It's Fun Being New!

Baby Nigerian Dwarf goats romp in their pen.

Knee deep in goat placenta and elbow deep in curds

My life is about to change. This scares me.

Borrowed from Pholia Farm's Facebook page - hope they don't mind...

For the next eight weeks, given if I have the time to write, this blog will be taking a new direction. I will no longer be mongering and munching my days away in San Francisco. Rather I get to be on the other side of the cheese spectrum. I'm leaving the retail and consuming side to become a producer. At least for now.

Pholia Farms, on the beautiful Rogue River in southern Oregon, was nice enough to take a chance on a city girl like me to come help them with their cheesemaking and kidding. Baby goats are called kids, so Springtime (when they are born) is the kidding season. I'm not kidding. But I will be soon! (ha, sorry)

Pholia farm-boss Gianaclis Caldwell is a bit of a cheese maverick: She makes an outstanding product, writes books on cheese, teaches classes, and runs a completely off the grid operation. Her prize winning herd consists of Nigerian Dwarf goats, which means they stay pretty small their whole lives, which translates to me having a cute-attack.

BABIES! Again, borrowed from Facebook

Interestingly, these tiny animal's milk has the highest butterfat content of any other breed of goat used for cheesemaking. I haven't visited the farm yet, but I have had their cheese. Unlike most goat cheeses - clean, lean, bright, refreshing - the aged, raw milk tommes are rich and buttery; more akin to sheep's milk than goat's. Plus the wheels that have come in recently are pretty breathtaking.

The rind on this wheel of Hillis Peak reminds me of a Chinese print of fish scales, or maybe a woman's stocking. The dusty blues, grays and greens just barely reveal a burnt red under-hue (courtesy of a paprika and oil rub on the cheese when it's young). The rind visually intrigues, and the paste, tasting distinctly of pistachios, does not disappoint.

Holy crap - I get to make this stuff! Stay tunned...

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.

Say Cheese!

I am fortunate to have recently spent a day working alongside James Rutter of famed Neal's Yard Dairy. He was a pleasure to work with and made me remember that England produces so much excellent cheese other than cheddar. This inspired me to make a British themed cheese plate showcasing some highlights. The one cheddar I included is actually American-made, but in the English style, being that it is wrapped in cheese cloth and rubbed down with lard. The other three cheeses are UK originals. I even included some gnarled teeth as one of the accompaniments to (stereotypically) hint at the theme.

Starting clockwise with the half tangerine at 12 o'clock and the honeycomb at six we have -

Ticklemore: A young, fluffy goat milk cheese made at Sharpham Estate in Devon, the adorable Ticklemore has a whipped, airy texture almost like a sponge cake coated in unsweetened whipped cream. Very mild and un-goaty, it's reminiscent of coconut. The colander the cheese is formed in gives it a squat, ridged shape resulting in a pearly UFO appearance.

Stichelton: I love UK blue's: Strathdon. Harbourne. Bright orange Shropshire. Stilton with Bing cherry confiture could very well be the death of me. But all are pasteurized and I like to live dangerously. After having Joe Schneider's Stichelton, essentially a raw-milk Stilton style, that all changed. This blue has so many layers of flavor ranging from savory to sweet to grassy and bright to earthy. And the blue mold never overwhelms; rather it acts as a perfect compliment to the unpasteurized full-fat, full flavored milk.  

St. James: Two of my favorite things converge in this Cumbria made delicacy: It's made with rich, nutty sheep milk, and it is covered by the stinky, sticky b.linens of a washed rind. Also it's square shaped, which I have an odd affection for in cheeses. St. James tastes of salty smoked meat and is intensely barnyard-y. Usually the most ignored style on a plate (unless you run with mostly French folks), I say More for me!

Bleu Mont Bandaged Cheddar: Wisconsin "Mad Scientist" Willi Lehner makes this beautiful cheddar style cheese, usually aged to around 14 months. I picked this for my platter rather than a traditional English Farmhouse cheddar because cheeses like Montgomery's are pretty easily found in this country now, and as a nod to American makers who are doing a really wonderful job reinventing old recipes. Plus this cheese just drives me crazy. It's bright and grassy, but also musty and cellar-y, with toasted nut and brown butter notes and a touch of something sweet. Hands down my favorite cheddar I've tasted to date.

So if you find yourself in London please go visit the hard working Neil's Yard Dairy clan. It's a place that should be on any cheese enthusiast's bucket list. A visit will disprove the long standing cliche that the English have bad food. As for the bad teeth, I'll have to wait until my own trip there before I'm convinced.

Spirited Cheese

While New Years Eve is still very fresh in our minds, either in the form of fun memories or of a dull ache (or both) it seems like a perfect time to bring up the topic of alcohol. Or is it the worst? Anyway... People love wine and cheese. Wine and cheese together is like bread and butter: It's a no brainer and it's safe. More and more cheese lovers are opening up to the endless, equally enjoyable pairing possibilities of beer and cheese. It's like butter and jam. Still delicious, but more often enjoyed by the Brits. But what about spirits or liquor with cheese? While widely less experimented with, there can be some real winners when the right booze is consumed with the right wedge. It's like... pickles and peanut butter? It might not be obvious, but it sure can taste good.

In the Bay Area, mixing drinks is a profession almost on par with that of a talented young chef. Both create delicious, beautiful and often inventive fare that we love to put in our mouths. My neighbor happens to be one of those talented San Francisco mixologists bringing old fashioned drinks back to life and giving them a modern spin. She even has her own line of cocktail mixers to boot. So when she asks me to watch her cat while she's away, even though said cat is particularly old and spastic, and notoriously hard to lure inside, I always say Yes because I know she'll return with something for me much nicer than what I can find at my local Trader Joe's.

This time I got whiskey.

I won't pretend to know the difference between whiskey, bourbon or scotch, and since my head might explode if you tried to explain it to me, all I'm going to say about my bottle is that it tasted like dark, sweet liquor. But definitely not the kind that makes you gag. I should know: I consumed my fair share of SoCo and Sailor Jerry's in college. I knew instantly upon taste that drinking it solo was not for me, and I wouldn't want to insult the love, care and the year(s) put into it by trying to concoct my own mixed drink (Is anyone else intimidated by the thought of making a whiskey cocktail?) So I did as most humans do and I went for what I know: Cheese.

Cheese

Picking L'Amuse, a two year aged Gouda imported by Essex Cheese Co. by way of Holland was no hard choice. L'Amuse is waxy, crunchy, butterscotch-y, salty and bold, and I often suggest to my customers that they pair it with whiskey though I never have myself. The combination was nice, but I suppose my palate is still not used to appreciating whiskey outside of a mixed drink. I know there are multiple wonderous combinations of cheese and spirits out there. This one just didn't move me. I have a hunch that Capriole Farm's O'Banon, a fresh goat milk disk wrapped in bourbon-soaked chestnut leaves would be a safe one to try, or perhaps I need to venture into the scotch or gin arena. At least I gave it a shot rather than taking shots. I saved the bottle for my rowdy friends.