That’s right, dear crumpeteers, BAKED CAMEMBERT. Not fried; not like those frozen-synthetic-greasy-cheeze-tubes-with-low-grade-redcurrant-gloop-with-incomprehensible-labels-from-Lidl… Hoooo, no, no. Jamais de la vie. But baked. Baked in an oven, profoundly aloof in its own wooden box, singular, empyreal… transcendental. Cheese in motion, quite literally.
Step back from the keyboard now. I have a picture.
Yes, I can read your cheese-tainted thoughts, my dear rollmops. Why adulterate such quintessence of flavour with an importunate sprig of rosemary? Is NOT the poetry of the cheese found in its subtle lightly peppered delicacy?
To this, I reply: let us not discriminate in the world of CAMEMBERT. Let us instead rejoice in its diversity, it’s potentiality. I myself recently enjoyed, nay REVELLED in a camembert of most elegant simplicity, with my acquaintance of many years, Dr. Hnoss. With reverent anticipation, we merely removed said cheese from its wrappings, sliced off the top, sprinkled it with salt and pepper and indulged, dear eaters, with some handy baguette and a bottle of nearby Cabernet.
But do not think the CAMEMBERT adventure ends here, rather to the contrary. The celebration continues, and I, your food maestro, intend to tread new paths into the baked cheese world, sampling it sprinkled with white wine, endowed with garlic cloves, crowned with cracked peppercorns…
To idiazabal and beyond!