Diary of a Shopkeeper, 2nd February
Our alphabet of deli food continues with J, K and L.
J is or Jarlsberg, our second Norwegian cheese in two weeks. Mainland Europe and the British Isles dominate our fridge numerically, but while the Scandinavians may be small in number, they’re big in impact. Last week I talked about Norway’s unique Gjetost – half cheese, half fudge. Another of our favourite cheeses is a mature, nutty Swede with an unusual grainy texture, Västerbottensost. Jarlsberg, by contrast, is not noted for strong flavours. If anything, it’s the ultimate bland cheese: glossy in appearance, smooth in texture, and with a flavour that’s slightly sweet, slightly salty, slightly nutty, and, well, slightly cheesy.
At least, that’s Jarlsberg as we know it today. It was developed in the mid-19th century in imitation of Swiss cheeses like Emmental, but after a few years of popularity fell out of production. That original version may have been a miracle of flavour. It wasn’t till 1956 that a professor at the Norwegian Agricultural College started experimenting with recipes in an attempt to revive it. And it wasn’t till 1972 that it was launched commercially, by a large dairy company called Tine. By then it was the acme of blandness, with its characteristic big holes being possibly the most interesting thing about it.
But there’s no point in being snobby: it’s enormously popular all around the world. It’s the cheese that’s imported more than any other into the USA – millions of kilos per year – in addition to millions more kilos being made under license in a factory in Ohio. Its success in the States isn’t surprising, as their own mass-market cheese is, if anything, even blander. Closer to home, it does fill a niche: if you have two or three powerful, strongly flavoured choices on a cheese board, it can be useful to have something self-effacing as a contrast. It also melts well, making it good in many cheese sauce recipes. In Norway it’s the cheese used to top the country’s most popular frozen pizza, Grandiosa. And who knows more about pizza than the Norwegians?
Not that food and drink can only be made well in the place it originated. Take k for kombucha, for instance. This sparkling tea drink was created somewhere in China sometime in the 1800s, before spreading west through Russia and into Europe. It took about a century to reach the UK, and finally made it to Orkney last week.
Kombucha comes in various forms, but at base it’s a drink made by fermenting sweetened tea till it’s fizzy and quite un-tea-like in flavour. What it does taste like depends on the preferred style of the brewer, and whether they choose to add flavourings like fruit and spices. It’s made using symbiotic fermentation – meaning two substances working together – in this case bacteria and yeast. Brewed vinegar uses the same method, and there’s always a vinegary tang in good kombucha.
The newly launched Golden Slipper Brewing Company’s versions are superb examples, the best I’ve ever tasted: flavoursome but with a perfect balance of fruity sweetness and refreshing acidity. They’re making two bottled versions – semi-sweet Pineappleweed flavour, and bone-dry Sea Kelp – as well as a hoppy version in a can. It’s naturally alcohol free, and much superior to any no-alcohol beer I’ve tasted. The packaging is beautiful, and the prices reasonable: a great new Orkney product, available in lots of local outlets.
Another superior low alcohol drink is a wine that’s as much a throwback to the 1970s as Jarlsberg: L for Lambrusco. As so often the case with wine, the poor reputation Lambrusco has now is a direct reaction to its enormous popularity in the past. In the 1970s and 80s, it was a best seller all around the world, including being the most popular European wine in the USA. As always when demand soars, quality gradually dropped. Unscrupulous winemakers and desperate distributers accepted lower standards in vineyards, fruit and winemaking. Mediocre wines were ‘improved’ by artificial additives, most often sugar. And consumers gradually realised that the wine was not as good as it used to be, and moved on to Australian Chardonnay…Italian Pinot Grigio…New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
The pendulum of popularity swings. But that’s a good thing for anyone paying attention. Lambrusco’s sales are a fraction of what they used to be, but it’s the cheap factory-made wines that have disappeared: what remains now tends to be the good stuff, because that was never going for mass market appeal anyway
Native to Emilia-Romagna in central Italy, the Lambrusco grape produces wine that is scarlet-red, full of juicy strawberry flavours, and sparkling – either gently (frizzante) or exuberantly (spumante). Some are slightly sweet, others completely dry. All tend to be between 5% and 10% alcohol, which is not only good for the head, but means they attract less government duty. All that, and they’re fantastic matches for a wide range of simple foods from Parmigiano to salami to fried fish. And even for a Grandiosa pizza topped with Jarlsberg cheese.
You can read more about Orkney kombucha here, and you can buy it from us (and various other local outlets…)
This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 6th February 2025. A new diary appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations, and occasional small corrections or additions.