Right, then, you southern jessies, I said, but quietly and in my head. This is how we eat Christmas cake in Yorkshire, none of your fancy frilly ribbons, thick marzipan and sickly icing. It’s cake and cheese, sweet cake, savoury cheese, fuel for the body and mind, a match made in Wensleydale, God’s own country.
There was scepticism at first, colleagues at the Northampton office looked at the slab of cake, and wedge of Wensleydale I’d brought down from Yorkshire first with curiosity, then with horror as I took a bite from each.
Next it was the turn of anyone who wanted the Yorkshire Enlightenment, cake-eating as it should be done. Each approached with caution, nibbling, biting then chewing. Their faces were a picture as they gave the verdict. Yes, they said, it was rather odd, but it somehow worked. Of course it did, it’s from Yorkshire.
This week has seen a massive celebration of Yorkshireness with the announcement that the first two stages of the 2014 Tour de France will start from Leeds. By gum, we were chuffed, I can tell you, in fact Noel and I have already volunteered to make the mucky fat sandwiches for Bradley and co. And if they’re lucky they might get a slice of cake and cheese, that’ll fuel them for the climb up the one-in-four Sutton Bank!