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I had a cheese from the Cotswolds last month. Produced in Worcestershire from the milk of Jersey cows, it was predictably rich and creamy, in a way that the Alpine cheese is not, but then again the breeds that make Reblochon are different. Their unpasteurised milk is produced from a diet of mountain herbs, flowers and grasses. It is all a bit like our butter: there is nothing quite as fat as English butter. A tartiflette will be familiar to anyone who has skied in the French Alps: is made from two layers of diced or sliced potatoes, onions and pieces of smoked bacon lardons partitioned horizontally and subsequently topped by wodges of Reblochon shorn of their rinds.
I was pleased with my first tartiflette and it went down well; but like a lot of other people I am worried that our future trading relations with the Mainland will leave us with at best these pallid imitations of the gastronomic models we know and love.
This seems to have inspired some extreme nationalists or optimists to say that ours was better than the Spanish stuff anyhow. Without that range of produce I could hardly believe that Britain would be a better place and I wonder if Miguel will continue trading? The answer is cooking. I am in the habit of spotting things that I think might be popular at home and which fail to catch on in our small household so that I am forced to eat the lot myself. That was the case with the kilo of duck livers I bought for a song.
I cooked them up with some spring onions and splashed cognac over them before putting them through the mouli. Even I grew tired of eating it for lunch every day, however, and I ended up by freezing the remains. I had rather better luck with the tart I made from some huge, bulbous quinces I found in the Kilburn High Road the boulevard of cheap fruit and veg. Another triumph this November was my attempt to imitate Transylvanian sarmales: cabbage leaves filled with minced pork, beef, rice and seasonings.
It was a fiddly job, and I found I had blanched too few cabbage leaves and made too much forcemeat, with the result that I had to stuff a great many tomatoes as well. You cook sarmales very slowly and serve them with soured cream.