On Comté.

Keith went to Formaggio Kitchen last Sunday (I was busy) and came home with, amongst other things, a sizable wedge of Comté. This is all that’s left of it, and the baguette that Keith bought to accompany it.

I may or may not have said this before, but I love cheese. It is a torrid affair that we are embroiled in, cheese and I, full of longing, yearning and desire. I should add the word “unrequited” as well, but I’m hopeful.

Comté is certainly high on my list of go-to cheeses; along with Pointu Gaborit, Gruyère Alpage, Boerenkaas-Veenweidekaas and Piave Vecchio — which I think is possibly one of the prettiest wheels out there, with its sunny yellow and vibrant blue seal.

Made from cow’s milk, Comté is from the Franche-Comté area of eastern France, near the Swiss border. It’s a harder cheese, but one with a bit of resiliency to it; Comté doesn’t crumble when cut, unlike various Parmesans or a triangle of Mimolette. As for the flavor, well — it’s utterly delicious. Creamy and nutty, it’s similar to Gruyère, with a nice amount of saltiness and a smattering of crunchy calcium lactate crystals sprinkled throughout.

Apparently, Comté is wonderful in fondues and its texture probably lends itself really well to melting. I can just imagine how lovely a Comté and potato gratin would be, or a Comté-based mac and cheese… Truthfully though, I wouldn’t know. Comté never lasts long enough around my house for me to do anything more advanced than slicing off a piece and popping it in my mouth. And I’ve got to say, if that’s all I ever do this cheese, it’s more than enough to make me happy.

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