Spotlight: Brown Cheese (Oslo II)

Brunost sandwiches from Baker Hansen.

As ash rains down upon Oslo and the Spy tries not to panic as he contemplates a stranded eternity, he finds himself in tuneful voice. Consequently, he has penned an ode to one of the strangest and most beautiful delicacies of the Nordic cuisine (greatest expressions of art flourishing in the face of adversity etc etc). What dish might this be, he hears you ask? The ungodly Icelandic rotten shark, predominantly forcefed to unsuspecting tourists? Seared sheep's head, or indeed any of the dishes consumed during Thorramatur? The grisly hanging dried fish that brought such prosperity to Norway's medieval shores? The traditional Thursday delicacy of raspeballer, which sit in the stomach like cannonballs and would no doubt be every bit as lethal in battle? Rotten herring, as celebrated with great joy (and copious quantities of raw onion) at the Annual Fermented Herring Festival in Sweden? Indeed no. The Spy is talking of Brunost, otherwise known as brown cheese or gjetost (goat's cheese).

Individually wrapped slices of brunost, for that life-or-death toffee cheese emergency...

Made from milk, whey and cream, brunost is boiled for hours until the water evaporates and a sweet, caramelised gloop remains. It is a tricky ingredient to use in combination with others, and in comparison to more standard cheeses, there are few recipes that incorporate brunost apart from sauces to be eaten with game. One particularly fine trick is to toast a slice of bread, preferably muesli or seeded, spread with a layer of jam, preferably strawberry, and then top with a thin slice of brunost. (Incidentally, always slice, dont cut. The cheese slicer or ostehøvelen was invented (or at least patented) by the Norwegians for such a case as this, for a lumpy great chunk of brunost is a Monstrosity unto the Lord.) Otherwise, just stick to having it plain in sandwiches. However, the Spy, being a terrible foreign type, has a sacrilegious habit of asking for 'choose your own fillings' sandwiches in bakeries that consist of both salad ingredients and slices of brunost on top. The idea is that he then takes the two halves apart, thus creating two smørbrød (open faced) sandwiches for the price of one (salad for main course, brunost for afters). Yet however many times he tries to explain this to the people working in the bakeries, he is simply met with a pitying expression, and, on several occasions, a flat refusal to commit such a dastardly culinary crime. Alas...

The freakish monstrosity of a brunost-and-salad sandwich, pre-deconstruction.

Anyway, in homage to this fine and distinguished son of Norway, the Spy feels An Ode rushing to his lips, ready to gush forth like a flowing river of Viking mead (*cue lugubrious throat-clearing cough*): 

Oh Mighty, Noble, Sweet Brown Cheese,

You make me tingle to my knees,

You dont melt well, you're bad for cooking,

An orange brick, not too good-looking.

Yet of all cheeses, you're the king
Your goaty goodness makes me sing, 

On toasted muesli-bread you go

With strawb'rry jam, it's odd, I know,

But yummy, and one's gotta find

A way to make those flavours bind.   

The bakers in the sandwich shop

Refuse to place you on the top

Of salad, though I beg and plead,

They quake, assuming I've been freed

From some nut-house, 'til I assert

One half's main course, one half's dessert.
(A word of caution, please note well,
When paired with chutney, brunost's hell.)

All glory be to you, geitost,

Without you, I'd be wholly lost.

Huzzah, hip hip, and give me more,

'Til I explode upon the floor!

A final note: the Spy has not forgotten that this blog is in fact called 'Feasting in the Fens'. Consequently, he is delighted to inform you all that the Cambridge Cheese Company in All Saints Passage sells brunost, so strap on your skis and get down there right now.

There's only so many pictures of brunost a Spy can take. Behold some mighty Viking axes instead.

And behold a mighty Norwegian flag. Note the angle of the horizon: the Spy was rather green around the gills at this point.