An ode to Yorkshire Wensleydale
Hello Folks, we thought the below was too good to keep to ourselves!
Peter, an avid fan, supporter and now, friend of Wensleydale Creamery kindly sent in this poem and we just had to share this poem with you!
The world is wide and full of pride
wherever cheese is made.
In every land, they think their brand
supremely tops the grade.
The Swiss prefer their pale Gruyère;
it’s Gouda for the Dutch.
Italians can their Parmesan
and love it very much.
As for the French, the rich, strong stench
of Roquefort will prevail.
But England’s taste is proudly graced
by Yorkshire Wensleydale.
No other wedge can take the edge
off England’s crumbly cheese.
I don’t know how the Yorkshire cow
produces it with ease.
It eats the grass then rests its ass
and chews the cud for days,
produces milk that’s smooth as silk
before the farmer’s gaze.
The milk is sent with no dissent
from every local vale
and dairymen start working then
to make the Wensleydale.
Far, far away in’t U.S.A.,
the cranberries are picked.
They’re checked at length for size and strength
and taste that can’t be licked.
By ship, by road, the trucks unload
their harvest by degrees
which, fresh and new, is added to
the nation’s favourite cheese.
it’s labeled, wrapped, the freshness trapped,
and placed upon the scale,
for God knows we love cranberry
and Yorkshire Wensleydale.
But stranger, pause. This cheese from Hawes
has many imitators.
From Lincs to Lancs, the curd / whey tanks
try hard to replicate us.
The connoisseur may well cry “Urgh!
This isn’t really kosher!”
but many shops pull out the stops
and place it in their brochure.
So, what’s the way that we can say,
“Bah Gum, that hit’s the nail.”?
Well, to be sure that it is pure,
buy YORKSHIRE Wensleydale.