I love cheese, the stronger, the stinkier, the better. If I open the pack and get an aroma that burns out my nostril hairs; that's a result. If I open up the pack and I am greeted with a pungent stench, reminiscent of socks that have been inside a pair of trainers, used in a frantic game of basketball; well that sends me to cheesy heaven.
Mild cheese? Forget it. To me, mild cheese is like eating glorified wax. No, I'd rather enjoy an exotic cheese. Heck, I have this urge for some Gorgonzola, which is an Italian blue cheese (and not, as I used to think, some female Greek mythical creature with sharp fangs, whose appearance, would turn anyone who looked at her, to turn to stone).
So just what have I learnt about cheese? Well, eating Stilton cheese will not make me seem taller. That eating blue cheese will not make me sad. That is not the law in Philadelphia that you must eat Philadelphia cream cheese. I'm going to end this 'cheesecurdling' blog very soon. I've got this urge to 'gorge' myself on some extra strong cheddar. Cheese please, anything but mild. Some cheese you must handle 'Caerphilly', because it crumbles so easily.