When your grandfather’s name is Olaf Oliver Olson, you know the Norwegian genes run strong in your system. We were talking about the old guy this weekend. In his later years, he was always the one in the Fedora and a Pendleton shirt jacket. He prided himself on being a sharp dressed man. You almost have to be an old fart yourself to remember him since I was 6 when he died. I have nothing but positive memories, although I do blame him for my love of coffee, sugar and cheese. I told you about my introduction to baked cheese, but surprisingly not everyone believes me and no one else seems to have heard of it. Unfortunately, I’m almost the oldest in my generation, so I can say just about anything and who’s going to call me a liar. Ah, the power!
(Papa, with a cousin and my brother Paul at Creston Park in Portland Oregon)
So, let’s talk about baked cheese. I’ve been doing a little research. Let’s see a show of hands of everyone who has baked brie. Yeah, that would be everyone. And, why wouldn’t you? This is my basic Baked Brie recipe:
- 1/4 wheel of brie or one of Costco’s small wheels/naked or wrapped in crescent dough
- 3 to 4 tablespoons of honey
In a 350 degree oven, place the brie on a baking dish. Drizzle the brie with honey. Bake the brie for 5 to 7 minutes, until it’s very soft but not melted and/or the crescent dough has browned. I like to serve it with crostini and fig crackers or straight onto my fingers. A little fig jam is nummy as well.
Now, compare that to my papa’s. He would take a thick slab of Tillamook sharp cheddar cheese and place it on a plate. He would liberally sprinkle it with sugar and then he would put it under the broiler until it was soft and gooey. So, how is that different than the brie? It’s not quite as la-di-da; it’s definitely not French; it’s less refined, much more country and rustic, but really it’s the exact same principal. I scrap the gooey parts off first, rather like a Raclette. So, to all the naysayers out there, Papa rules! Give it a try and bring a little Norwegian into your life.
and remember: I’ve been making a list of all the things they don’t teach you in school. They don’t teach you how to love somebody. They don’t teach you how to be famous. They don’t teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don’t teach you how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach you how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach you what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach you anything worth knowing. Big kiss, Lynn