This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Meule de Savoie

    Today is all about another French cheese, the raw cow's milk Meule de Savoie by Herve Mons.  Meaning (also literally) "Windmill of Savoie", it is made high up in mountainous Savoie in the Rhone-Alpes region.  I have to say one of the many things I love about French cheese is that delightful, conversational way they name their cheeses.  Not content to name cheese simply after where they're made, oh no.  

    This cheese has all the great hallmarks of a good alpine style.  Creamy uniform paste, pale almond color, thick woodsy natural rind, and made in wheels the size of a coffee table.  Granted by the time we receive them at the shop the Meule has been cut down for us into a more manageable wedge (I know, I know, losing serious cred for receiving a pre-cut wheel).  

    The Board and Wire has already discussed some of the magic of Meule de Savoie in an earlier post in which I concocted a fabulous grilled cheese with it and various "leavin's" in my fridge.  Which shows that if you have a lump of some delicious cheese you can probably make just about anything from stuff hanging about near your crisper.  This time Meule de Savoie is just shining away, all on its own, on my cheese board today.  It's almost meditative to break out a single piece of cheese, let it come to room temperature, and slowly, carefully taste it.  Catching all of its flavor profiles and intricacies of texture. 

    The Meule, like I said above, already has the visual earmarks of an alpine cheese.  It does not disappoint once it goes in your face.  The flavor is subtle, but punchy, with that high singing acidity reminiscent of a young Gruyere.  Compound butter, raw hazelnut, and a good dose of toasted hay round out the palate.  The texture has a classically creamy, toothsome grit to it.  Very much what I would expect from a lightly aged high mountain cheese.  Meule de Savoie really is ideal for slapping onto a Raclette grill and greedily scraping off ribbons of molten cheese onto new potatoes.  Pair this all up with a great I.P.A. or go nuts and try it with Gewurztraminer.  

     

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Pave du Nord

    Pave du Nord is a little known cheese from the north of France.  Translating literally to "Paving Stone of the North", Pave du Nord is formally a working man's cheese.  The texture of this raw cow's milk cheese is most commonly hard, crisp, and flaky.  Quite like the famous aged Goudas of Holland or its fellow countryman, Mimolette.  In fact the most common comparison made to the characteristics of Pave du Nord is to Mimolette.  

    It's firm texture playing up flavors of dry earthy cave, minerals, and brown butter.  However my most recent encounter with Pave du Nord completely rocked everything I know about the cheese.  See, I've only every encountered it in all of it's uber aged glory (see above descriptions).  

    This time when we broke into our first loaf of the year, eyes glistening in anticipation, cheese knives poised and all that, we were shocked (shocked I tell you!) to find a supple, yielding, springy cheese.  What kind of chicanery was this? It was clearly Pave du Nord, alright.  But, well, a rather young loaf it seemed.  Never the less we dug in and all eye brows shot right past our hairlines.  

    "Baby" Pave du Nord was seriously excellent!  That supple paste went straight to cream under the tooth.  New bright, light butter flavors shone through right away and were quickly balanced out by that familiar mineral punch.  Also new were the vegetal green pepper and dry legume notes that came wafting in with the rest.  To wrap up the decidedly complex cheese was a delightful astringency that seemed to clear away any heaviness of flavor that lingered behind.  If you ever get your hands on young Pave du Nord pair it up with a good Sauvignon Blanc or a well balanced Petite Syrah.  Dang.

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Chimay Gold

  

    The monks of the Abbey of Notre-Dame de Scourmont, near the town of Chimay, Belgium have been producing their now famous beer and rich, cows milk cheese since the mid-19th century.  Needing to generate modest funds for the abbey, the monks settled on two things most people can't get enough of; alcohol and fatty, delicious dairy products.  What came out of their efforts became iconic.  Chimay beer and cheese of the same name are meant to be eaten together.  You'd be hard pressed to find a cheese enthusiast or beer snob that hasn't at least heard of Chimay.  

    Chimay Gold is an interesting offering from the brand.  Traditionally the monks cheeses were washed in local spring water.  Which helped to cultivate the pungent, sticky pink-y orange rind of Brevibacterium linens.  Yes, purposely cultivated bacteria on the out side of the cheese.  That rind of bacteria found on all washed rind cheese is what helps such cheeses develop their distinct strong flavors.  

    However, Chimay Gold, is washed instead in the abbey's own Chimay beer.  The results are glorious.  The cheese's texture is still the silky, sticky, chewy-ness of plain Chimay cheese.  However the flavor is turned up a notch.  Bring out creamy notes of hops, grain, sun-baked soil, and dry roasted peanut.

    Pair this cheese with its primary partner Chimay beer or any fine locally brewed pale ale.  

