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Parlick Fell

Today, I bring you a cheese born of long-ago love on the farm. Yes, yes, I know that I did cheesy romance on Valentine’s Day but when I read the family story behind today’s cheese, I got a little wibbly. First, let me set the scene a little with some Thomas Hardy (and for anyone who moans and wants to skip to the cheese part, I’m an English literature graduate, just count yourself lucky I don’t do this every week):

“They were breaking up the masses of curd before putting them into the vats. The operation resembled the act of crumbling bread on a large scale; and amid the immaculate whiteness of the curds Tess Durbeyfield’s hands showed themselves of the pinkness of the rose. Angel, who was filling the vats with his handful, suddenly ceased, and laid his hands flat upon hers. Her sleeves were rolled far above the elbow, and bending lower he kissed the inside vein of her soft arm.”

Phewee. (And at this point I should say that if you’re the person who came to my blog on Wednesday night having Googled ‘cheese soft porn’, the next bit of the blog is going to leave you sorely disappointed.) Onto the cheese; here it is in its ‘immaculate whiteness’, Parlick Fell:

Grandma Singleton's Parlick Fell
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