Trolleys are to restaurants what gurneys are to hospitals. They carry the tired, the sick or the dead. A cheese trolley says more to me about a restaurant than money ever can by which I mean that it is so often the case that the appearance of one is supposed to act as added value to an already expensive event. I can understand what a cheese trolley is getting at, even though I disagree vehemently with it, whereas money and I are strangers ; be that as it may, but it is money that makes the wheels go round of the overladen tumbrel of half eaten cheese that rumbles relentlessly towards the linen napped table where the trolley pusher will be able to eclipse the conviviality of contentedly replete diners, happily talking traditional post prandial bollocks, by subjecting each individual to a weird theatre of knife pointing accompanied by a tedious litany of immediately forgotten cheese names. The presence of the trolley will hold the other diners in its thrall, ending conversation while the chosen cheese choosee makes his selection from names that were already familiar to him as he’s forgotten or failed to understand the names recited to him by the cheese pusher who, at the end of this grotesque example of cod gastronomy, will wheel away his trolley, now slightly heavier for the joie de vivre that his cheese knife has excised from each and every diner.
One good cheese in perfect condition is ideal….such as the Mimolette in the picture. Choice, like most things, is bad for you if you have too much of it.