Wallace and Gromit will catapult a fine old British cheese into the spotlight, says Christopher Middelton

There are plenty of cheesy celebrities these days, but the Stinking Bishop is different. It is one of the stars of the new Wallace and Gromit film and such has been the publicity for this pungent product of rural Gloucestershire that stocks are starting to run low.

Stinking Bishop

Big cheese: Stinking Bishop will appear in a film with Wallace and Gromit

"We're selling three times as much as we normally do," says a spokesman for the Real Eating Company in Brighton. "Every other order is for Stinking Bishop," sighs the man from Teddington Cheese Online.

At Paxton and Whitfield's Piccadilly branch in London, they've sold out of the sliced variety, but can put a 500g wheel aside for me under the counter (£17.50). Having dashed over to retrieve my prize, I hold a little tasting session for friends and family.

"Pungent", "assertive" and "overpowering" are the polite verdicts. "Farmyard pong" and "foreign drains" are the less appreciative comments.

In fact, the taste of the cheese isn't half as fierce as the smell. "Its bark is definitely worse than its bite," confirms the lady from Neal's Yard Dairy. Nevertheless, it does bark pretty loudly and, like its four-pawed counterparts, has a habit of leaping out and attacking the postman.

"We never mail out Stinking Bishop during the hot summer months," says Patricia Michelson, who owns two La Fromagerie shops in London. "It really does get too high to handle, and wouldn't go down at all well in the sorting office."

The same caveat applies at Paxton and Whitfield, too. "We only send out Stinking Bishop to signed-up members of our Cheese Society," says account manager Rob Reames. "And, even then, it only travels in our own sealed, temperature-controlled vans."

A cheese for the connoisseur, then, and until news leaked out of its (as yet unspecified) role in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, due to be released on October 14, fans of the Stinking Bishop were confined to a small number of specialist fromage-ophiles. All of which suited the cheese's maker Charles Martell, who admits he has neither the capacity nor the inclination to produce more than 100 rounds per day.

Originally, he began making the cheese on his farm at Dymock, 15 miles north of Gloucester, as a means of drawing attention to the rare breed of cows which supplied the milk. Thanks to his efforts, the number of Old Gloucesters, striking mahogany-coloured cattle, has risen in Britain from a mere 68 to 500-plus.

His other great enthusiasm is for the orchards of the area; indeed the Stinking Bishop is the name of the pear from which Martell makes the perry (pear cider) in which he bathes his cheese, thereby creating its fruity rind.

As well as the Stinking Bishop, he has studied and collected scores of other Gloucestershire pear varieties, and has identified 84 types still in existence: among them Early Griffin, Flaky Bark, Honeyknob, Judge Amphlett and Merrylegs. Don't look for Bastard Longdon or Billy Williams, though; they've already disappeared.

As yet, no one knows how Martell will cope with the sudden surge in demand. When an earlier Aardman Animation film featured Wensleydale as Wallace's favourite cheese, it resulted in a long-term quadrupling of demand; the creamery concerned now employs 200 people, whereas the full Stinking Bishop staff complement currently numbers just three.

"We can't really produce any more because we're working flat out as it is," says the affable Old Salopian Martell, who is 59. "I'm not actually sure how I'm going to solve this problem, but it's quite a nice one to have."

One solution might be to subcontract some of the work to a friendly monastery; it is thought that Cistercian monks in the area developed the original Stinking Bishop.

Alternatively, if demand continues to outstrip supply, cheeselovers might try similarly nostril-challenging "boutique" cheeses from around the British Isles; these include Gubbeen, Durrus, Mileens and Ardrahan (from Ireland), Bishop Kennedy (from Scotland) and mead-bathed Oxford Isis from England.

'There is no doubt that British cheesemakers are becoming increasingly confident about what they are doing," says Juliet Harbutt, the organiser of this month's British Cheese Awards. "Something like the Wallace and Gromit film makes people realise just how many small, independent cheesemakers there are." According to the Specialist Cheesemakers Association, there are 139.

One of those is the Prince of Wales, who commissioned Charles Martell to create a Stinking Bishop "clone" called Starvall Royal, produced with milk from his own organic herd of Ayrshires which graze at Highgrove. Unfortunately, it is for the Prince's private consumption only, and is not available to the public.

All of which means that if Stinking Bishop gets any scarcer, its fans might start to become desperate. We could even see a repeat of what happened at specialist cheesemaker James Montgomery's farm in Somerset, when thieves stole six tons of Cheddar.

Cheese rustling! Now there's a subject for a Wallace and Gromit follow-up.

• # The British Cheese Awards are at the Imperial Gardens, Cheltenham, on October 22-23; tickets £6 (£5 in advance; 01242 227979; www.thecheeseweb.com).

Cheese hall of fame

Epoisses Favourite cheese of Napoleon Bonaparte and famously banned from the Paris Metro on grounds of stinkiness.

Limburger Pungent Swiss cheese that sparked a US postal dispute during the 1930s when mailmen refused to carry it.

