The Reclusive Turophile
She refuses to speak at the University. But she is the city's foremost authority on the subject of cheese.
Call for a chat
The Reclusive Turophile sees few people. It's something to do with a misunderstanding and a pair of spies.
Go
A scent of the past
At the end of a long and rather bibulous evening of cheese-tasting, the Turophile's valet brings in a last covered dish. Cave-aged gruyère! For a moment, you're back in that little bistro in Geneva.'Splendid, isn't it?' she says. 'Cheese of any sort is hard to find down here, but cave-ageing is hardly a problem these days. So they turn to more peculiar methods of maturation. Rash methods. Savage methods. Debauched methods... That's how she got her start, you know. The one they used to call Alice. A blackmailer. Do you know: I think I am becoming indiscreet. Your company, or the wine? Let's say it's your company. Be apprised, then, of the preferences in cheese of the great and the good...
The horror. The horror! That such things could ever have been dreamt on. Innocent milk, roguish but harmless cheese, turned to such ghastly and disgusting purpose. Quick. Get a pen.
Talk to her about the Tomb-Colonies
You've heard that she once spent some time at a little known Tomb-Colony off the main shipping lanes.