All the foodies have been fooled by the choko of cheeses

Somehow this weird, soggy, gormless lump of cheese which emanates from Italy has invaded menus in Australia, writes Rory Gibson.

Bowl with whole tied Italian cheese burrata, photo - Natasha Breen

Look, someone’s got to say it … burrata is a load of bollocks.

Somehow this weird, soggy, gormless lump of cheese which emanates from Italy has invaded menus in Australia.

A scant few years ago no one had ever heard of it, and now you can’t escape it.

How has this bland blob of tasteless gunk jagged a prime spot in the hearts and minds of restaurateurs across the country?

Burrata is the choko of cheeses. It has all the appeal of a poorly poached egg without a yolk.

The only thing that gives it flavour is the stuff they serve it with. And it costs a small fortune.

Foodies fall over themselves to tell you how wonderful it is.

I’ve been waiting for someone whose opinion on culinary trends matters to call this delusion out but so far, crickets.

Sure it’s all very interesting how it’s produced and the traditions that go with it, but just because it’s been made by rustic types in an obscure part of Italy for hundreds of years doesn’t mean it deserves to steal chicken satay’s place in the starters section of the menu.

While I’m out here on this limb I might as well regurgitate all my gripes about fashionable foods that don’t deserve the accolades they attract.

I’m talking about you, arancini. I’m a huge fan of most things deep-fried in breadcrumbs and I applaud the Italians for trying to make a clump of rice interesting, but until burrata came along arancini was the blandest thing on every caterer’s menu. Well, except for perhaps gnocchi.

It took my youngest son – a committed carnivore – to point out the shortcomings of prosciutto when I noticed he was avoiding it at a family soiree.

“It’s fatty, stringy and tough to chew,” he opined, opening my eyes to a truth I’d always known but never dared to share publicly.

Lest you think Italy is being unfairly singled out, I harbour a virulent scorn for the cult of sashimi.

If it didn’t have a funky Japanese name and instead appeared on menus as “slices of overpriced raw fish” you wouldn’t be so keen on it, would ya?

How can restaurants charge so much for something they don’t even cook? And let’s face it, once you dip the fish into the soy or wasabi that inevitably accompanies it, you can’t taste the fish, so what’s the point?

Waste of good bait, if you ask me.

Originally published as All the foodies have been fooled by the choko of cheeses