The Cheese Board (40 page)

Taupinière
means “molehill” in French, and describes the truncated-column shape of this ash-gray California cheese from Sonoma. When fully ripe, this cheese is forthright and honest about is goaty origins. Not for the faint of heart! At its perfect point of readiness, it is tart and cakey in the center and runny and tasty on the outside. Serve with grapes and crusty sourdough.

The French system of Appellation d’Origine Controlée, or AOC, regulates the production and labeling of certain food products with ties to specific geographic regions in France. Currently, there are thirty-eight cheeses bearing an AOC label, as well as numerous wines, several butters, olives and olive oils, and a lentil.

The producers of any product with a distinctive history, a recognizable style of production, and firm roots in the agricultural traditions of any region in France can organize to apply for an AOC label. If they are successful, the use of a particular name will be reserved exclusively for those producers and products adhering to strict production guidelines. The right to use this name is legally protected, and violators can be prosecuted for fraud.

The
AOC system was originally conceived as a means of regulating the production and labeling of wines. The wine trade had traditionally been awash in fraud and adulterated products, but at the turn of the nineteenth century, the explosion of the Champagne trade generated particularly intense rivalries among the vineyardists and vintners of the Marne and the Aube, both of whom tried to claim exclusive use of the name “Champagne.” By 1911, there were widespread riots and mass resignations of local governmental officials across northeast France. To prevent a
recurrence of violence, after the First World War the National Assembly set in place the centralized structure of the AOC system. Other countries, such as Italy and Spain, followed suit and enacted similar (though not as thorough and far-reaching) legislation to protect their own national food products. Even the United States has enacted some laws regulating the labeling of certain American wines.

AOC regulations are typically quite detailed. For cheeses, they specify the species and breed of animal, frequency of milking, type and minimum acres of pasturage, kind of hay or other supplemental feed, as well as myriad details of the cheese-making process itself, such as the temperature to which the curd is heated; how the curd is cut, ladled, and pressed or drained; the washing or inoculation of the rind; the material on which the cheese is aged; and the frequency of turning.

The AOC system helps consumers reliably identify great wines, cheeses, and other foods. It also plays a vital role in preserving traditional rural industries and communities, and helps to sustain a diverse population of animals and plants that might not otherwise be considered economically viable.

You will be delighted by the unique look of this small, ash-covered truncated pyramid, but it is the flavor that will utterly seduce you. This cheese is wonderful consumed when young and moist, as well as when it is aged. Young, it is very white inside and delicate in flavor; as it ages, the outer edge of the cheese becomes softer and darker while the core remains firm, providing contrasts in flavor as well as texture.

Made in both pasteurized and raw-milk versions, Ossau-Iraty, from the Pyrénées region, is a firm and smooth-textured Basque sheep’s-milk cheese sold in fifteen-pound wheels. We carry a pasteurized type called Istara that has a smooth, warm flavor—an instant crowd-pleaser. We also sell a handmade raw-milk Ossau-Iraty under the name Vallée d’Aspe. It has a slightly gamey scent, and the flavor is sweet, heavy, and a little more pungent than that of its pasteurized cousin.

Rich and soft, Bleu d’Auvergne is a flavorful, sharp blue that is not overly salty (as is the case with so many other blues). Even though this raw-cow’s-milk blue is usually factory made, it has a unique clean tang that contrasts nicely with many other flavors.

The Beaufort
d’eté
(summer Beaufort) or
d’alpage
(made in the mountains) are the ones to look for. This moist, firm alpine cheese made from raw cow’s milk has a grassy, flowery flavor that is beautifully balanced by its smooth texture. Perhaps more than any other, this cheese
has a lingering flavor—you can still taste summer in an alpine meadow more than five minutes after eating it. It is made in enormous wheels that use the entire day’s milking from a herd of forty-five cows.
Beaufort is a fabulous melter.

THE
CHEESE AND
SOURDOUGH CONNECTION

In my spare time, I like to read up on the cheeses we offer at the Cheese Board. Last fall I was reading about
Parmigiano-Reggiano. One day while replenishing the Cheese Board’s sourdough starter to be used in our next day of dough making, I was suddenly struck by the similarity of technique between making sourdough bread and making certain cheeses. In each case, you reserve a portion of natural starter to be used for future bread or cheese making. At that moment, the connection between bread and cheese became crystal clear to me.

