Riddonkulous

I sit in a cave, aging to perfection, Dressed in cloth or wax for my protection. I can be sharp as a tack or smooth and mild, A favorite of mice, a man, and a child. From Somerset’s hills, my name was born, Now melted on burgers or shredded on corn. I’m gold or white, a savory treat, But I'm not a fruit, a veggie, or meat.