It may be a surprise, but I don’t have a sweet tooth.

Years ago, I recall the great pastry chef, Michael Nadell, being asked by a TV interviewer what his perfect end to a good meal would be and I’ll never forget his response: a glass of port and piece of cheese.

Some remember their first kiss, or the car in which they learned to drive. For me, the memory etched into my brain is of the markets in the Dordogne in France that we visited when I was young. If I close my eyes I can still smell summer peaches and nectarines, perhaps a few ceps, and those superb tomatoes piled high on rows and rows of stalls.

But mostly, I remember the cheese. The ripest of bries, oozing from its wooden sarcophaguses. So tender it had to be spooned onto the weighing scale by the beret-wearing stall-holder. As I peered through the glass counter, I could spy a few small goat’s cheeses and a piece of Comté. I was hooked.

Today, when a cheese delivery arrives at the restaurant door, I feel the same sense of excitement I did over four decades ago. I think of how far artisan cheese-making in the UK has come in the last few years. And how hugely important it is to keep supporting our raw-milk cheese producers. Using traditional methods, passed down through generations, they give us something utterly wonderful at a polar opposite to factory-made cheese. I’m deeply saddened by the very real risk that proper, unpasteurised cheese may be lost forever.

I shudder to think that overly-processed, flavourless ‘plastic’ cheese might become the norm. No character, traceability or integrity. That would be awful.

So I like to buy unpasteurised cheese from a good cheesemonger like I.J. Mellis or George Mewes. Or direct from the maker. Selina Cairns of Errington Cheese is one of my food heroes. If you ask for my top cheeses, I’d say: 

Lanark Blue from Errington’s, not far from us here in Edinburgh. It’s fresh and delightful.

Waterloo, a Guernsey milk cheese and one of the richest I have tasted. Guernsey milk has a high fat content making for a way creamier cheese The slightly washed rind entombs the gooey, buttery interior. They also make an ale-washed cheese called Maida Vale, which is excellent. 

Wigmore, a rich and creamy ewe’s milk cheese from Berkshire. Both this and the Waterloo are matured in the cellar of the ancestral home of the Duke of Wellington at Stratfield Saye.

Finally, a punchy cheddar from either The Isle of Mull or Keens in Somerset.. I’m torn.

Keens is a stunning cheese - ripe and strong tasting - it makes my cheeks blush when I eat it. This Slow Food ‘Ark of Taste’ unpasteurised cheese is a great, full-fat experience. With every bite and sniff I’m reminded of English mustard. I love how it transports me back to the days when a good cheese was a thing to be cherished.  

Isle of Mull cheddar is lovely too, with a very different flavour. Full-bodied and rich, but I think it has  a certain sweetness. Cheese should taste slightly different every time you taste it, as it’s made by hand, by real people - in this case the Reade family – and I’m sure I read somewhere that they feed the cows on spent barley from the Tobermory distillery. A lovely story.

When the blocks of cheese arrive at Cafe, carefully wrapped in wax paper, it feels like Christmas morning. Good, proper cheese just oozes quality. The aromas fill the kitchen with that farmhouse cheese smell and I love it. I taste every cheese that comes in. Of course I do. Some say cheese is an easy choice for dessert, but keeping cheese in perfect condition is harder than you think. Tasting is a big part of knowing where each cheese is on its journey to maturity and ripeness.

Needless to say, I eat cheese a lot. It’s the perfect snack to come home to after a hard day in the kitchen; filling and flavoursome. Some people don’t get it, but they are missing out I say. Perhaps because I was weaned on fromage from an early age, I just can’t imagine a life without proper farmhouse cheese.