavour that really permeates the cheese and gives it the faint flavour of a pear eau de vie. It's only made in limited quantities (there's a waiting list for it in the States), it won an award for the World's Best Blue in 2003 and Neal's Yard is actually charging no more for it than the famous New York cheese shop Artisanal.

You also don't need to buy much of it. As I suggested the other day you can easily just buy a fine slice of a more expensive cheese - 100g would cost you £5.56 - the same price as an inexpensive starter or a couple of ready meals. And I know which I'd rather have.

2 Gloucesters, 1 single, 1 double

I thought this week that it might be interesting to compare two cheeses with very similar names - a Single and Double Gloucester which I found at my local Bristol deli, Chandos. They both come from Jonathan Crump of Arlingham who trades as Wick Court Cheese and is one of the only producers to make his cheese from traditional Gloucester cattle.

Double Gloucester (right) is the more common and in this case at least, quite like a Cheshire with a pale orange colour (it is dyed with annato), a dryish, crumbly texture and delicate flavour.

Single Gloucester (left) is much rarer and, having tasted it, I can understand why. It’s very ‘cow-ey’ if you know what I mean: not farmyardy but quite ‘animal’ and much fatter in texture than the Double Gloucester which is odd as it’s made from a mixture of skimmed and whole milk* whereas double Gloucester is made entirely from whole milk. It reminded me of a French Cantal - not one of my favourite cheeses.

Both, interestingly went well with a white burgundy we were drinking (a Saint-Veran) though neither is powerful enough to cause serious problems for a red. To be honest I wasn’t blown away by either, though this may be due as much to the producer as the type of cheese. Other producers to look out for are Smart’s which is stocked by Neal’s Yard and Charles Martell.

* skimmed milk from the evening milking and whole milk from the morning milking

The French influence on British cheese

If you've had the vague feeling that British cheeses are improving - up to the standard of top French artisanal cheeses - it's no coincidence. As a very interesting article in the FT this weekend points out, more and more soft cheeses are being made to French recipes and in some instances, such as the Irish St Tola organic goats' cheese (above), by a French cheesemaker.

Is this a good thing? I'm in two minds. I tried St Tola last summer and it was one of the best goats' cheeses I've ever tasted. On the other hand I do worry that the trend may diminish the distinctive character of our cheeses and runs the risk of losing the unique sense of place or 'terroir' that each cheese should have.

What do you think?

O, voluptuous Vacherin

This is possibly my favourite cheese in the whole world and if you haven't tried it you must.

It's called Vacherin Mont d'Or and it comes from either France or Switzerland on either side of the Alps. There are apparently heated arguments about which country actually invented it, a battle both protagonists claim to have won.

It comes packed in a wooden box, encircled with a sprig of spruce which is held to add its flavour to the cheese but to be honest it's so stinky once matured that the flavour is hard to detect. (It's an unpasteurised, washed-rind, cows' milk cheese)

The best way to eat it - and this is how a friend and I had it at a disgraceful pig-out at a London wine bar called Terroirs - is to bake the box whole in the oven and serve it with new potatoes, sprinkled with sea salt. You simply dunk the potatoes in the molten, velvety cheese, which tastes like the best fondue you could possibly imagine. I suggest you serve a green salad on the side.

It's only made between October and March so you have a couple more months to enjoy it. Possibly, if you have a cheese-loving partner, as the ultimate Valentine's feast.

Yarg: an odd name for a nice cheese

Yesterday I bought a wedge of Yarg. That doesn't sound great does it? Doesn't quite have the ring of "I bought a Camembert" or "a wedge of Stilton". But bear with me, those of you who haven't tried it, because it's a nice cheese.

The name apparently is an reversal of the letters of the surname of the people who invented it who were called Allan and Jenny Gray. It's a cows' milk cheese from Cornwall but its USP is that it's wrapped in nettles (frozen when in season, I discover from the site, to enable them to make it year round.)

It's hard to tell without having tasted the cheese without them how much they influence the flavour. It's certainly not nettley (nor does it sting you) and I don't get the mushroom flavour detected by some people who have tasted it but there's a slight herbiness about it which is very pleasant. I find the nearest comparison a Gorwydd Caerphilly - it's a delicate, slightly crumbly cheese which needs to be served at room temperature for its full flavour to emerge and which is kind to wine. It paired well with a minor Bordeaux I was drinking last night but I thought it would have been even better with cider or apple juice.

So there you have it. Yarg. An unforgettable name.

Stilton and leek quiche

One of the best ways to use up odd bits of cheese is a quiche and over Christmas that's as likely as not to be Stilton. As I also just discovered two unused leeks I thought I'd combine the two along with half a pot of leftover crème fraiche that was nearing its use-by date. The bliss of cooking on an AGA, which we took over with our current flat, is that you don't have to pre-bake the pastry case which makes the whole process incredibly easy but I've given instructions for a conventional oven here. If you don’t have any blue cheese you could easily substitute Cheddar, Gouda or any other full-flavoured hard cheese.

Serves 4-6
40g butter
2 large or 3 smaller leeks (about 350g-400g untrimmed weight)
1 tbsp finely chopped fresh thyme
3 large eggs
100ml creme fraiche or double cream mixed with 100ml milk
3-4 tbsp grated parmesan (depending on strength)
100g Stilton or other medium-strong blue cheese, crumbled
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
For the pastry
225g plain flour (or a 50/50 mix of plain and wholemeal flour)
110g chilled butter, cut into small cubes
4-5 tbsp cold water
Salt
You will need a deep 23cm loose-bottomed quiche tin

First make the pastry. Put the flour and a pinch of salt in a food processor and pulse once or twice again to mix. Add the cubed butter and pulse to incorporate then add just enough water to bring the mixture together (about 3-4 tbsp). Shape the pastry into a disc, wrap in cling film and rest for half an hour.

Trim the bases and coarse outer leaves off the leeks, slice finely and rinse thoroughly to get rid of any dirt or grit that has accumulated between the leaves. Heat the butter in a large frying pan and fry the leeks for 5-6 minutes until beginning to soften. Add the chopped thyme, season well with salt and pepper and set aside to cool

Take the pastry out of the fridge and roll it out in a circle big enough to fit a 23cm/9in diameter flan tin. Carefully lower the pastry into the tin pressing it into the edges and lightly prick the base with the prongs of a fork. Chill in the fridge for 20 minutes then line the pastry case with a piece of greaseproof paper or foil weighed down with baking beans and bake the pastry shell for about 12 minutes.

Separate one of the eggs, reserve the white and beat the yolk and the other two eggs together. Measure the cream and milk into a jug, mix well, add the beaten eggs and parmesan, season with freshly ground black pepper and beat again.

Remove the paper and beans from the pastry case and brush lightly with the beaten egg white. Return to the oven for another 5 minutes then remove the flan case from the oven and turn the oven down to 180°C/350°F/Gas 4. Trim the overhanging edges of pastry with a sharp knife.

Scatter half the blue cheese over the base of the tart, spoon over the leeks then cover with the remaining blue cheese. Carefully pour the egg and cream mixture over the top making sure that it is distributed evenly*. Bake the quiche for about 35-40 minutes until the top is puffed up and lightly browned. Cool for about 20 minutes before serving. (I personally think it’s nicest at room temperature.)

*If there is too much egg mixture bake the tart for 7-8 minutes then half pull out the shelf and carefully pour the remainder over the top.