LUKE 4: Ruairi came to Norway and fell in love with brunost, but there is one thing he hates - matpapir.

FOTO: Beate Felde


I love brunost. I love the colour, the interesting sweet taste and its ubiquity in such a small corner of the world. I don’t differentiate between Gudbrandsdalost and Fløtemysostor any of those other unknown geitost brands. To me, it’s all just damn good cheese. I love it on my morning toast or on waffles, combined with a generous helping of jam. You will almost always find a nice packet of sliced brunost in my Fantoft fridge, perhaps an oddity in the international ghetto of Bergen.

You know what I don’t love? The silly little bits of plastic paper in between slices of pre sliced brunost. You know what I’m talking about, those weird little greasy bits of, not quite see through, nastiness known as «matpapir». They are everywhere. I mean everywhere. You just can’t seem to get away from them once you open a new pack of Brunost, littering the table, the floor, the fridge, the toaster, you name it.

I understand that their basic purpose is to keep the slices from sticking to each other but all they seem to do is add another sticky layer to the whole experience. All I want is a nice, perfectly sized slice to stick on my kneipp. Instead I get a minor incident. Bits of brunost stuck on the paper, bits falling onto the table, leaving a sticky stain. It’s simply not a good brunost experience.

I haven’t even mentioned the environmental impact of so many bits of plastic paper. There must be an incinerator somewhere like Grimstad dedicated to just burning matpapir twenty-four hours a day.

«Just buy the non-sliced brunost» I hear you say. Absolutely not. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. Have you seen those blocks? You might as well try build a house with them, that’s how sizeable those chunks of dairy seem to be. What’s more, they come with a serious economic investment. The 80+ kroner price tag would be a serious chunk of my Kiwi bill. Just get rid of the matpapir and let us live our lives without the menace of breakfast time.