Would You Like Some Fat With Your Fat?

Let's pretend we're French.

It's an unusually warm March Sunday that we've spent leisurely brunching with friends, perusing the farmer's market, basking in the early Spring. Now the sun's begun to set and with the cold breeze rushing in the open windows we're reminded it's still Winter, and a hearty supper is in order. We uncork a bottle of wine and get to chopping. Tonight's menu: Tartiflette

Tartiflette comes from Haute Savoie. Only three words need be said about this dish: Potatoes, cheese, bacon. I guess that it's also worth mentioning that it's really, really good. And decadent. And easy to make. The dish calls for Reblochon cheese. Also from the Savoie, Reblochon is the kind of cheese that I can't get enough of: It's stinky, meaty, barnyard-y, creamy and melt-able, and comes in a cute one to two pound round. What more could a girl want? I opted for a domestic cheese similar to Reblochon, as the real deal is illegal in the U.S. I knew Oma from the von Trapp Farmstead in Vermont (yep, the von Trapp's) to be quite similar. I also noticed it hadn't been around the cheese shop lately. With a little bit of research I found out their production is on hold due to necessary facility upgrades. That's one of the tricky things with American artisan cheese - unlike Europe, we aren't making one style of cheese in each region. It really varies from farm to farm and creamery to creamery what is being produced. So when it's gone, it's gone.

Still I was fixated on the idea of a small wheel. Using a wedge of melty cheese sliced or grated on top instead seemed like it would take away from the uniqueness of this dish, and I wasn't willing to settle. I racked my brain for all of five minutes when it suddenly came to me - Rush Creek Reserve! Winter dish, Winter cheese. Rush Creek is a cheese I've partook of in all its glory many times over, but usually only in its purest form. It was half-past time to cook with it.

The How To:
Thickly slice potatoes, coarsely chop an onion, cut bacon into lardons. Saute the onion and bacon in butter. Add potatoes when onions become translucent. Saute for 8mins then add a half cup of dry white wine, stir, and cover to steam for about 10mins.

While the potatoes cook, rub a baking dish (I used a pyrex) with butter and the cut end of a clove of garlic. Reserve garlic clove to make a dressing for the side salad. After 10mins remove from heat - salt and pepper to taste and add fresh thyme, then add creme fraiche (a cultured cream similar to sour cream that's thinner and less tart) to coat potatoes.

Pour the potato mixture into the dish then top with cheese.

Normally you would cut the small wheel in half horizontally, then lay both pieces onto the potatoes cut-side down. But when using a bark wrapped cheese this last step becomes a bit trickier.

Then...

 Anticipation...

Ta-da!

The rind crisped up nicely, like a potato chip, and the flavor was surprisingly mellow but still rich. The use of Rush Creek did result in a more oily dish, but we didn't mind. Slices of baguette soaked the cheesy, fatty liquid right up and added to the decadence. I wish the bacon had been a touch crisper, but I can't really complain, can I?

Two days later I used what little leftovers I had as a garnish for my breakfast. I reheated the tartiflette and drizzled it with white truffle oil, then scooped in on top of creme fraiche scrambled eggs and sauteed broccoli di ciccio. I know... I'm probably going to have a heart attack. Still, let's be French more often.

That's A Wrap

You're looking at the California Artisan Cheese Festival's 2012 cheese wrapping champ!

Cracked out from all the competitive cheese-wrapping

The Cheese Guild's annual festival host's many artisan producers and offers extensive seminars, but the highlight everyone comes to see is the Professional's Wrap-Off. I wrapped next to some of the best, and in the end came out ahead in speed, presentation and (very importantly) limited tape use. I must credit my weeks of rigorous training to my success and... Okay, I'll cut the crap. It was silly, but fun. People cheered for me, I got a big 'ol basket of cheese (which I promptly gave away), and I have this awesome title that I should really turn into a bumper sticker. Or since I'm sans car, maybe a button would suit me better. 

Gloat gloat gloat.

Illegal Cheese? Illegal Cheese!

I've got illegal cheese! Where and how I acquired it, I cannot say. Because seriously, it's illegal...

I've never seen a pasteurized Brie run like this raw version.

Brie de Meaux (pronounced mowe) is also known as Le Roi de Fromages, the King of Cheeses. From the Ile-de-France region, this is the one that started it all for those soft, creamy dairy lovers out there. The illustrious foreign delicacy from France that spurred a thousand imitations. Everyone's favorite. But you won't ever see real Brie in the States. Unless it was smuggled. Or was sent to you by mistake.

Brie de Meaux is a protected cheese under the AOC, or Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée, like Champagne is to wine. In addition to it's geographical location, part of what makes Brie Brie is that it is made with unpasteurized milk. Tisk-tisk says the US Federal government. Apparently raw milk products aged less than 60 days (such as Brie and most other soft-ripened cheeses) are teaming with evil bacteria just waiting to wreak havoc on the American public. That's the law. Allegedly after that two month period all the bad bacteria magically disappears. It's a lovely notion to make us feel a little better, a little safer, since we as a nation are so disconnected from our food to begin with. Detect a hint of cynicism? This is also all highly debatable, so I won't get into it any further.

Because of the nature of most high-moisture, young cheese the proteins begin to break down and are nearly at the end of their life come 60 days. So herein lies the dilemma: Do we consume real, unpasteurized cheese that's past its prime? Or do we eat pasteurized Brie-style cheese that while lovely, truly lacks the complexity and flavor of the raw milk version? It's a toss up between rancid and bland. We (or rather the FDA) picked the latter.

 Unlike a lot of people, Brie is actually at the low end of my favorite cheeses list. Still I was insanely giddy. Because, did I mention, it's illegal?

I often hear from my customers that washed rind cheeses, otherwise known as the really stinky cheeses (Epoisse, Taleggio, Livarot) smell like dirty gym socks. I have to correct them by letting them know what they are smelling is more akin to a dirty diaper, not dirty feet. (Or I'm wrong and just haven't been to the gym in a really long time...) Mostly I'll do this in my head, but sometimes when I've had a lot of caffeine and am feeling saucy I'll say it aloud. But this Brie de Meaux smelled like a pair of well-loved sneakers just taken out for a run in July, something I have never experienced from a bloomy rind cheese. To the contrary the flavor was sublime. It tasted like a nicely seasoned cream of broccoli soup, and the consistency was oozy, smooth and mouth coating-ly creamy, the rind thin with just the right amount of chew. The lucky few who tasted it had to fight each other for the spreader. In addition to a few harmless scrapes and bruises, we all took away a whole new impression of what Brie can be.

I'll be driving through France this June, and while I plan to taste as much cheese as my short time will allow, Brie wasn't on my list until now. Perhaps I'll even be the bold one to smuggle some raw cheese back this time. Worth the risk? Absolutely.