November 13, 2003

I know who I can trust...

"Mens sana in corpore sano is a contradiction in terms, the fantasy of
a Mr. have-your-cake-and-eat-it. No sane man can afford to dispense
with debilitating pleasures; no ascetic can be considered reliably
sane. Hitler was the archetype of the abstemious man. When the other
krauts saw him drink water in the Beer Hall they should have known he
was not to be trusted," Max, quoting A.J. Liebling.

And what a fitting quote to sum up the near-Roman excesses of this weekend's event. This past Sunday, the Cheese Diaries hosted the first (of hopefully many) East Bay tasting event. I use the term hosted loosely - it was Anne who did all the hard work - providing her home, and waking up at the crack of dawn to bake baguettes.

After my personal Camembert de Normandie connection fell through, I schemed to bring it to me. I found a source, and ordered it, along with another forbidden cheese, Langres. To celebrate the momentous occasion, ten guests were chosen to partake of these cheeses, along with a few of our favorites. Upon arrival, the task was clear: an inadvertent (and unabashedly un-American) tour of France, with a brief introduction to Italy.

We tasted the following:

Vento d'Estate

(not pictured)
Connie:
This cheese was generously provided by C(h)ristine who sadly, due to a cold, was unable to join us. The cheese, however, was delicious. Hailing from northern Italy, it was an aged cow's milk cheese that had been buried in hay, rosemary and mint. It was relatively milky, pleasantly salty, with definite grassy and herbal flavors. We had started drinking a Bordeaux (don't remember the name) with this one, but a Barolo would have been nice.
Anne's note:
The wine was a Bordeaux superieur from Chateau de Terrefort-Quancard. The only reason I know this, of course, is that I have the bottle to prove it. It was a good match, a powerful wine for this powerful, pungent cheese. It reminded me of lamb, probably because of the rosemary, which I frequently use to flavor lamb, and mint, since I have a nostalgic soft spot for lamb patties with mint jelly. But there is a lamby quality to it, rich and gamey.

Abbaye de Belloc

(not pictured)
Connie:
Also from the Pyrenees region, this sheep's milk cheese was also provided by C(h)ristine. Dense, fatty, and salty, this cheese was a little grainy on the tongue at first, then melted into a caramelly creaminess. I found it very similar to Ossau-Iraty. The Pyrenees, with the exception of Roquefort, seem to produce the best sheep's milk cheeses. We drank a Bordeaux with this. Membrillo (Spanish quince paste) was a nice foil for the saltiness.

A side note about membrillo: Although it's relatively simple to make, don't bother. It will make a mess of your kitchen, spattering and sticking to the stove, the counter, the floor, the ceiling and your beloved copper double boiler.

Pouligny-St Pierre (AOC)

(top)
Connie:
One of my favorite goat cheeses from the Loire Valley. In the past, I had been able to get a raw milk version, but with recent events, this one was "thermalized" - that is, the milk is heated, but at a lower temperature, and for a longer period of time than pasteurization. This version was a bit riper than ones I've had in the past, with a thick runny layer under the rind. As I sliced into it, the rind virtually slid off. It started out tangy, then salty, then sweet with a straw undertone. We paired this one with a Rodney Strong Sauvignon Blanc.

Le Lingot de Quercy

(upper right corner)
Connie:
This was one of the only raw milk goat cheeses I could find. It's from the Pyrenees, and it was very rich and creamy tasting, almost like Humboldt Fog. It wasn't as sharp as the Pouligny, but definitely richer. It was sweet and grassy. With fresh figs, and Medjool dates, it was sinful. We paired this one with the Sauvignon Blanc as well.


Vacherin Mont d'Or (AOC)


(on the right)
Connie:
Recently reviewed, this cheese is from Franche-Comte.
This one was a bit riper than the one I'd reviewed... it was runnier and sweeter. It was so runny at room temperature that it was eaten with a spoon, and earned itself the nickname the "fondue cheese", although fondue is usually made with melted Gruyere, Emmenthaler or Comte and kirsch.... but that's a different article. We paired it with Louis Jadot (wings! little wings!) Beaujolais. It was also terrific with the figs, and balsamic vinegar caramelized onions.


Anne's note:
The actual nut that this cheese is reminiscent of eluded me for quite some time, but now I think that I've finally placed my finger on it. It has that same rich, crumbly, fatty flavor of the macadamia nut.