Stilton Not actually made in Stilton, but made famous there by the Bell Inn, the pub that sold it during the 18th century.

Virgin Mary Sandwich Grilled cheese toastie purporting to bear the face of the Madonna on its surface. It fetched a bid of $18,000 at auction last year in the US.

I Am the Cheese A film made in 1983 starring Robert Wagner about a boy trying to unlock the secret of his parents' disappearance.

The Cheesehead Hat Giant piece of foam Gruyère that is worn on the heads of fans of the American football team the Green Bay Packers.

'Blessed are the cheesemakers' From Monty Python's Life of Brian when those at the back of the crowd mishear "Blessed are the peacemakers" at the Sermon on the Mount.

Real Eating Company – the restaurant arm of a retail business specialising in quality foodstuffs. All-day salads, soups and sandwiches, plus a handful of eclectic modern British dishes offered in light, unpretentious surroundings. A big plus is the in-house bakery which sends out pies, tarts, biscuits and cakes to melt any child’s heart.

Helena Hudson opened the Real Eating Company last year. She lives in Hove with her husband, Kevin, and two children Freya, ten and Peran, seven. A former advertising executive, Helena Hudson says that even after a day sticking labels on jars, lugging crates of wine and dealing with suppliers, nothing would tempt her back to her old job. “It’s no less stressful” she admits, “but the highs are much higher – it’s great doing something you’re passionate about”.

It was moving from Islington to Brighton three years ago and struggling to find a decent food shop that first sowed the seeds of Helena’s deli ambitions. She found a former art gallery which she thought was perfect for her new venture. “I had 19 months of battles with builders and planners and there were times when I thought ‘I can’t do this’ “ she admits. But she’s now the proud owner of a stunning light-filled deli-cum-café.

“What I’m trying to do is sell fantastic British produce” she says. She also makes and sells her own traditional cakes, pies and own-label jams, jellies and pickles. Thankfully, Helena’s work is less consuming than it was in the early days. “But the children are still suspicious of day trips” she smiles “because they know it’s somehow going to involve a farmer’s market”.

Brighton and Hove have long been known as havens for the healthy eaters: the two over-lapping towns are awash wth foodstores and snack bars promising vegans, vegetarians and organic delights. But after a day on the beach or shopping in the Lanes, you might want something a little bit more substantial thn a sarnie and a shot of wheatgrass juice. In which case, you could do a lot worse than head for the Real Eating Company.

The elegant wrought iron windo frames and antique-looking sign give the distinct impression that this shop and restaurant might have been established circa 1900. In fact, it opened just over a year ago, the brainchild of Helena Hudson, whose aim to 'provide real food for people who love to eat, cook and buy good food'.

The well-stocked shop sells goods from local producers, hand-made specialities from around the world, and some rather tempting breads made in the on-site bakery. If you want to minimise the impact on your pocket, though, it's best to save your shopping for after lunch.

Mums with babies, professional-lookng couples and multi-generational families occupy the non-smoking restaurant's 35 seats, which are split between the shop-side window area and a sky-lit space at the back. A few foodie pictures decorate the walls and tables are set simply - the light, airy surroundings leave you to concentrate on your meal.

The menu isn't too long, nor too complicated - you're not overwhelmed with details of every dribble of garnish you'll see on your plate. Never the less, the dishes on offer cater for everyone from the peckish vegan to the could-eat-a-horse carnivore (kids have their own menu or can choose half portions from the main menu). Drinks include everyone's favourite Sussex bubbly Nyetimber, some organic ales and ciders, and wines ranging from £11 to £39.

My companion and I shared two small plates of salads for starters: tomato, avocado, red onion and basil, and carrot and guindilla - a piquant green pepper. It's fresh, tasty and organic, and leaves us feeling virtuous enough not to hold back on the mains. The waitress tells us that all the meat is organic and locally-sourced: reassured, I opt for the venison casserole, which comes in a rich mushroom-and-onion gravy, with mash and perfectly cooked kale. There's a real 'aah bisto!' moment when my companion's cod, spinach and parmesan bake arrives steaming in its earthenware dish. A side order of green beans is livened up neatly with garlic and almonds. It looks good without being fussy and the natural flavours are wonderfully combined. Portions are generous but we still sent two clean plates back to the kitchen.

We haven't quite got room for a plate of award-winning British cheeses, but we manage to squeeze in a dessert. When the chef discovers that the homemade tamarillo sorbet hasn't yet set, I'm offered an alternative on the house: the passionfruit meringue mess I have instead is light, the sharp fruit offsetting the sweetness nicely. My companion's chocolate fudge sundae is wickedly indulgent, packed with cream, pecans and walnut biscotti.

If ever there was a case for keeping it real, this company is it.

“When I decided to leave London and start commuting to work every day, Hove in east Sussex was my first destinations” says David.

“Having a great local café was a real lifesave. The food and coffee was as good as any fine London café, but within easy walking distance of home. The café is combined with a unique food store and deli, so good Italian risotto rice and keens cheddar was also just a walk away”.