It’s finally happened. A cheese bar has opened in London. I think on some level, I always knew something wonderful would happen in my life. When you spend this long chasing unicorns, eventually one will come cantering to your doorstep and fulfil your wildest fantasies. (I’m surprised my unicorn rocked up in Camden, but if Jesus taught us anything, it’s that miracles happen in strange and mysterious ways.)
After a short walk through knee-deep rubbish, annoying tourists and teenagers getting shit tattoos at places where you might contract Hepatitis C from the windowsill, we arrived at The Cheese Bar in Camden Stables- the mecca of saturated fat. The interior is typically middle class trendy, with hanging black lights, monochrome menu boards and a huge, marble-topped bar cutting through the centre. As the bar was born from street food start-up ‘The Cheese Truck’, it’s no surprise that its clientele are as middle class and trendy as it’s possible to get- think Oliver Bonas jewellery meets ill-advised top knots and people who pay £6.50 for a handful of olives from an artisan market.
We were seated at the main bar and offered the sharing menus, which read like the introduction to ‘50 shades of Brie’, a vaguely pornographic novel for the cheese-obsessed. I wanted to order everything but as there were only three of us, I was advised to exercise a bit of restraint.
First to arrive was the mozzarella sticks, gloriously stringy, breadcrumb-covered wedges of magic, dipped in a rich tomato sauce. I’ve long been a fan of mozzarella sticks, and these came without the deep-frozen, manufactured flavour you usually get in pubs. We’d barely cleared the plate before the asparagus special landed on our table- smothered in a minty, cheese concoction that tasted like being welcomed into the kingdom of heaven in a hot air balloon.
The Four Cheese Rotelle and Queso Fundido were next to arrive, which is posh for macaroni cheese and melted cheese with chorizo. Both were glorious, but as a cheese purist, the rotelle edged it for me- a squishy, gooey, crusty bowl of creamy carbs, drenched in a week’s worth of calories.
Finally it was time for the Short Rib Poutine with Bacon Gravy, a carb- laden beast of a dish that was so rich you felt like someone should have a defibrillator on stand-by. 
I know the dairy industry is evil, and that I’ll probably die of a premature heart attack with my insides glued together by molten Gorgonzola, but I can honestly say it was worth every bite. In fact I’d probably volunteer to bonk a cow over the head myself to repeat the experience.
Though the bar itself could benefit from quieter music and better service, I was really impressed with the standard of the food and the creativity of the menu- even if it is in Camden. I recommend you all visit with an open mind, an empty stomach and patience- it can be around a two hour wait for a table. And finally, don’t have two bottles of wine and think it’s a great idea to stop at one of those grungy looking, hard rock blaring pubs on the way back. Especially if you’re the sort of person who once got emotional at a Steps concert.
