On 2 October 1814, a grand feast was held at the Hofburg imperial palace during the Congress of Vienna. Famed French chef Marie-Antoine Carême was charged with cooking and didn’t disappoint. But when it came to the cheese course, a lively argument broke out among the assembled statesmen, each advocating for the superiority of their national cheese: the Italian for Stracchino, the Swiss for Gruyère, the Dutchman for Limburger, and so on and so forth. The UK foreign secretary, Lord Castlereagh, championed Stilton.
French foreign minister Talleyrand snapped an order (‘Send the despatches to the chancellerie’) and a large piece of Brie de Meaux was duly brought out: ‘The Brie rendered its cream to the knife. It was a feast and no one further argued the point.’ The Brie was declared ‘Prince des fromages, et premier des desserts’.
Being so closely associated with Christmas is a double-edged sword, with customers often eschewing it at other times of year
So record the historians. All very convenient for the French. But there is no doubt Lord Castlereagh’s choice of Stilton as our national contender was the right one. G. K. Chesterton, visiting the small settlement of Stilton in the Fenlands, was moved to write his ‘Sonnet to a Stilton Cheese’ (‘England has need of thee, and so have I’), the eternal qualities of this cheese in stark contrast to the decline of traditional English values he witnessed all around him. Orwell was also a fan, writing in his essay ‘In Defence of English Cooking’: ‘I fancy Stilton is the best cheese of its type in the world, with Wensleydale not far behind.’
Yet Stilton is under threat. Arla, the UK’s biggest dairy company (and currently also embroiled in the Bovaer backlash), announced in June that it planned to cease Stilton production at its 244-year-old creamery in Melton Mowbray, citing a decline in demand. Producers point to a lack of appetite for blue cheese among younger people. Bill Mathieson of Long Clawson Dairy noted that ‘probably about 70 per cent of all Stilton is eaten on a cheeseboard and only about 20 per cent of households ever now have a cheeseboard. So it’s kind of a declining occasion’. Being so closely associated with Christmas is a double-edged sword, with customers often eschewing it at other times of year, while high wage costs also squeeze margins. If things don’t improve, it’s been suggested Stilton could even be at risk of extinction.
What can be done? Greater prominence on supermarket shelves would help. Encouraging its use in cooking would also be useful. Stilton is one of the few cheeses that freezes well, and ‘potting’ is another way of using leftovers. So there’s myriad reasons not to scrimp when buying.
We could do more to celebrate our cheesemaking heritage in this country. Stilton cheese-rolling made a welcome return in May, after an absence of seven years because it was seen as ‘uncool’. But we do not flaunt our cheese as proudly as the French. Several years ago, I attended a vast banquet of Brie at the invitation of the mayor of Meaux, hosted in the town hall. Members of ‘La Confrérie du Brie de Meaux’, resplendent in their Brie-shaped hats, conducted arcane rituals. Cheesy to some maybe, but France has hundreds of these confréries, or brotherhoods, that celebrate and champion artisan produce. We could do with a few more.
Stilton is certainly artisanal. There are just six dairies licensed to make it. Most of them are based in the Vale of Belvoir, the epicentre of production, around Colston Bassett, Melton Mowbray, Cropwell Bishop, Long Clawson and Saxelbye. Its EU ‘protected designation of origin’ status means the cheese can only be produced in Leicestershire, Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire (and so not in the Cambridgeshire village of Stilton which gave the cheese its name, much to the anger of residents there).
Another aspect of that EU status, granted in 1996, has been particularly controversial: it requires the milk to be pasteurised. This is quite barmy as all blue cheese in the UK, including Stilton, would once have been made with unpasteurised milk. Until 1989 Colston Bassett made an unpasteurised Stilton before an accusation of bacterial contamination at its dairy (ultimately proved unfounded) and the stipulations of the EU status led to a decision to end production. The result was a rival cheese, Stichelton, which came into production in 2006. Made by Joe Schneider near Nottinghamshire’s Sherwood Forest, all the milk for Stichelton comes from his herd of 150 Friesian-Holstein cows. He maintains that not heat-treating the milk, together with a long slow acidification, improves the cheese’s flavour and complexity. It is exceptionally moist and buttery.
Whether it is Stilton or Stichelton that floats your boat, The Courtyard Dairy, Paxton & Whitfield and Neal’s Yard Dairy are all fine places to buy from. Neal’s Yard, still reeling from the recent heist which saw a fraudster swindle them out of 22 tons of premium cheddar worth £300,000, could no doubt do with a bit of custom at the moment. They have an exclusively produced Stilton from Colston Bassett Dairy which is as good as cheese gets. Paxton & Whitfield also sell a baby Stilton – I know of no better centrepiece for a new year cheese and wine party.
Stilton feels old fashioned. Indeed there is something almost Dickensian about it. The size and shape of its wheels gives it the look of a proper feasting cheese. Its age is the key determinant of taste and texture. A young Stilton can be very crumbly and sharp. Once matured it acquires its famed creamy or butter-like character. It is known for going especially well with sherry or port (though you should ignore the weird preparation of scooping out the middle and filling it with port before serving). Other than that, it just needs perhaps a few walnuts, celery or a pear. Daniel Defoe was a bit wide of the mark in describing Stilton, in his 1724 work A Tour Thro’ the Whole Island of Great Britain, as ‘our English parmesan’. In texture and flavour they could not be further apart. But in capturing Stilton’s privileged place in our country’s pantheon of cheeses, he was right on the money.
P.G. Wodehouse’s creation of G. D’Arcy ‘Stilton’ Cheesewright is a reminder of the perils of excessive Stilton consumption – ‘that beefy frame… that pumpkin-shaped head… the face that looked like a slab of pink dough’. But if there’s ever a time to indulge it’s surely Christmas. Blue cheese is ahead of even brandy butter and eggnog in my list of favourite festive dairy. And the post-dinner cheese course falls perfectly in time for the King’s Christmas broadcast at 3 p.m. A fitting moment to tuck in to what is the king of English cheeses.
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