This, my little hoosiers, is a hunk of Brillat-Savarin, that exalted, down-swathed reliquary of centuries of Norman dairy finesse. See how it beckons with its come-hither ooze? It is at room temperature. It awaits.
The B-S is a triple-crème, which means that it contains, according to Descartes’ famous Paradoxe du fromage français, three times its own weight in butterfat. In other words, you get an MRI before you eat very much of it.
The cheese is named in honor of Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, the mother of all food critics. Brillat-Savarin was a big booster of cheese. In one of his more endearing moments, he compared–as was the wont of the 18th century European male who, while holding forth at a cocktail party, suddenly found himself at a loss for a non-misogynist cheese-related bon mot–the cheeseless dinner to "une belle à qui il manque un oeil."*
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*a beautiful girl who’s lost an eye.
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Ah, we just had a bit of this at a wine and cheese pairing class. Butter-flavored cheese? Cheese-flavored butter? Either way, lovely.
Damn! Now there’ll be less of it for me!