In hot weather, I can’t think of many cheeses that appeal to me more than manouri. What an underappreciated Greek cheese, forever in the shadow of feta. Would it do better in the U.S. under another name? Does it sound too much like a soil amendment?
Read moreFlory’s Story →
With raw milk from their 30 Jersey cows, the Flory family of Jamesport, Missouri, is making one of the country’s finest Cheddars. I first tasted Flory’s Truckle at the American Cheese Society conference last year, and finally a few of these handsome wheels have arrived on the West Coast.
Read moreKnock on Wood →
What does Italy's incomparable Parmigiano Reggiano have in common with Wisconsin’s Pleasant Ridge Reserve, England’s Colston-Bassett Stilton and French Comté? All of them, indisputably, are among the world’s finest cheeses, and all are matured on wooden shelves. Because of that age-old practice, common to countless other cheeses, these beauties are currently in the cross-hairs of the FDA.
Read moreCamembert…in Italy?
Although probably 99 percent of Italy’s water-buffalo milk becomes fresh mozzarella, a few innovators are devising new uses for the rich latte di bufala. Surprisingly, some of these creative creameries are in Piedmont and Lombardy, in northern Italy, far from the mozzarella zone around Naples.
The luscious Camembert di Bufala from La Casera, near Lago Maggiore, exemplifies this trend. Made with pasteurized milk from Piedmontese water buffalo, this bloomy-rind disk defies local tradition. Camembert? in Italy? This region’s soft-ripened cheese is robiola, which varies from village to village but never has a Camembert-type rind.
La Casera is an affinatore, a firm that buys young cheeses from other producers and ages them. So the company doesn’t make Camembert di Bufala but manages its progress from infancy to maturity—or, as the company describes it, “from nursery school to college.” I like that.
La Casera excels at maturing robiola—you may have had one of their silky robiolas aged in chestnut, fig or cabbage leaves—but aging Camembert-style cheese requires a new learning curve. These little disks are finicky about humidity and temperature, and they suffer if not pampered in shipping. What’s more, water-buffalo milk is higher in fat than cow’s milk—twice as high in some cases—which would also affect how the cheese develops.
I’ve sampled Camembert di Bufala several times now, with similar experiences. As a wedge comes to room temperature, it slumps and eventually collapses, with the interior puddling like fondue. This is the rare cheese that I would recommend consuming cool, not at room temperature, to savor it before it becomes soup. I would also suggest purchasing and serving the whole wheel—about 9 ounces—to postpone the meltdown. At the cheese counter, if possible, probe the disk with a tissue before you commit. If the surface is heavily mottled and the cheese feels squishy, it could be past its peak.
But a perfectly ripe Camembert di Bufala is dreamy, with a pronounced scent of porcini and a pale, supple interior. The rind is edible, but cut it away if you find it too tough. The cheese marches up to the edge on salt, but bread helps to mute that impression. And with such a runny cheese, bread is a must.
Look for Camembert di Bufala at Cheese Plus, Little Vine and Rainbow Grocery in San Francisco; Pasta Shop in Oakland and Berkeley and Cheese Board in Berkeley; Petaluma Market; Good Earth in Fairfax; Sacramento Natural Foods; Sunshine Foods in St. Helena; Oliver’s Markets in Santa Rosa; Cheese Shop of Healdsburg; Mollie Stone’s (multiple locations) and some Whole Foods. A rich white wine such as Chardonnay would complement it, as would a saison-style beer.
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Antipasto Presto
“The main object of an hors d’oeuvre is to provide something beautifully fresh-looking which will at the same time arouse your appetite and put you in good spirits,” Elizabeth David wrote. The eminent English food writer, who died in 1992, had simple tastes but no tolerance for mediocrity. Alice Waters adored her. (I was a lowly cook at Chez Panisse Café when David came in for lunch.)
David believed that a good hors d’oeuvre includes something raw, something salty, something dry or meaty and something gentle. I always think of this when I serve fava beans with pecorino. Although David barely mentions this antipasto in her book on Italian food, it has all her required parts: raw favas, sea salt, aged cheese (although young pecorino works, too) and fruity olive oil. You dip the peeled favas in oil and salt and alternate with a nibble of pecorino.
Bellwether Farms Pepato, a peppercorn-studded sheep’s milk cheese from California’s Sonoma County, is magical with favas. Inspired by Italian pepato, Bellwether’s rendition is moister, less salty and less acidic—just as cheese maker Liam Callahan intended. Following Italian tradition, Callahan uses raw milk and animal rennet—increasingly rare choices here and in Italy. Animal rennet is expensive and a vegetarian turn-off, but Callahan is convinced it improves the outcome. He also stopped waxing the wheels a few years ago, so the cheese develops more concentrated flavor.
Released at about four months, Pepato has a firm, crumbly, butter-colored interior. Personally, I don’t eat the peppercorns, but I love the floral aroma they contribute. Pepato has a subtle fruitiness and a tangy, sour-cream finish—an appealing contrast to sweet favas. I also enjoy it shaved in a salad with butter lettuce and fava beans.
Look for Bellwether Pepato at Rainbow Grocery, Cheese Plus, Bi-Rite Markets and Cowgirl Creamery in San Francisco; Oliver’s Markets in Santa Rosa; Big John’s in Healdsburg, Oakville Grocery; Whole Foods Sonoma; and Pasta Shop in Oakland and Berkeley. Pour a lean, minerally white wine—I’m loving the 2013 Massone Gavi—and use a good olive oil. Now is the last hurrah for fresh fava beans so seize the moment.
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Miracle Cheese
After teaching a class on Spanish cheeses last fall, I had a hefty leftover: several pounds of excess Mahón. Muchas gracias, Spanish Trade Office. For the past several months, I have been slicing off wedges of this aged cow’s milk cheese to share with guests. Each time I take the package out of the fridge, I’m sure that I’m going to unwrap a moldy or slimy or dried-out chunk. Instead, this miracle Mahón refuses to die.
I often advise people not to buy more cheese than they need because a wheel never improves after it is cut. But my Mahón experience reminds me that dry aged cheeses can have awesome longevity—if they’re stored carefully. And I’ll get to that.
Made exclusively on the wind-swept Spanish island of Menorca, Mahón is a cow’s milk cheese from a country better known for goat and sheep cheeses.
Some artisan producers still use raw milk but industrial producers pasteurize. The cheese has an unusual square shape, like a thick cushion, and can weigh anywhere from one to four kilos (2.2 to 8.8 pounds). You can identify an artisan Mahón by the surface wrinkles from the cloth bag it was drained and pressed in. Industrial cheeses are drained in molds, and their thin rind is tinted orange with paprika or annatto.
Mahón isn’t particularly compelling when young, but after six months or more in a cellar, Mahón curado (aged Mahón) becomes a cheese to savor: dense and brittle, with crunchy protein crystals here and there, and a nutty butterscotch or caramel aroma. Serve it before dinner with sparkling wine or fino sherry, such as Bodegas Hidalgo La Gitana, and some warmed green olives. At the end of a meal, enjoy aged Mahón with dates and toasted walnuts and pour Dios Baco Amontillado.
As for storage, wrap the cheese in waxed paper or coated cheese paper, then tuck it inside a lidded container, preferably alone. Change the wrap every time you take the cheese out, and your Mahón should live long and prosper.