"artisanal cheese" news and stories

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!)

www.sweetgrassdairy.com

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.

Some of my first memories of eating artisanal cheese come from the French family I lived with in Tours, France. Before ending the meal with a dessert, my host mother would serve one or two cheeses without any condiments. At first, it seemed strange eating the cheese plain with a fork, sometimes with bread and almost never with fruit or honey. But after a month, not pairing cheese became normal. When I returned to the U.S. after a year, I was surprised and intrigued by the American obsession with cheese pairings.

What is it about American food culture that tempts us to eat more than one food at a time? It's as though our insatiable desire distracts us from enjoying simplicity. While managing the cheese shop Formaggio Essex it became my job to pair cheeses with different crackers, honeys, jams, and much more.

I have to admit that I fell for the "American desire" to add more. After several months of tasting cheeses with different condiments, I quickly developed a talent for pairing. While I think pairing is an important skill, especially in cooking, I believe it's still important to return to a less elaborate cheese course. Often, the intensity of a cheese can only be appreciated when tasting the cheese plain.
Learn when to pair and when not to pair after the jump.

If Kraft can produce best-selling industrial cheeses why can't Nestle? It's slightly alarming to see that in Mexico Nestle is selling a cheese they call Manchego. Indeed, the cheese they call Manchego could not be any more different than the original Manchego, produced in the region of La Mancha in Spain. Instead of being made with sheep's milk, it's made with cow's milk. While Manchego has a striking bright dark rind, this one is rindless. In short, Nestle's version is highly manufactured; Manchego is artisanal.

The larger issue is whether or not the Spanish government should protect the Manchego name, like France has done with Champagne and Mexico with tequila. Nestle is taking advantage of a Spanish cheese and marketing their version under its name. It's no wonder why the company is selling it specifically in Mexican grocery stores. But, perhaps I am being too judgmental of Nestle. After all, think of what the American food market has done to mozzarella. Check out the poll below to let us know what you think.