Crumbly and rather dry, made from cow’s milk, with some irregular spots of blue. The rind brown, grooved, thin, with a distinctiveness smokiness – the Las Arenas didn’t really jump at me at our first encounter. A friend had bought it in Madrid from the glorious Cultivo cheesemongers (thank you Florian!). Theoretically, everything about it was just right: raw milk, natural rennet, spontaneous blue mould, a family’s small artisanal production in Asturias. But to be totally honest with you: after our first encounter I forgot about its ongoing existence in the large brown paper bag that acts as cheese vault in my fridge.
Fully three weeks later I came across it while sorting leftover bits and bobs, dutifully put it on that night’s cheese board – and ¡Hola! It still crumbled rather dryly, but now I liked that, it reminded me of Salers from Auvergne and Bleu de Termignon from Savoie. I felt that we understood each other, whereas before there had been just silence. I was almost sad when I picked up the last crumbs. The next day, I chanced upon the following passage in the latest book by Cees Noteboom, that fine observer and describer...
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