Today's Fromage Savage: Bellwether Farms' San Andreas

Purchased from Serpentine restaurant, San Francisco

Type: Firm

Teat: Sheep's milk (raw)

Trappings: Crusty bread slices, Sicilian almonds, pear slices, some sort of apricot-y/peachy compote-like stuff

Taste: Hrmph.

It's a good thing this came accompanied by Sicilian almonds, because they're pretty tasty.

In fairness, I don't think the problems here--mealy texture, taste approximating what I imagine a mouthful of soft chalk to be like--can be attributed to Bellwether Farms. I actually think something went awry in Serpentine's kitchen, which bums me out on a whole different level, because the restaurant is usually amazing and was more than up to par last night, until what I may henceforth remember as The Great Cheese Disaster of 2010. This cheese smelled and tasted like the wedge had been cut hours--possibly days--earlier, and then stuck somewhere to dry out and pick up the various and sundry smells and tastes of a commercial kitchen. It was like eating from the box of baking soda in the back of my fridge.

I'm told that the San Andreas is supposed> to be creamy and smooth with a tangy finish, all of which sounds delectable to me. I probably should have known something was wrong with this particular portion when I inspected it up close and saw that it looked almost crumbly, like a cheddar.



This has been a blow to us here at Fromage Savage--it's ruined our practically perfect record of tasting really good cheeses. And while I'm not quite ready to burn this motherfucker down, Pookie, I was still feeling rather crotchety about the whole debacle this morning when I checked my mailbox at work and found...



Awesome anonymous cheese t-shirt gift arrives the morning after tragic cheese-tasting incident.

Coincidence? I think not.

Today's Fromage Savage: Tomme Abondance

Purchased from Rainbow Grocery, San Francisco

Type: Semi-soft

Teat: Cow's milk*

Trappings: Apple slices

Taste: It seems that the Abondance cows responsible (at least partially) for this French mountain cheese are being regularly cross-bred with American herds kept by US cheese-makers because these particular bovine are both hearty and very fertile. Perhaps that explains why this is one of the sexiest cheeses I've ever eaten. Seriously, one bite and I was on some other astral plane. Abondance is almost peanutty, with an otherworldly mix of sweet but savory, buttery but firm.

Cheeses like this often have a kind of earthy smell that's described sometimes as like hay or leaves. Neither of which, I'll be honest, are descriptions that would make me want to rush right out and try a cheese, so I hesitate to suggest that Tomme Abondance has those qualities, although something about the descriptor "wet straw" actually rings a little true.

Apparently, Abondance cheese is perfect for making a fondue because it melts well and it's so flavorful. But this is not cheap stuff, mostly because it's name-controlled (i.e., only cheeses from the Savoie region of France can be called Abondance) and isn't around very often. Given that, along with the fact that it's one of the best cheeses I've ever, ever tasted, I'll be damned if I'm gonna melt it down and watch people lose bread chunks in it.

Sorry, just one photo today. We ate it so fast, there wasn't time to take another.

*Interesting American-cheese fact: you can only buy raw milk cheeses in this country that are aged for 60 days or longer. Anything younger than that has to be pasteurized or it's illegal. Which makes me believe there has got to be an underground raw cheese racket going on somewhere, because that's the American way. If someone finds out the secret handshake that'll get me hooked up with those renegades, drop me a line.

New Fromage Savage coming tonight, but in the meantime...

While visiting the Homeland over Christmas (all hail the Garden State!), I made a stop at the place that many consider to be the center of this country's cheese universe: Murray's Cheese Shop on Bleeker Street in the Village.

Murray's is...gosh, I barely know where to begin. How about with the fact that they have their own cheese aging cave under the store? That's the kind of commitment to fromagerie that brings a tear of joy to my eye.



I'm currently reading a book that I wanted to share with other cheese lovers, because it's that rare combination of interesting, informative, and fun: The Cheese Chronicles, by Liz Thorpe. Liz is a Yale grad who left a job at a dot com for an entry-level gig at Murray's because she wanted to learn about cheese. She's now a vice president at Murray's. She's also funny, likes to go out beer drinking, and appears to be a super-cute blonde. Basically, she seems to be an overachiever in all departments, which should totally make me want to cut the bitch, but her story is so fun and her writing is so personable that I wanna go make cheese with her instead.

No, that's not a euphemism.

I'm actually learning quite a lot from the book about cheese and cheese making, including some more effective language for describing a cheese's tastes and textures. I'm hoping that somewhere in the book is an explanation of how Liz stays so impossibly cute and thin around all that cheese, because all I have to do is look at the sign for Murray's and my ass starts getting bigger.



....aaaaaaand, there it goes again. I am definitely not ready for this jelly.

Today's Fromage Savage: Calabrese Table Cheese

Purchased from Corrado's, Clifton, NJ

Type: Semi-soft

Teat: Sheep's milk (I think--it didn't say on the package, but it has the right consistency and Calabria is known mostly for cow and sheep's milk cheeses)

Trappings: Everything I could carry from the Corrado's deli counter, including hot peppers stuffed with cheese and salami, homemade sopressata, arrancini (stuffed rice balls), and fresh Semolina bread



Taste: As you may or may not be aware, Italy is divided into regions, sort of like states. Each region is known for different styles of cooking. Each is also known for certain characteristics its residents are reported to exhibit. The Calabrese are known for being "hard-headed."

I can tell you from very personal experience that there is truth to this stereotype. So can anyone who's met me.

It makes sense somewhere in my fevered brain that a stubborn lot would have a fondness for spicy food (another stereotype I happen to personally prove out), and as you can probably tell from the photo, this cheese does not skimp on the hot stuff. But like any good peppery grub, the coating isn't blow-your-head-off hot--it's got a kick to be sure, but it's actually quite flavorful. It looks and tastes like the crushed red pepper was mixed with just enough oil to make a paste that was applied to the outside of the cheese.



I expected the inside of this cheese to be mild as a counterbalance to the peppers, but I was way off. It has the consistency of a provolone, but it has a salty, tangy bite to it, the way an aged cheese tastes. It's tasty, but the combo of the peppers with the almost Parmesan-y flavor of the cheese means this cheese is the ONLY thing you'll taste. I guess that makes sense for a "table cheese," which is generally put out with bread for people to munch on.

I wouldn't necessarily recommend Calabria's table cheese as part of a cheese plate or tasting, but if you have the fortitude to mow your way through a cheese that'll bite back some, then as my Calabrese grandfather used to tell me (sorry for the phonetic spelling), "Rimanga con me, amico mio, e scoreggera fra le mutando fato de la seta": Stick with me, kid, and you'll break wind through silk underwear.

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.