Boeren-Leidse Komijnekaas

When I arrived in Leiden to study Greek, Hebrew, and the other languages that make sensible people cross the street, I thought the city would feed me on books. It did. But it also fed me on cheese: pale, firm, dry in the hand, carrying the warm little crackle of cumin seed. In a student room with bad curtains and good beer, Boeren-Leidse taught me that a cheese can be a document if you know how to read it.

The name already tells you. Boeren means farmer's, Leidse means of Leiden, and komijnekaas is cumin cheese. Even komijn has travelled: through Latin cuminum and Greek kyminon, with cousins in Hebrew kammon and Arabic kammun. But let me tell you a secret: this is not spice as decoration. This is exuberant cookery in a frugal country. Around Leiden, farmers skimmed cream for butter and made a lean hard cheese from what remained. The cumin gave perfume to thrift, and the dry body kept better than richer cheeses on long journeys.

So don't bury this cheese under grapes and little flags, for obvious reasons. Treat it like the serious thing it is. Let it come to cool room temperature, cut it thin enough that the cumin opens under your teeth, and serve it with roggebrood, dark rye bread, mustard, appelstroop, Dutch apple syrup, and something sour. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple. A board, a knife, a glass of beer, and the keys of Leiden doing their quiet work at the table.