Perhaps you couldn't get to NYC for the 55th Summer Fancy Food Show or maybe you're plotting the most delicious path through the 250,000 edible products on display at the Javits Center. Consider Slashfood your eyes, ears and mouth on the scene.
We'll be Twittering our most fabulous finds as @slashfood from the moment doors open on Sunday, until they roll us on out Tuesday night. Just sit back and watch Slashfood's real time reactions via the widget below and after the jump, see Twitters from folks all over the food world.
Over the past five years, the local food movement has helped spur the production of local artisanal cheeses in non-traditional dairy states, such as Nebraska, Illinois and Georgia. Although Vermont, California and Wisconsin remain cheesemaking hubs, other states are beginning to lead the way with farmstead cheeses like Little Bloom on the Prairie from Illinois, Georgia's Green Hill and Nebraska's Lancaster Duet.
Leslie Cooperband from Prairie Fruits Farm in Illinois and Charuth Loth from Farmstead First in Nebraska are both diversifying their farms and selling cheeses directly to customers at local markets.
"The perception of consumers is changing," Loth says. "People are starved for a connection with the farm." Loth and her fellow co-owner Krista Dittman laughed, saying that they feel they're engaging in "rural counseling" -- helping to reestablish a lost connection between food and the earth.
Bees fly to the hive on the hotel rooftop. Photo: The Fairmont Washington, D.C.
Some permanent hotel guests in the nation's capital are definitely causing a buzz. The Fairmont Washington, D.C. recently brought 105,000 Italian honeybees to their roof to make the sweetener for the hotel's restaurant, Juniper.
As "chief beekeepers," executive sous chef Ian Bens and executive pastry chef Aron Weber share the responsibilities of maintaining the three colonies -- Casa Bianca, Casa Bella and Casa Blanca.
So why bees? Weber tells Slashfood he got the idea when he visited the Fairmont Royal York in Toronto and saw their rooftop hives flourishing in an urban setting. The D.C. Fairmont already had an interior courtyard garden that produced fresh herbs and edible flowers like lavender, peppermint and rosemary, so the bees seemed like a logical step to further extend the chefs' ideology in keeping products as fresh and local as possible.
There's no doubt about it: The cheese boom is in full swing.
Over the past several years, specialty shops have blossomed across the country, from southern California to Maine (including Blue Fog Market, Fromagination and The Cave), all with super-dedicated cheese selections. This month renowned Brooklyn, N.Y., restaurant Franny's became the latest eatery to open its very own specialty food shop, Bklyn Larder, just down the street.
Aside from an array of prepared foods cooked by chef Travis Post, Bklyn Larder has its own cheese room, with an appropriate humidity and temperature for aging and storing cheese. "This will enable us to carry larger amounts of cheese," says Francine Stephens, who, along with co-owner and husband Andrew Feinberg, co-founded the restaurant back in 2004.
In September of 2007, Feinberg attended the Slow Flood cheese festival in Bra, Italy to seek out unique and tasty cheeses to eventually carry at the still-in-the-planning-stages Larder. They can all be spied through the glass window of the shop's aging room. (Food voyeurs -- you know who you are -- beware!)
A culinary trip down to Georgia often includes shrimp and grits, barbecue, crispy flounder and red velvet cake. Now Green Hill, a creamy bloomy rind cow's milk cheese, can be added to that gastronomic list thanks to Sweet Grass Dairy in Thomasville, Ga.
Tasting a piece of Green Hill is like opening a taste bud treasure chest. Its lush creamy texture melts dreamily on the palate, leaving a pleasantly mild tang.
While Green Hill shares many characteristics with its imported French cousin, Camembert, it boasts a uniquely buttery consistency. And whereas most imported Camembert has become industrialized for the United States market, Green Hill remains a standout handmade farmstead cheese.
Usually, the thought of goat's milk cheeses conjures up images of small, freshly ripened, creamy-to-crumbly chèvres, like the French Valençay or Brad Parker's ashed log, which come in pyramid and log shapes, respectively. Little Bloom on the Prairie, from Prairie Fruits Farm in Champaign, Ill., defies all such expectations. When ripe, its texture turns into a succulent cream that slowly oozes from its rind. (Trust us, that's tastier than it sounds).
