South London's Borough Market is even sweeter after nearly a fortnight snowed in

The winter of 1985 found me in Muskegon, Michigan, working as a general assignment reporter on The Chronicle as part of my University degree. It was a town that knew how to do winter.

It snowed a little most nights. Each morning before work, business and home owners would fire up their snow blowers to clear walks, drives and parking. Snow plows kept the streets fairly clear, but there always seemed to be snow packed below. Not a problem, as everyone had heavy duty snow tires or chains. It was bitterly cold, and by late January the accumulated snow was at least waist deep. This didn't keep the Michiganders inside: ice fishing, snow shoeing, cross country skiing and a lot of drinking at Muskegon Lumberjack ice hockey games were all promoted to me as ideal uses of recreational time.

I've been thinking about that winter a lot, given the comparison of this one. London in January 2010 is experiencing a winter everyone is heralding as the worst in living memory; it's been below freezing for the better part of a month, and we've been hit by multiple snowfalls. This, however, is a town that has no idea how to manage.

I suppose I was quite lucky to get home from Heathrow, given the fact that none of the side roads had been ploughed and sheets of black ice lay everywhere. In the following two weeks I barely left the house. One of the advantages of flexible working is that I don't need to, of course, but it was getting pretty lonely after a week. There was a limit, however, to how long I could survive out of cupboards and freezer. But the news was keeping me indoors, with stories of motorists stranded for hours, impassible roads and halted public transport.

The first time I ventured out in a car I almost got stuck in a slushy verge, while the only time I had to go into London the announcement on the train platform told me that I traveled at my own risk, with no guarantee they could get me home. By 4pm, 80 per cent of the trains out of Waterloo were cancelled and I felt quite fortunate to stumble through my door with an extra hour of travel time.

All this from a couple of snowfalls, none of which topped three inches, and temperatures that never got much below 30F/-1C. In Michigan, the idea of these conditions causing trouble would be laughable. But in a country that has no equipment, nor any idea of how to deal snow, it's been a mess.

Thus it felt like a holiday yesterday when it was not only clear enough to get into town easily, but to go out to a friend's dinner party in Chiswick that night with assurance that we'd make it home. Being in London on a Friday gave me a chance to swing by Borough Market. London's premier specialty food and produce market, in the shadow of Southwark Cathedral, really only swings into action on Fridays and Saturdays. This is a foodie paradise. Specialist bakeries offer bewildering ranges of breads and sweet treats. Produce stands display the best of the best, arranged in displays like piles of glittering jewels. Ethnic booths offer food from Spain, Italy, France, the Middle East and Asia. Here an olive vendor, there a specialist pork butcher, there a booth with nothing but boutique ales and beers. Free samples abound, and if you're feeling more peckish, there's street food on sale throughout the market and restaurants ringing it.

For me, however, the real edge of this market is its cheeses. Most of the rest of these delights you can find in suburbia, but getting this cheese range anywhere else is rare. Knowing I'd be able to stop by the market, I'd volunteered to assemble the cheese board for the evening's party. I think I got pretty close to perfection.

First, Pouligny St. Pierre, a bready, delicate, almost floral goat cheese from the French Alps. It is my favourite cheese in the world, rare in France much less beyond, so getting my hands on one of the little pyramids with its lopped top was a find. Next came a pungent ewe's milk cheese, also from France. I neglected to save the name of that one, and it was something I'd never heard of, but the guys at the French cheese stall guided and sampled me to an excellent selection. Then it was time to jump the Channel. On to the Bournes Cheese stand, purveyors of a variety of aged cheddars made to what they claim is the oldest cheese recipe on record in England. I also picked up one of their Bries to fill the mild end of the board. Finally, the sumptuous Stichelton. This is essentially Stilton, but unpasteurised and made to the original recipe, as opposed to all modern Stiltons that must go through modern pasteurisation processes. The result has all the pungent tang of the blue we know, but accompanied by much creamier, richer back notes.

Two weeks confined to the house, unable to do my usual walking because of the iced roads. Followed by a cheese board direct from heaven. Is it any wonder I didn't perform well at Weight Watchers this morning? The thaw, and the diet, are coming.

borough market, the perfect cheese board