Recently, I took a local class on cheese appreciation. Great, something where I already have skills! Having a husband from Wisconsin, how could I not be? Look up Olsson’s Fine Foods online and you’ll find that the owner, Dutchman Rudie Smit, teaches numerous cheese appreciation and cheese-making classes. He’s a fount of knowledge and lot of fun. Highly recommended.
Our small group of enthusiasts learned the history of cheese—which became popular in part because the originating people from the Tigris-Euphrates area were lactose-intolerant, and cheese is easier to digest than plain milk—why certain cheeses are the way they are, how to pair them with wine or with sweet and savory accompaniments, and how to design an appealing cheese plate. This came in very handy over the holidays, when I inflicted elaborate cheese plates on a succession of dinner parties.
But who would have thought the class would provide inspiration for my crime-writing? Such as:
- What really happened up when Pietr was alone up at the mountain hut, supposedly making the cheese?
- Did Lady Fauxpas seal her fate when she insisted blue cheese be served with the bottle of fine champagne?
- Where was the characteristic tweed pattern on the rind of the “manchego” that poisoned G. Lutton?