Little Bloom on the Prairie is a goat's milk cheese with a bloomy rind similar to Mont Vivant, but with a luscious consistency that make its texture more comparable to a rich Brie. Still, even though the cheese's silky touch matches that of a bloomy rind, its flavors are distinctly herbal, floral and even grassy (tastes often associated with goat's milk cheeses). In short, based upon its texture and appearance (this bloomy rind cheese is in the format of a smaller Camembert), Little Bloom on the Prairie seems like a typical runny cow's milk cheese.
As with life, however, appearances can be deceiving: A bite of this fromage reveals an unexpected yet pleasant tang.
Gouda fans and those who love sweet, butterscotch-like flavors in their savory snacks may well go wild for Lancaster Duet, a cow and goat's milk cheese from Farmstead First in Lancaster, Neb.
A bite of this beautiful caramel-colored cheese initiates a complicated succession of flavors that begins with notes of dried dates and apricots, evolves into honey and candy and finally tapers off with a mild, sweet and milky tang. Its texture mimics its broad range of flavors: dense, with a sturdy exterior, it yields at a bite to reveal an incredibly creamy center.
In layman's terms, this is a handcrafted gastronomic masterpiece cave-aged to perfection. The complex cheese comes courtesy of Farmstead First, a collaboration between Krista Dittman (right) of Branched Oak Farm, 15 miles north of Lincoln, and Charuth Loth (left) of nearby Shadow Brook Farm. The name "duet" refers to the collaboration itself and the use of two different milks in the cheese. (Incidentally, this means Lancaster Duet is not officially a "farmstead" fromage, which must use milk from only one farm).
Learn more and find out where to find the cheese after the jump.
Well, if you're a cheese, lots. From log-shaped ashed goat to pyramid-shaped Mont Vivant, the cheeses we've been covering in recent weeks come in different shapes and, believe it or not, those structures have a lot to do with how they taste.
A cheese with less surface area is often also a dense cheese, and sometimes needs to be aged longer for the flavors deep within the structure to fully develop. Consequently, small chèvres, such as the disc-shaped Rond Vivant from Rainbeau Ridge Farm may be more pungent. As Lisa Schwartz from Rainbeau expresses it, "the differences in surface area produce more than subtle variations in flavor."
Pressed onto a baguette, crumbled over salads, or eaten straight, we can't get enough of goat cheese in springtime.
This year, voluptuaries and gastronomes seeking a decadently rich and creamy goat's milk cheese will go wild for Rainbeau Ridge Farm's Mont Vivant. Unlike other mold-ripened goat's milk cheeses (like Selles sur Cher or Valençay), this offering from Bedford Hills, NY has an exquisite bloomy rind (unusual in goat's milk cheeses) that seems to impart a more complex and cakey texture, as if it were a cross between Valençay and Brie.
Locavores and others yearning for an American alternative to French springtime goat's milk cheeses like Montrachet and Saint Maure de Touraine will most definitely delight in the ash-coated log from Pipe Dreams Farm in Greencastle, Penn.
This dense, 12-ounce "ashed log" of goat's milk cheese tastes mildly grassy, nutty and slightly peppery towards its edible ash rind. When the cheese is sliced, its paste exudes a seductive floral aroma with hints of citrus fruit. In a word, it's exquisite. But goat cheese is goat cheese, no?
In the U.S., many rich cheeses like Brie, Camembert and triple crèmes like Pierre Robert are too buttery and lack a distinctive kick of flavor. St Pat, on the other hand, provides a sensational surprise to the palate with a sweet, nutty vegetal taste reminiscent of artichokes. Tucking into a luxuriously creamy half-pound wheel of St Pat is like partaking of a springtime cheesecake.
Those mourning the loss of their beloved, stinky French Roquefort (which just saw a hefty tariff bump) will delight in this wallet-friendly blue from the good old U.S. of A.
