When I visit Richard and Stine in Norway, I am always fascinated at breakfast. I eat a slice of toast with marmalade (St. Peter’s, of course), a banana, coffee, Berocca (vitamin drink - tablets from Boots), my medications and possibly a pot of yogurt (but not always). Richard and Stine, being Norwegian, indulge in a variety of foods - from meats to cheese - and it is the latter that never fails to impress. For they do not cut off a lump, but use a slicer to delicately slice a sliver (or more). And they use a cheese slicer.
Back home, I tried to emulate them with the potato peeler, but it did not work very well. Today I visited my favourite London Market - Borough. And on the train I remembered that there is a an upmarket and very swish kitchen shop close by. And so I popped in there before entering the market. It is the kind of shop that Yvonne would walk round for hours - and come out having bought nothing, commenting that if she really needed one of those she would go to M & S or Lakeland.
Inside the shop, I had no idea where to look for a cheese slicer. I meandered amongst the kitchen knives, bread boards, tea towels and things I did not know existed and would not know how to use if I had one. Finally, in case they thought I was a shoplifter eyeing up the joint, I asked the lady behind the counter - who soon found them. Did I want a box, she asked? And having looked at the price, I decided I did. As she placed the instrument inside the box and wrapped it exquisitely in brown paper, I felt I had to engage her in conversation - and told her all about Richard and Stine, well not all, but a lot! The lady knew Oslo and the ferry and the town hall and the gardens . . .
This evening I enjoyed a cheese salad, with sliced cheese, of course. How Norwegian is that?