Parmigiano-Reggiano has been made in the same ritualistic manner for at least eight hundred years. It has a DOC status (much like the French AOC designation), which ensures the continuation of the ancient method of cheese making. Each requirement—origin and method of manufacture, time of year made, kind of milk, brining and aging techniques—culminates in a amazingly noble seventy-five-pound wheel of cheese.

Recently, I stayed after hours at the Cheese Board to watch a 2½-year-old Rocca Parmigiano-Reggiano be opened by one of my coworkers. The entire outside rind was stamped in vertical rows with the words
Parmigiano-Reggiano.
The date of the cheese making and where it was made were also included in an oval stamp on the side of the wheel. The rind of a Parmigiano is thick and hard, so Dan scored the center with a razor blade. Then, following his scoring with a very sharp knife, he made a one-inch cut around the fat center of the cheese. Finally, he turned the wheel onto its side, took a cheese wire, and placed it in the one-inch crevasse. With good leverage and bracing, he gracefully drew the wire through the wheel of cheese. The halves fell away from each other, and we both grabbed a cheese plane to slice off and taste a piece of the newly opened wheel.

At times like this I feel so lucky. In the Midwest, where I grew up, the only kind of Parmesan cheese we ever had came in a green can. We would sprinkle it on spaghetti, pizza, and sometimes salad. I had no idea that this was a feeble imitation of a dignified cheese. That yellow, powdery, salty cheese is unrecognizable as true Parmigiano. The opened wheel was golden inside and tasted like fruit and meadows. Its texture was hard and grainy, but when we tasted it, the pâte melted in our mouths. I am filled with respect for the cheese makers who for centuries have carried on their traditional practices.

What is the connection between Parmigiano-Reggiano and sourdough bread making? There is the obvious one of the use of a saved starter from one day to the next, but less obvious is the lesson in history that you receive from tasting the finished product. There is historical continuity in the simple act of making bread and cheese, and this is peacefully satisfying.

—Cathy

Almost lost forever after World War I, this sticky, pungent soft cheese is a deep mahogany red-brown in color and creamy and sweet on the inside. Originally created in the sixteenth century by Cistercian monks, its distinctive coloration is a result of frequent washings by hand that encourage the local bacteria to spread and grow. During the final days of the
affinage
(aging process), the small rounds are washed in Marc de Bourgogne, a spirit of the region. When well ripened, this cheese should be soft to the touch and fill its round spruce container.

This French raw-goat’s-milk cheese looks like a rectangular piece from a children’s miniature play set of wooden blocks. It is pale gold in color and has a slightly wrinkled, edible soft skin. When young, it is a firm, cakelike cheese with a subtly sweet flavor of grass and blossoms. Aged, it becomes increasingly soft, verging on liquescent. As this happens, the flowery sweetness is overtaken by an almost caramel-like flavor.

Made by the same French cooperative that makes the Lingot, this cheese is a hard, aged raw-sheep’s-milk round. It has a dusty gray exterior that, when sliced, reveals a white interior that is slightly flaky and grainy. The cheese doesn’t immediately reveal itself when eaten, but it has a long, slow buildup that surprises and rewards with a gentle authority of flavor.

The gentle cousin of Epoisses. Also French, this is a cow’s-milk cheese that is washed with Chablis, which causes the rind to become a deep red-brown in color. When perfectly ripened, it should be eaten with a spoon, which is why it comes in a small, round wooden box that it is almost impossible to remove from. The flavor of Affidelices stops short of the musky funkiness of its other relatives from Alsace, but it delivers a potent briny hit with a sensuous texture. Perfect with a baguette.

This is a hard, dense cheese from the Veneto region of Italy. Vento d’Estate (which means “summer’s wind”) is aged in a barrel packed with hay. It is made with a variety of milks, and we have never quite figured out what determines the milk selection, the cheese maker’s whim or availability. (Its label states that it is either cow’s or sheep’s milk, with goat cultures.) Whatever the composition, it is a memorable cheese with a high, bright flavor and sweet-wine overtones. Its straw-colored, lopsided roundish shape, covered in wisps of hay, has a rustic appeal. This cheese is good with a wheat bread like the
Suburban
or drizzled with Italian olive oil.