Baked Camembert

I came across this cheese with a rather unusual name while listening to my osteopath, a well-versed British lady in many respects. She wholeheartedly recommended trying this cheese. Intrigued, I delved into the history and embarked on a search. I found it surprisingly easily... and was genuinely taken aback by what I found. You know how it goes: sometimes the experience lives up to the first impression, and other times it's sadly lacking. Take buses for example. I'm still amazed by London's double-deckers. The whole experience of these vibrant red buses is simply exhilarating, especially from the front seats on the upper deck. The bus manoeuvres wildly on narrow streets, leaning on turns, defying the laws of physics, brushing past branches and nearly colliding with poles. The intensity of the sensations: a solid 9 out of 10. With this cheese, the expectation was of a strong, pungent smell that should permeate from a mile away, overpowering everything else in the fridge. But it turned out not to be the case. The taste is extraordinary, elegant, not overpowering and with a hint of earthiness. Modest and more subdued than Camembert perhaps. And the aroma is unassuming. A modest 4 out of 10. Stinking Bishop was named after a colourful character named Bishop, a farmer from the mid-19th century. He was quite the drinker with a complex personality. Legend has it he once fired a shot at a teapot on the stove because it was getting on his nerves; hence the prefix "stinking" which is more of a playful moniker meaning "unpleasant" rather than indicating smelliness. Nevertheless, if I had to choose, I'd definitely opt for Camembert. It packs a more robust punch, with age and ripeness adding sharpness and nobility. I simply adore it, especially baked.