Andante

Andante's Pianoforte and Contralto

I swooped these beauties up one blustery Saturday at the Ferry Building Farmers Market in SF. How could I resist? I rarely have the pleasure of tasting Andante cheeses, and never the pleasure of selling them.

Andante is a much sought after creamery in Petaluma, CA, where all the cheeses are delicate and dreamy, and bare musically inspired names. Milk master Soyoung Scanlan notoriously shuns the spotlight, insisting her creations do the talking for her. They've given her quite the reputation. And humble as she may be about her craft, can we really separate artists from their masterpieces? DaVinci from The Last Super? Michelangelo from David? Soyoung from Acapella? Okay, so that was a bit of an exaggeration. I tend to do that.

Contralto is a washed rind goat cheese, all pudgy and soft. The sturdy yet elegant wedge smelled of the water steamed cauliflower leaves behind and a bit like a goat pen, but it tasted of cured meat, butter sauteed shiitakes and was reminiscent of a Pho broth. Mouth full and my eyes slowly rolling back in my head, all I could muster was a Yum barely audible under my cheese gurgle. It was a truly blissful experience of savory, salt and funk.

The Pianoforte was a different story. I took one lick, cringed, and spat it out. It was overripe, and I now see why I was told to eat it the day I bought it, which I didn't. Oops. But even through the bitterness I could tell it would be a milky, beautiful little cow cheese in its prime. Perfection is fleeting and I missed the boat. But if you do happen to make it aboard, this is something Scanlan demonstrates oh-so well.

Consider This

1333 Vt Route 153  West Pawlet, VT

I'm in a rut. A cheese rut. It doesn't sound so bad, really, especially if said cheese is melted. But in a profession where I am surrounded by dairy almost daily, it isn't difficult to survey your surroundings, take a deep breath (not noticing the smell any longer), and become uninspired.

Working for over a year in one shop, I've seen the same tomes, disks, logs, drums, buttons and truncated pyramids cycle in and out over the seasons. And it truly is a special thing to so closely be able to analyze how the Spring milk affects the textures, flavors and aromas of a wheel versus the Winter milk, how the cheesemaker has tweaked their recipe. Then again there's the feeling of, Haven't we been here before?

This can be disenchanting. Occasionally a producer will come up with a new creation that will awe, inspire and invigorate; or fall flat on its face. Trying a cheese that's been around a cool while, but your taste buds have yet had the pleasure to meet, can be just what the monger needs.

I have been intrigued by Consider Bardwell Farm for about as long as I've been intrigued by cheese - or at least as long as I've been researching it. Nestled in the Champlain Valley, I admittedly know very little about the almost 150 year old dairy that straddles the Vermont-New York state border. It wasn't until a chilly, seven a.m., pre-Thanksgiving Saturday that I got my first taste. Still wrapped in sleep, I was presented with two beautiful wheels my eyes found curiously unfamiliar, and my mouth found wickedly (East Coast representing!) delightful. Enter: Pawlet and Rupert.

Both are raw Jersey cow cheeses, made with milk purchased from a nearby dairy. The Bardwell farm actually raises and milks about 100 Oberhaslis goats. Google them - they're friggin' cute.

Rupert is an Alpine style - a cooked, pressed curd - apparently the closest American representation of France's Beaufort Alpage. Smooth and dense in the paste; nutty, savory and rich, and a little spicy in the flavor. Formatted large like the Swiss greats, this cheese crosses boundaries. Paired with white, red and bubbly wines, or beer, it would likely hold its own. Likewise it would be a happy partner with ham on a hot sandwich, and a highlight on any cheese plate. And whoever thought of stamping a whale on the bloated, desert-earthen hued wheel of cheese before I did deserves props. And a bit of my scorn. To top it off they called it Rupert, which makes me hate the Bardwell folks just a little bit more. Genius, really.

Can you see Moby Dick?

Pawlet is the everyday nosher with the beautifully ridged, pinkish rind. It is inspired by Italian table cheese, not unlike Bellwether Farm's Carmody. Creamy, but with a more open texture than Rupert, it coats your tongue with a milky tartness and fruitiness that shouts "Melt Me!" Or, "Eat me with sweet, crisp apples". Or, "Just bite off a hunk!" while dashing out the door. 

I by chance encountered Consider Bardwell's stand at the Union Square farmers market during my October trip to New York. Overwhelmed and sputtering I'm sure, I was whisked away by my travel companions before I could further drool on the market representatives, who looked a bit worried by my presence. After all we had a date at Republic, and a plane to catch in a few short hours. Plus we were all pretty burnt from the local cheese plates I made almost nightly for my hosts. Pity.

Hudson Valley locals:
Kunik, Hudson Red, and a Gouda-style that's name I can't recall.
Too much cider...

Don't they say that good things come to those who wait? While I reluctantly passed on the Consider Bardwell market experience, only a month later the same cheeses were surprisingly presented to me. Both were delicious, and made for a lip-smacking good time. A pleasure to sell and a pleasure to eat, I anxiously anticipate trying their other wheels, especially of the goat kind. Like Batman and Robin in the Batmobile, Rupert and Pawlet rolled in and saved the day.