Bulgarian Feta

Here is my favorite July day salad, and it’s so easy it’s laughable. Sliced cukes and radishes, a whirl of olive oil, some dribbles of rice wine vinegar, and lots of crumbled feta. Bulgarian feta. Crack some pepper over it, and you’ve got a quick lunch for one or two or three or four, using all those cucumbers that are poking their Inspector Clouseau noses up through the garden weeds.

Now, what I’m wondering is how I ever got by without Bulgarian feta before? It’s creamy, rather than curdy, and so much more flavorful than the little clods I’ve bought at the grocery all these years, thinking the Greeks were only mildly interesting. All this time, it’s been the Bulgarians (remember those amazing ululating singers?) who have really known how to milk a sheep and make me pant! Maybe it’s the heat of the patio, but I don’t think so. There is something rich and different in these morsels I bought from a little cheese case near my house where I overheard someone in line ahead of me say, “Have you tried the Bulgarian feta?”

Ask around. If you can find a cheesemonger who carries Bulgarian feta, run home and gorge yourself. I’ve noticed it popping up in other deli cases recently, usually in tubs, where the feta is bathing and lolling -- which might be the real secret. Those dry cubes at the grocery, all shrink-wrapped to look like blocks of Styrofoam insulation, are no good. You need to go to a monger who knows. Or to Bulgaria. My next adventure may just have seeded itself.