You're going to need a bigger cheese boat - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Only the most discerning cooks understand that true comfort food need not rely on the predictable marriage of bread and cheese, nor on the tired tropes of pasta or potato. In our kitchens, we are called to something both sturdier and more ephemeral, something that captures the fleeting immediacy of the day’s events while binding them together with a century’s worth of dairy craft. That is why we turn, time and again, to the foundational dish known as Chaff and Cheese.

 

One cannot overstate the importance of beginning with the proper newspaper base when preparing Chaff and Cheese. The chosen paper must always be The Citizen, home of The Chaff, for no other publication offers quite the right density of fibre or the correct balance of ink to absorb the richness of the cheeses. A weekly edition lends a rustic charm, provided it is folded with care and not crumpled. Lay the sheets flat upon a cool counter, allowing them to breathe as you would a dough. A faint smell of newsprint should greet you, signalling readiness.

 

Next comes the gathering of cheese. The success of Chaff and Cheese rests upon the proper balance of 100 distinct varieties, each selected for its contribution to the composition. Begin with sturdy wedges such as Chesinghampshire Cheddar and Grofton Red, which offer a dependable backbone of flavour. Introduce gentle bloom-rinds like Fenwick Camblanche and Eastmoor Brieley to soften the edges, then fold in the dusky richness of Wharfdale Ashwheel and Little Quindle Blue.

 

Continue with semi-firm selections such as Brockington Jack, Wesselton Havarti and Claremont Creamen, which provide structure without overwhelming. Pepper in sharper tones through Dunsford Pecorino and Marlowe Grana, their crystals offering delightful resistance when the teeth meet paper. To contrast, drizzle across small cubes of Silvershade Tilsit, Fleetmere Fontine and Hatherleigh Goudaine, which bring a mellow sweetness that plays kindly with the faint bitterness of ink. Do not neglect the pastoral contributions of Shorley Fetaine and Crickford Chèvrelet, which, though delicate, are vital in lifting the heavier textures.

 

A layering technique works best. Spread your first sheet of The Citizen, scatter fragments of cheese, and then apply another sheet, pressing lightly with the flat of the hand. Proceed until you have built 20 layers, alternating the placement of pungent and mild cheeses to maintain harmony. Keep a keen eye on alignment; misaligned columns of text can jar the palate. At around the 15th layer, you will notice a gentle sag in the stack, a sign that the newspaper has absorbed the oils. This is the moment to insert a thin veil of Moorhampton Mozzarella and Elliston Ricotter, which act as stabilizers much as mortar holds stone.

 

For finishing touches, a crown of coastal cheeses is advised. Arrange curls of Bexley-on-Sea Bluecap, tidbits of Sandmere Stilting and a scatter of Bracknell Salterino across the top layer. Their briny notes echo the tang of the newsprint, bringing the whole composition together. A final garnish of shredded Northwick Parmesanio may be sprinkled like confetti, its golden flecks catching the light and offering a sense of occasion.

 

Baking is not required, though some purists prefer a brief resting of the completed stack near a warm radiator. This coaxes out faint wisps of steam, which mingle delightfully with the smell of ink and dairy. If the cheese begins to weep excessively, simply dab gently with a corner of the classifieds. Do not be tempted to rush the process; Chaff and Cheese rewards patience. Allow at least 30 minutes of repose before slicing, during which time the layers will bond and the headlines will settle into the rind.
Serving is an art in itself. Use a serrated knife to portion, guiding the blade slowly to avoid tearing through important stories. Place each slice upon a neutral cracker, as strongly flavoured biscuits can overshadow the subtleties of the cheeses. A sprig of parsley or a few drops of rainwater collected from the eaves will brighten the plate. 

 

Chaff and Cheese is best enjoyed in company, ideally with those who appreciate both the written word and the dairy arts. Leftovers, if there are any, should be wrapped again in The Citizen and stored in a cool pantry, where they will keep for as long as the stories remain relevant.

 

In this way, the simple act of combining The Citizen and 100 cheeses becomes not just a meal, but a meditation. Each bite carries with it the faint echo of yesterday’s events, softened by the timeless comfort of curd. Chaff and Cheese may never achieve the notoriety of fondue or raclette, but for those who know, it offers something greater: sustenance woven from the fabric of both community reporting and artisanal tradition, presented in layers too numerous to count, yet never too many to enjoy.