acks_ (which, by the way, devotes
nearly forty pages to cheeses), we staged a rather elaborate tasting
party just for the three of us. It took a two-tiered Lazy Lou to
twirl the load.

The eight wedges on the top round were English and French samples and
the lower one carried the rest, as follows:

ENGLISH CHEDDAR CHESHIRE ENGLISH STILTON CANADIAN CHEDDAR
(rum flavored)

FRENCH MUeNSTER FRENCH BRIE FRENCH FRENCH
CAMEMBERT ROQUEFORT

SWISS SAPSAGO SWISS GRUYERE SWISS EDAM DUTCH GOUDA

ITALIAN CZECH ITALIAN NORWEGIAN
PROVOLONE OSTIEPKI GORGONZOLA GJETOST

HUNGARIAN LIPTAUER

The tasting began with familiar English Cheddars, Cheshires and
Stiltons from the top row. We had cheese knives, scoops, graters,
scrapers and a regulation wire saw, but for this line of crumbly
Britishers fingers were best.

The Cheddar was a light, lemony-yellow, almost white, like our
best domestic "bar cheese" of old.

The Cheshire was moldy and milky, with a slightly fermented
flavor that brought up the musty dining room of Fleet Street's
Cheshire cheese and called for draughts of beer. The Stilton was
strong but mellow, as high in flavor as in price.

Only the rum-flavored Canadian Cheddar from Montreal (by courtesy
English) let us down. It was done up as fancy as a bridegroom in
waxed white paper and looked as smooth and glossy as a gardenia. But
there its beauty ended. Either the rum that flavored it wasn't up to
much or the mixture hadn't been allowed to ripen naturally.

The French Muenster, however, was hearty, cheery, and better made than
most German Muenster, which at that time wasn't being exported much by
the Nazis. The Brie was melting prime, the Camembert was so perfectly
matured we ate every scrap of the crust, which can't be done with
many American "Camemberts" or, indeed, with the dead, dry French ones
sold out of season. Then came the Roquefort, a regal cheese we voted
the best buy of the lot, even though it was the most expensive. A
plump piece, pleasantly unctuous but not greasy, sharp in scent,
stimulatingly bittersweet in taste--unbeatable. There is no American
pretender to the Roquefort throne. Ours is invariably chalky and
tasteless. That doesn't mean we have no good Blues. We have. But they
a