What should I eat with Stilton

Stilton with port wine - for dad

Cheese tastes good. Port tastes good. If the two of them meet and are left alone for three days, Mrs. Stilton and Mr. Port reward me with great attacks on my taste synapses. Finally, if I add a pear in the form of caramelized compote and a slice of fresh sourdough bread, nothing stands in the way of my culinary happiness.

1 pot Blue Stilton, 1 glass of port wine, 1 large or 2 small firm pears, 1 tablespoon butter, 1 teaspoon sugar (I like it best with brown sugar), 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon, 1 teaspoon forest honey, a few walnuts, 1 Tbsp white balsamic vinegar and a good pinch of fleur de sel.

Open the Stilton pot, remove the wax lid and pour in enough port wine to cover the Stilton well. That's it. For my taste it sounds almost too easy for something that is sooooo empty. But unscrew the Nutella glass, put in a spoon and lick it off doesn't sound that complicated and it's just as delicious in its own way!

Now you need a little patience - namely at least two, better three days, Stilton and Port need to get to know each other really well. They do that in my fridge. Important: take out of the refrigerator at least two hours before serving.

For the caramelized pear compote, wash the pear, do not peel it and cut into small cubes.

Melt the butter in the saucepan, add the diced pear, sugar and cinnamon and let it caramelize. Deglaze with balsamic vinegar and, when the vinegar has boiled over, pour in a sip of port wine and add walnuts. Steam the compote as softly as you like. Maybe add more port. I like it with bite. Finally add the honey and season with salt.

Toast the sourdough bread. If you want it in Suuuperenglisch, you can use walnut and oat crackers instead of bread. Spread Stilton on the bread and top with the pear compote. I prefer to drink with it - surprise !!! - Port wine.

A Stilton story

Once upon a time ... so many good stories begin. Well, once upon a time, the year 1730, there was an able innkeeper named Cooper Thornhill. The good man ran a modest public house on the Great-North-Road, in the little village of Stilton, in the central English county of Cambridgeshire.

Probably he ran out of beer, maybe the “heaven fell on his head” in his pint, maybe he had a small but persistent bio-social conflict with Mrs. Thornhill (great word for relationship stress!). Anyway - he must have had a good reason.

In any case, he was going on a little trip to Leicestershire. Even then, traveling was exhausting and the good man got hungry. At Melton Mowbray he first discovered a small farm and then there the farmer Frances Pawlett, who made a delicious blue cheese.
He was so enthusiastic that, after enjoying considerable amounts of cheese, he agreed with her not only to take plenty of cheese with him, but also to take over the entire marketing of the cheese, admittedly not particularly attractive on the outside.

After a few months, entire truckloads of the cheese, now known as "Stilton", were being sent through England. Thornhill had taken advantage of the trade route between London and Northern England ... which ran, what a coincidence: via Stilton.