The first time I tasted Vacherin Mont D'Or was at my birthday dinner at the justly celebrated French Laundry, before my cheese infatuation had blossomed into a full-fledged obsession. The waiter had removed the lid from the wooden box with a flourish, then lovingly shaped a small mound of it on my plate with two spoons. I enjoyed it, but quite frankly, I wasn't all that impressed. Neophyte that I was, it was hard for me to appreciate. After all, I had just wallowed in nine courses of culinary ecstasy. I recognized that this cheese was special, but that it had a major handicap. It's impossible to follow Thomas Keller's poached oysters topped with caviar, foie gras en torchon, butter poached lobster and... well, you get the idea. (I still daydream about that night. You can read about it here) I suppose I say that this was a major turning point in my hobby/obsession with cheese. I wanted to find out what made Keller think that this cheese was worthy enough enough to follow his culinary masterpieces. It certainly wasn't a cheese I had noticed in stores before, so I began to seek it out. Unfortunately, Vacherin is a seasonal cheese, and the end of its season had just passed. (Of course, this setback did not stop me from sampling other cheeses.)
I researched Vacherin, and I found out about AOC designations (the French government's regulations, which protect the names of top regional cheeses). I also learned that the Swiss produce Vacherin Mont D'or but in actuality, the French produced it first. Somehow, the Swiss obtained legal rights to the name some time ago, and the French version is now called Vacherin du Haut-Doubs (which, of course, is an AOC cheese). It is made in the autumn and winter in the coldest region of France. Legend has it that these cold winters made it impossible to deliver milk, so this ultra creamy, runny cheese was made at home. It was so runny, that a band of spruce was placed around it to prevent the rind from cracking.
Now, November is upon us, and if you're lucky, you'll find this Vacherin at your local cheese counter (they sell out fast!). I bought one several weeks ago, and let it ripen in my refrigerator. The rind was a light beige, dusted with a fine velvety white mold. It bulged voluptuously in luscious and supple ripples and folds, and the spruce band gave a pleasant, cedar-like aroma. After letting it come to room temperature, I cut off the rind, and dug in with a spoon. It was so runny that I was certain that if I tipped the box to the side, the pate would flow out like a calm river. It tasted fruity, nutty and milky, with a slight tang, but the balsam strip smoothed out the tang with its woodsy flavor. So this time, I was impressed.
Posted by connie at November 6, 2003 10:14 PM | TrackBack