Our resident artist was let loose on the blackboard yesterday, and the picture below appeared. It literally takes her minutes to come up with the idea and create a stunning picture. Not that I am at all jealous!

For anyone whose school English lessons are now a slightly distant memory, our artist has been borrowing from John Keats, who described autumn as the “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.”

I think cheese improves it.

But looking at the board yesterday got me thinking about something else – Why does autumn make us want different cheese?

Because it most definitely does.

There comes a point every year when something changes behind the counter. Nobody announces it. There isn’t an official first day of autumn cheese. But gradually the questions change.

The light, fresh cheeses of summer begin to make way for something a little richer.

People start looking at the blues again.

Washed rinds become much more tempting.

And somebody, somewhere, says the word fondue.

Autumn has arrived, and I love it!

Is there really such a thing as autumn cheese?

Not officially.

There isn’t a cheesemonger’s rulebook that says you must put down the goat’s cheese on 1st September and immediately pick up a wedge of something enormous and Alpine. Thank goodness because I eat what I fancy, when I fancy it, and I’d strongly recommend everyone else does the same.

But our eating habits really do change with the seasons.

Think about what you want to eat on a hot July evening compared with a wet November one. In summer, perhaps it’s a fresh goat’s cheese with tomatoes, something young and milky, or a soft cheese with a glass of cold white wine.

Then the evenings start drawing in. Suddenly melted cheese sounds like an excellent idea.

The return of the proper cheeseboard

I know you can have a cheeseboard at any time of year – I certainly do.

But something about autumn makes a cheeseboard feel particularly at home.

Perhaps it’s what surrounds it.

Apples and pears are everywhere. Walnuts and hazelnuts appear. Chutney suddenly makes much more sense than it did during a heatwave. And the cheeses we’re drawn towards seem to change with them:

• A mature Cheddar with a crisp apple.
• A blue cheese with pear and walnuts.
• Something gloriously pungent alongside good bread.

These aren’t rules. They’re simply combinations that somehow feel right when it’s dark outside at six o’clock.

And then we start melting things

This may be my favourite sign of the changing season.

There is a point in autumn when cheese stops merely being something we cut and starts becoming something we melt. Think:

• Raclette
• Fondue
• Baked soft cheeses
• Cheese on toast
• Macaroni cheese

I realise some of these are considerably more sophisticated than others, but few problems in life aren’t improved by melted cheese.

And after months of eating outside, autumn gives us permission to put something bubbling and cheesy in the middle of the table and gather around it.

The blues are back

Blue cheese never actually went anywhere; we always have a great selection in the counter. Because despite what Christmas would have us believe, Stilton exists for the other eleven months of the year too.

But autumn does seem to be when people rediscover it.

Perhaps it’s the richer food we’re eating. Perhaps it’s the fruit around at this time of year. Perhaps blue cheese simply feels more comforting when you’re wearing a jumper. Whatever the reason, I notice it every year.

Eat the season you’re in

We don’t need rules about which cheese belongs to which month. One of the joys of cheese is that there is always something to eat.

But I do love noticing the moment when our appetites begin to change. More people start asking about Raclette, and inevitably the evening arrives when you realise that what you really want for dinner is cheese on toast.

Those little changes are part of autumn too.

So perhaps Keats was very nearly right. It is the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.

He just forgot the cheese.

Apparently, it’s Raclette season…

Not that Raclette ever leaves our counter. We sell it all year round because, as far as I’m concerned, melted cheese doesn’t have a season.

But there is definitely a point when people start thinking about it again.

The weather cools, the evenings get darker and suddenly a plate of melted Raclette scraped over potatoes, with cornichons and charcuterie alongside, sounds considerably more appealing than it did during a July heatwave.

That’s when I know autumn has properly arrived.