Cheese Scones and Great Expectations

I just happened to come across this cheese from Neal's Yard Dairy called Coolea (coo-lay). An Irish cheese from and English dairy? Interesting; I must taste. (As it turns out, Neal's Yard Dairy became the market when the business grew out of its britches and now the Creamery is the cheesemaking entity.) Upon purchase I intended to add it to some cheesy potato creation I had been dreaming up, but upon tasting I realized it was far too unique to share the stage with any other cheese.

Firm but densely creamy texture, this cheese was similar in ways to Gouda, but still in its own class. Striking butterscotch flavor; if you've ever tasted a cheese and thought, "They say 'butterscotch,' what do they mean, 'butterscotch,' this is cheese, not dessert," then you haven't tasted this one. Sweet caramelized dairy, it was amazing! The quietest grassy herbal notes mingled in with the finish, oh! Words can not explain. I prefer grunts.

In later conversations with myself, I debated the pros and cons of cooking and/or baking with such a fine cheese. "Would they cast me away forever?" I wondered of the countless cheese lovers who would consider the thought of doing something to such an awesome cheese sacrilege. But throwing all judgments and paranoia to the wind, I decided to make scones, soft and tender and riddled with broken nuggets of my new found gem.

Using the same recipe as for the failed cream cheese that turned into a delicious cultured butter, I had only to make a few random substitutions for lack of required ingredients. No AP flour, so in goes bread flour with a touch of oat flour to tone down that gluten. And then there was the buttermilk; it continued to do things in its container, so it was, how should I say so as not to offend, gloopy. I used it anyway. (I must say I've gotten much more adventurous with my dairy products.) In the end, the substitutions created negligible differences. The dough was stiffer than before, probably due to the buttermilk, but the results were just as soft and tender as my first attempt. Then there was the cheese.

Cheese purists of the world, forgive my misdeeds. While the cheese melded into the scone just as I had hoped, it became bitter and chewy. Robust flavors of butterscotch, no more. Delicate sweetness and notes of green pasture, gone. I had killed the cheese.

A bit melodramatic, perhaps. But I can tell you that doing something with this cheese did nothing for it. I was disappointed; I expected a better than expected experience. And while I am certain that I will attempt cheesy scones again, I am also certain that I will be saving dairy of this caliber only for my lonely gullet.