Minor Gourmandry

Happy Milk

Standing in front of a gourmet cheese counter is quite the adventure. The array can be daunting, with its convoluted names and variable shapes - and sometimes its noxious fumes - but these unfamiliarities merely add to the fun. No where else can you (liberally) taste a product with so extensive a biography -- culled from the milk of a billy grazing on a verdant hillside in a tiny Italian province; or one being as much a product of nature as one crafted (coaxed is more like it) by man. Those specimen splayed out on the cheesemonger's counter have as much character as anything you'll likely ever consume, unless you're a cannibal.

Maybe you don't think about the affineur, who lovingly watches each cheeses' progression until its ready to be packaged. And maybe you don't concern yourself with how many hands your cheese passed through to land within your grasp, finally ready for consumption. If you don't care, I don't blame you (who has the time to dawdle with such things?). But for me, I will always admire the plight of the cheese sitting in the glass case before me -- for its distinctiveness, its artisan birthing, and, most of all, for its pleasurable taste. [Fade to black. Que American Cheese Society catch-phrase...Ah, the Power of Cheese...]

Can you tell that I just returned home from a trip to Downtown Cheese, my purveyor of choice? Today I arrived home with some firsts: a Crottin de Champignou, a wedge of P'tit Basque and Manchego. Going global, to France for the first two and Spain for the latter, I've departed from my recent yen to find the best America has to offer (in part, because the Ardmore-based Downtown Cheese carries few American varietals). Finding a masterful cheese from our once overlooked continent always brings me great satisfaction. Saveur's lastest issue, April 2005, is host to an American Cheese top 50, among other wonderful articles about the issue's feature ingredient (you guessed it!). I'm such a list sucker, I just had to buy it.

The Champignou is better than nearly every soft young goat cheese I've tasted; even better than its Pascal Jacquin-made brethren, the Crottin de Champcol. Although neither of these cheese are A.O.C. like the renowned Crottin de Chavignol, they are far from slouches (actually, both are examples of "Americanized," or pasteurized, versions of the French one; some complain that the pasteurization kills the flavor of the Crottins, but I enjoy them for their own merits). From the first piquant sensation to the pleasant lasting finish, I couldn't ask for much more, in terms of flavor, from the Champignou. I am hesitant to call the first rush of flavor sweet, but it definitely get the buds on the sides of my mouth tingling. A brochure I took from Dibruno bluntly states "hazelnutty" as a descriptor. Although I have a difficult time with picking out the nutty flavors of certain cheeses, I strongly disagree with such a tag. I find the flavor to be much more earthy -- which is what I like to call a cheese with a refreshing lactic (milky), grassy, or mushroomy taste -- typically my descriptor of soft goats. Final note on the goat: My tastings of young goat's milk cheeses is limited, so maybe the raw milk versions I've yet to encounter are far superior, but I wouldn't pass up a chance to enjoy the Champignou.

The P'tit Basque is another quality sheep's milk cheese by the company that makes Istara (which is an excellent unpasteurized Ossau-Iraty, a cheese that I've previously posted about). Although the similar Etorki (also spelled Etorky) is an excellent and supple snacking cheese, the P'tit Basque has a more profound flavor and is a bit thicker on the tongue. My tongue was surprised by the full fruity flavor of the cheese. Wonderful, and like the goat's milk mentioned above, non A.O.C.

Finally, my feelings on the Manchego -- overrated. This seemingly super-popular Spanish cheese gave me little excitement. My ability to properly taste cheeses may have been altered by my recent allergies, but you'd think I'd get some response from the 'chego. Nothing. I may give it another whirl, but I am thoroughly sceptically about an opinion reversal. (The picture at top is the Manchego with some Spanish olives.)

Garrotxa and Pau

   These two goat cheeses from the Catalonia (Spain) region come highly recommended by the cheese world. One, Pau (pronounced poh, full name Pau Sant Mateu), won the award for outstanding cheese at the Fancy Food Show in New York in 2003. The other, Garrotxa (pronounced Garrocha) is one of Spain's finest, according to afficianados Max McCalman and Steve Jenkins. My tastings proved one far greater than the other.

Garrotxa, aged a bit longer than Pau, has a unique taste: while it has an overall satisfyingly mellow taste, I did notice a hint of tang. I liked the firmer texture, compared to the Pau, which I found to have a creamier mouthfeel. The Pau had a very unpleasant mushroomy smell, much more offensive than the Garrotxa. Even after multiple tastings, I never really enjoyed the Pau alone because of the noxious smell, and the taste itself was pretty pungent. It is possible that the piece I had may have been past its peak, causing the offensive smell and taste. (I found that I could only enjoy the cheese if accompanied with a piece of bread.)

Ossau-Iraty

Succulent fromage.

Ossau-Iraty-Brebis-Pyrenees, official surname included, is one of three sheep Appelation d'Origine Controlee (A.O.C) cheeses. The French don't know much, but they know their cheeses, and this cheese deserves their respect.

I would classify this as a "loner" cheese, or one that is better off by itself. Just like the Prima Donna, you must first enjoy the cheese's flavors on a virgin tongue to appreciate all of its complexities. After the first shard, feel free to break out your favorite acoutrements - I won't tell. Ossau has a supple texture that barely holds together as you eat it. I thought it had a unique taste, although you must consider my provincial cheese experience. It had that nearly universal "nutty" flavor, but it was more subtle. For me, the cheese strongly resembled its milky-roots, combining a lactic and earthy flavor.   

Obey the AOC. A list of the 40 AOC-cheeses follows:

Prima Donna

   Prima Donna is an aged cheese from the Netherlands. It has much in common taste-wise with the aged gouda (actually pronounced how-da) from the same region. This is no ordinary aged gouda however: in terms of taste I can only compare Prima Donna to a 10 year-old gouda I once had from DiBruno Bro's. The cheese really has a sweet butterscotch-like flavor that is emboldened thanks to the little crystals (crystallized casein I've been told) contained within. This is an archetypal snacking or stand-alone cheese thanks to its melt-in-your-mouthability.

   Although I disagree with their calling this cheese less sharp than Holland Gouda, here is a nice picture and description by the Artisinal Cheese Center. Oh, and the price tag is higher than what I payed, so maybe mine was different - cheaper and better!

Qué es ese queso?

Last year I discovered something: Cheese is divine. At first I thought it was merely a great accent to salads, but I have learned it can be much, much more: cheese can constitute a meal! I never really thought a world existed beyond the cheese section of my local grocer - still, my shallow elitism caused me to accept nothing less than the finest grade American Gouda, hah! Now I would not deign so much as to gaze in its general direction (...some habits never die). In truth, I am too humble to ever call my self anything more than a cheese patron.

Anyhow...I decided to write this post in response to the recent tasting of a most amazing bleu cheese: a
Valdeon. I have tried English Stilton and Gorgonzola, but never has a cheese struck the right balance between sweet and salty, mild and strong. Maybe I need to try more bleu cheese before I can make such a judgment, but as of now, Valdeon is my new favorite. I found an article about it in the SanFran Gate, which you can read here (of course I google a cheese soon after after I buy it). I you have a chance to try this delectable bleu (similar, but better as you will find, to its relative, the Spanish Cabrales), nosh away.