 

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Cornish Yarg

    Yep.  Cornish Yarg.  That's it's actual name.  I prefer to draw out the "arrrrr!" when talking to my customers about it.  Makes me feel a wee bit like a pirate.  Plus, you know, "yarg" is just a fun word to say.  Even if it's only "gray" spelled backwards.  Clever since this cheese has it's characteristic dusty gray/green rind.  
    A cows milk cheese developed in Cornwall, England in the 1970's it's a nice riff on a semi firm cheese.  The outside is wrapped and then subsequently aged in nettle leaves that grow wild in the Cornish countryside.  The nettles definitely contribute to the wholly unique (I don't think I've ever had a cheese taste quite like "The Yarg") flavor profiles of the cheese.  Its aroma being moderately strong, singing with moldering leaves (natch), and floral/fruit tones.  The texture is springy with a bit of a wet, sponge-y feel that is not unpleasant. 

    However the flavor, oh the flavor, is like a bushel of overripe peaches and nectarines without the sweet burst onto the palate.  With well balanced salt and a bit of nettle like bite to the finish this is certainly a new favorite to my ever growing list of knock-out cheeses.  

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Valdeon Blue (and a giveaway winner, too!)

        Guys, that was a  lot of unintentional rhyming in the title of this post.  Yeah, sorry about that.  I guess it's the result of listening to too much Christmas music.  I admit, I'm not actually a curmudgeon about the holiday season.  When confronted with bespectacled hipsters lauding how much gift giving, St. Nick, and tinsel are overrated.  Well, lets say I just throw their own eye-roll ammunition right back at them.  
    But lets face it, my favorite part of this aggressively festive season is the eating.  No kidding, right?  This is the time of year that I dust off my hollow leg and get down to some serious noshing.  (secret: I don't actually eat huge amounts of grub the rest of the year.) 

    So Santa baby, if you're listening, leave a nice slice of this Valdeon blue under my Christmas tree.  You know, for me?  Because this blue is one slick holiday party attendee.  No matter your drink and nibbles situation Valdeon fits right in.  
    Does it pair with juicy, sparkling white wine?  Check.  Is that a platter of smoked meats on that appetizer table?  Check.  What goes with your swank after dinner sherry?  You have one guess.  
    Yes, Valdeon embodies a lot of my requirements for a good crowd pleasing blue.  Not too rustic, balanced salt content, the paste is supple with a hint of crumble, the chestnut leaves wrapping it give it a campfire-y earthiness, and a hint of white pepper piquant lingering on the finish.  
    Santa, I'll be waiting up for you.

    {We have a winner! After much digging around, blindfolded, in a hat full of names, The Board and Wire Anniversary Giveaway winner is Jesse Purdom!  Congrats to the winner and keep an eye out for a special cheese-centric Christmas box coming your way!}

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: 3 Month Manchego

The Cheese from La Mancha.  Three month aged Manchego is a prime example of Spanish cheese.  Made from the milk of Machega sheep, this cheese has a texture and flavor unique to its origins.

The particular fattiness of sheep's milk ensures a texture that is supple, springy under tooth, but not rubbery.  Really shining textually, as most cheese does, when eaten at room temperature.  The flavor profile is strong on the grassy olive oil note, with a good measure of piquant and clean lanolin-sheepiness on the finish.

 Three month Manchego is truly best when consumed in late fall and though out the winter.  Which means those wheels of cheese will have been made with the fattiest, richest milk from summer-autumn grazing.  Do it up right like a Spaniard with a sparkling glass of Cava and a slab of membrillo on the side. 

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Gabriel Coulet Roquefort

    I'm continuing my blue cheese obsession with Gabriel Coulet Roquefort this week.  Ever since the in-famous "Blue Cheese + Coffee" post (of which I could hear a thousand readers cringing) I have been on a serious blue bender (try today's cheese with a cup of Sumatran!).

    Gabriel Coulet is really taking blue to the next level.  Where St. Agour was triple creme and obliging this cheese is a textured kick in the palate.  It hits the tongue with a deceiving sweetness, luring you in with its subtle, giving texture.  That's when the party really starts the sweetness gives way to a smokey, lactic tang, soft fine-sand texture, and finishing with a punch of picant/vegetal bite.

This cheese also boasts a protected designation of origin (AOC).  Which dictates how, what, where, and by whom the cheese can be made.  Everything from how long after lambing the ewes can be milked to what cave the cheese can be aged in is dictated.  Keeping the integrity of all brands of Roquefort intact.  This cheese really doesn't suck. 

{Don't forget! Google reader is going offline on 5/1!  Stay up to date with TBAW via Bloglovin'!}

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Pleasant Ridge Reserve

 

     Apparently the cheeses I'm most fascinated with this Autumn are all from Wisconsin.  Perhaps it's my minor snobbery about cheese that keeps me mystified when Wisconsin produces such amazing artisanal dairy.  Yet, there it is.  I have to say (and I know this is a big endorsement) that Pleasant Ridge Reserve is one of my favorite cheeses.

Continued after the jump...

This Cheese Doesn't Suck: Lou Bergier

I adore Lou Bergier this time of year.  Aged for 60 days it has still been made of good Summer/early Autumn milk.  The cows still have ample time to graze on lush Italian grass and late season flowers.  This cheese smacks of clarified butter, clean animal, and damp loam.

Continued after the jump --->