Happy Hour

If that doesn't touch you in a deep and emotional way, I'm not sure I want to know you.

Today's Fromage Savage: Berthaut Affine de Chablis Epoisses

Purchased from Andronicos, San Francisco (and then gifted to me by Andrea, to whom I am forever indebted)

Type: Soft

Teat: Cow's milk

Trappings: Mary’s Gone Crackers Original Seed Crackers

Taste: It pains me to consider that I was in my 30s when I was introduced to Epoisses, because we are clearly meant to be life partners.

It is velvety. It is creamy. It tastes earthy in a kind of peat-y way, strong without being overwhelming, assuming you let it warm up.*



It is also stinky. Really, really stinky. Like, you’ll need to wrap it in plastic wrap and then seal it in a Tupperware or you will be absolutely certain that something has died in your fridge.

But I think you grow fond of even the weird, warty parts of your great loves, so there’s something about Epoisses’ stink that I’m actually kind of into.

The washed rind is especially strong, and although it's edible (and although I ate it), I confess to liking the actual cheese better than the rind, which is washed with a French brandy made of what’s pressed out of the skins and seeds left over after actual wine is made. Which, in my opinion, explains the strength of Epoisses’ smell, because let’s face it, what sounds rosy-smelling about double-pressed grape skins?

A note about the crackers, by the way: I know they look like they’re made out of twigs and dirt, and they probably are, but they actually ended up being really tasty with the cheese. A plain cracker mightn’t have stood up to the Epoisses’ oomph.

If I don’t quite literally eat myself sick on this stuff, it will be a miracle.


*Instead of waiting for it to hit room temp, I snarfed down the first wedge I cut. That was something of a mistake—this is a cheese that pretty much has to be warmed up, because cold, I think it actually borders on inedible, flavor-wise. Not that that stopped me.

Where Have I Been?

I know--I’ve seemingly gone and contributed to the ill-making magnitude of Internet detritus, adding yet another false-started blog to the collection of old wedding invitations and abandoned college syllabi clogging up our series of tubes.

But I swear I have a good excuse. And that excuse is mucus.

Mucus and cheese are a bad combination. And lest I travel further down this path to Grossville, I will stop after noting that mucus has been a big part of my world for the past few weeks, so cheese has not. Unless you count soy cheese, which I did resort to at one point.

In theory, I don’t mind soy cheese. In practice, though, you end up with something that looks something like this:



That's not what cheese should do, on a burrito or in any other capacity. And when your friend and co-worker has gifted you a small, round container of something soft and delicious-looking that fills your refrigerator with such a gorgeous stink that the dog won’t go into the kitchen, soy cheese is not going to cut it. (Ha.)

So as of tonight, I’m returning to the cherished environs of my deli drawer. Stay tuned--if the smell is any indication, I’m in for a stinky-cheese experience of epic proportions.

Today's Fromage Savage: Spanish Manchego Aged 3 Months

Purchased from Rainbow Grocery, San Francisco

Type: Semi-hard

Teat: Sheep's milk

Trappings: Quince paste*

Taste: Is "nom nom nom" acceptable as a tasting adjective? Manchego is good stuff, and I am very fond of this particular variety. Three months is, as I understand it, the youngest manchego there is, so it's no surprise to me that it has less bite than some older quesos I've tried. This has the consistency of a cheddar, almost, and some of that same zing, but it still has that delicate nutty flavor--without being too earthy--that sets it apart as a manchego.




This cheese is ridiculously good with quince paste, although I actually think that quince tastes better with cheeses that have been aged for longer. I am guessing that's because I am pretty much the conductor of the "salty and sweet together" train. But if you were looking to, say, serve some accoutrement with this particular manchego, you'd be good to go with the quince. That said, toss this baby out with some bread or crackers--mmm, wheat crackers would be great with this cheese's nuttiness--and you're in business.

*As my cheese eating goes, this was a pretty informal bite. I'm supposed to be eating carefully right now. I've been traveling a bunch and working pretty hard and most decidedly not exercising, and I think it's fair to say that all of those things led to a moment about a week ago that involved my ass, some pants that my ass definitely used to fit into, and tears. I know for some people I just described a hot Saturday night, but I just wasn't feeling it. Or fitting into it. Anyway, I've been on the caloric straight and narrow ever since, which isn't the worst thing in the world unless you are, as I currently am, working on one of those Presentations That Could Totally Make or Break Your Career.

So, I ate some cheese at the kitchen counter with quince paste spread on it like a cracker, and then I threw out those stupid pants.

Today's Fromage Savage: Bleu de Basques

Purchased from Rainbow Grocery, San Francisco

Type: Blue

Teat: Sheep's milk

Trappings: Honey, walnuts, dried apricots, quince paste (just for fun-sies)*

Taste: Because Bleu de Basques didn't specifically show up in any of my cheese books, I consulted the canonical and oft-used cheese research text known as Google, which indicated I should expect a rather mild cheese, as blues go: not too salty, not too strong, excellent crumbled over salads. So I was a little startled by my first impression upon unwrapping this sucker and stealing a fingertip full:

"Hot damn! That is some blue-ass cheese!"

After coming to terms with the notion that the Internet might have been wrong, I decided to let the Bleu de Basques hit room temp before I hit it again.


1 hour and a number of degrees farenheit later: This is still some pretty strong shit, in my opinion, and I am famously fond of really stinky, strong cheeses. I found the Bleu de Basques to be tangy and salty almost on the order of a feta--the finish veered into sour territory, although not in an unpleasant way.

I actually think my initial proclamation of this cheese's blue-ass-ity was a little off the mark. What I generally love about blue cheeses is actually the interplay of creamy smoothness with the almost fruity flavor that the veins impart. The Bleu de Basques was a little chalkier and more tangy than that.

No surprise that this cheese paired really well with the walnuts and honey, and pretty well with the dried apricot, too. As expected, I'd skip the quince paste. What I was actually really hankering for was a dessert wine or a glass of port, although given the saltiness, I also think slices of apple would have been delicious.




* I know the two most conspicuous absences here are alcohol and bread, which I have to chalk up to poor preparation--namely, my being unprepared for Mr. Man (as my family and friends affectionately call him) to drink all of the wine and eat all of the bread in our house yesterday. Live and learn.

A little about what's going on here

Let's start with the assumption that we're all at least a little ruled by our senses--we're all likely to respond to some provoking stimuli. And let's agree that our most extreme provocations are personal and unique. Maybe yours is freshly cut grass at the ball field. A live performance of Aida. A pair of Louboutins...at the bottom of a pair of magnificent stems.

Me? I'm sleeping with this photo under my pillow:



I eat cheese instead of dessert. I read books about it. I went to Paris on vacation and visited more fromageries than I did museums. I may very well end up not having children because I'm not sure I could go nine months without eating soft cheeses. Kids are cool and all, but nine months without Epoisses? Sorry, no thank you.

I make it a point to eat at least a little bit of cheese every day. Sometimes it's fancy, and sometimes it's whatever I have time to grab from the Safeway, but I'm a big believer that just about any cheese has at least some redeeming qualities.

Despite being a big cheese lover, I'm not as well educated as I should be about the trappings of serving cheese: What wine goes best? What accoutrement should I serve it with? Is eating something with a laughing cow on it always a bad idea? So, Fromage Savage is as much a food laboratory as it is a diary; I'll always explain where I bought the cheese and what I ate it with, and report back on which combos seem to work well together. I'll try stuff from all over the price spectrum, and who knows--maybe it'll turn out that a mini Babybel has more to recommend it than we think.