Mineral Point (Wis.)'s own Tilston Point is not the most attractive hunk of cheese we've ever seen, with a yellow-orange hue and blue veins that lend it the appearance of a past-its-prime cheddar. For its unctuous flavor, though, it's worth it: Tilston Point features the complex, luscious texture of its French counterpart along with the earthiness of a Stilton. Its refined flavors range from sweet to mineral-like and linger on the palate. Tasting this fromage is like getting stuck to a bench, enraptured, in front of Monet's water lilies. (OK, maybe we're getting a littlecarried away. Long story short: It rules.)
Hook's Cheese Company's Tony Hook and wife Julie have been handcrafting cheese including cheddar, Colby and Monterey Jack for more than 30 years. In 1997, they began perfecting a series of blue cheeses and in 2004 created Tilston Point, their sole washed-rind cow's milk blue, aging it for 10 months to a year. The company gets all of its milk from family-owned small local dairy farms boasting anywhere from 11 to 50 cows.
I'm typing this from under the kitchen sink in my triple-bolted Brooklyn apartment where I'm cowering in fear of Chef Alice Waters. If the New York Post's Carla Spartos and the New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd are to be believed, the founding Slow Foodista and her hench-polemicist Michael Pollan are hell-bent upon mugging every last McNugget-lovin' American of their free will, hard-earned cash and bags of pre-shredded iceberg lettuce.
It's my fault. I didn't speak up the first time they came and forced me, at Shun-point, to trek to Dan Barber's Blue Hill Farm and choke down sun-warmed, newly picked cherry tomatoes that tasted of summer and promise and the few times my grandfather was kind to me.
I remained silent when they dragged me hemp-bound to the Union Square Greenmarket to spend several dollars less than I would at my local C-Town grocery store to meet the folks who got their hands dirty growing ridiculously delicious heirloom peppers, beans and squash with more Earth-friendly farming practices. And I cried hot, sloppy tears when they pointed and laughed at my insufficiently grained bagel. See, according to Spartos' recent N.Y. Post editorial "Gourmonsters," Officer Waters and her ilk are out to shame us all.
"They're the food police and their patron saints -- Alice Waters and Michael Pollan, chief among them -- are on a crusade to tell you not just what you should eat, but how you should eat it.
Like an exclusive clique of anorexic cheerleaders, they think they're better than you."
Some cooks reach for Sriracha, the ubiquitous Thai hot sauce, in a pinch. Others swear by soy sauce. And then there are those who refuse to reveal (*cough, cough* butter) what made the dish you just demolished delicious. For our part, we've developed a tiny -- OK, midsized -- crush on an infused chili oil, and we need to talk about it.
Sid Wainer & Son's Domaine de Provence pepper-spiked oil is fantastic. A drizzle of the fiery goodness rescues storebought and homemade guacamole alike with a heady, late-blooming heat on the palate. According to owner Henry Wainer, it's also tasty on bruschetta. We plan to carry it on our person all summer -- potentially awkward in the 90-degree swelter -- using guerilla tactics to douse any crustaceans and pork we spy sizzling on the grills of party hosts. (Brooklyn, consider yourself warned.)
Wainer has been equally passionate about the oil since meeting its producer at a dinner in France 18 years ago. Such culinary serendipity, he declares, "enriches the world." Can't argue with that.
Looking at this cheese is a little like meditating. It's the most serene, perfect thing we've laid eyes on in the past week -- a little cloud floating innocuously against a blue (OK, teal) sky. The knife at its side hints at its imminent demise, but really, who aside from vegans or the lactose-intolerant wouldn't want to partake of the cheese's ample charms? Former Chez Panisse pastry chef David Lebovitz, the author of numerous wonderful cookbooks and a Paris resident for the past seven years, purchased this silver dollar-sized disc of Rocamadour (a raw goat's milk fromage) for a dinner party he was throwing for friends. While much of his accompanying commentary extols the virtues of the comté he also bought, it's this diminutive beauty that has us dreaming of baguettes, a drizzle of honey and deeply discounted Air France tickets.
We can change the way we make eggs -- scrambled, poached, fried -- but what about changing the eggs themselves? Mix up your scrambling routine with quail eggs.
Gouda fans and those who love sweet, butterscotch-like flavors in their savory snacks may well go wild for Lancaster Duet, a cow and goat's milk cheese from 
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