Camembert de Normandie (AOC)

(lower right)
Connie:
What can I say about Camembert de Normandie that I haven't said before? The rind is velvety and rustic, with mottled streaks of white and red. The smell alone is intoxicating - woodsy and earthy, like truffles, mushrooms and walnuts. The French call it "les pieds de Dieu," or the feet of God. Jeffrey Steingarten claims in the previously mentioned chapter, Cheese Crise, from It Must Have Been Something I Ate, claims that there is one sulfur compound responsible for the "ineffable perfume of true, raw-milk Camembert... S-methyl thiopropionate." While I was shopping for cheese the day before, I took a whiff of the commonly available Le Chatelain camembert out of curiousity... it was insipid in comparison, once again confirming my belief in Steingarten's brilliance. I can't go back to pasteurized Camembert (unless, of course, it's deep fried, or smothered in pesto and wrapped in grape leaves).

Max thoughtfully brought a couple bottles of Normandy cider. With slices of Pink Lady apples, and Marcona almonds, it was perfect... one of those culinary moments when you have to recline and let your eyes roll back. This has to be my favorite cheese.

Anne:
Imagine walking through a deep, remote New England hardwood forest in spring. The sun is weak in the sky, and the light filters through the barren branches. Fall's leaves, uncovered by melted snow, lie rotting in soft layers of faded colour. The only sound is the muted squelch of your shoes on the rich organic soil and your heart hammering in your ears. Your breath rises like a ghost around you, warm with life against the bitterness of winter's chill only just passed. You resist the urge to sing, to create some human noise in the thundering sanctity of the silence that surrounds you. And as you are walking, something catches your eye-. Pushing up from the dark earth, a secret treasure: morels!

This is what eating Camembert de Normandie is like.


For me and fellow author Max, eating Camembert is a serious business.



The ciders were Eric Bordelet Sydre Brut Tendre and Doux. The sweet, tantalizing acidity of this beverage did well to balance out the salty richness of the Camembert, and was a refreshing change from all the wines we had been drinking.

Jean d'Alos, the famous affineur of France, says that raw milk does not guarantee the quality of a cheese. Maybe not, but when raw milk cheeses are good, they blow away just about any pasteurized version. There is an incredible complexity of flavor that just can't come from pasteurized milk- try tasting pasteurized and non-pasteurized milk side by side and you'll be amazed by the difference. In other words, there is nothing like the real thing, Camembert de Normandie. It alone makes a strong case for enforcement of g.i.s.


Reblochon (AOC)


(lower left)

Connie:
Reblochon means "second milking". It literally comes from the second milking of the day from the cows of Haute-Savoie. This second milking is supposedly richer and thicker. (Janet Fletcher explains it a little better in this week's Chroncle.) The rind is smooth and velvety, kind of like a deer's antler. The pate's texture is soft, but never runny, and very smooth - a pliant and almost springy consistency. The flavor is slightly eggy with an almost bacon-like note and a hazelnut undertone. The Pinot Noir and the carmelized onions went really well with it.

When buying Reblochon, you have to be very careful. The ones available here have been aged for just over sixty days (it's made with raw milk), and Reblochon really hits its peak at about 50-55 days. I've tasted more than a couple dried-out Reblochons.

Epoisses de Bourgogne (AOC)

(center)
Connie:
Besides Camembert de Normandie, this is my other favorite. It's Anne's favorite, too. You can read about it here. We drank a Pinot Noir with it, naturally. Oh, and it is barnyardy - smelly in a good way, and pleasantly salty in a saline way, like fleur de sel.
Anne:
It is fitting that this is one of the first cheeses I reviewed for this blog. As the Vacheron Mont d'Or is to Connie, so the Epoisses de Bourgogne is my messiah. The Epoisses initiated me to my new faith in cheese, and it is largely because of it that I was inspired to start the Cheese Diaries.

I've been struggling with the term "barnyardy". When I say that word, I try to close my eyes and conjure up the most romantic barn I can think of: a rustic barn in the south of France, walls built of ancient stone. Inside, there are cows chewing fresh, sweet hay, mooing softly in the early morning light that streams in from the windows. Chickens run free, pecking in the crisp straw for bugs...

Still, thinking about eating *that* doesn't exactly whet the appetite. There's no getting around it, though. This cheese has a definite meaty, sweaty, animal quality to it. If I had to actually describe the barn that comes to mind when eating this cheese... well, let's just say it wouldn't exactly be mouth-watering. At least until you've tasted this cheese.

Langres (AOC)

(left)
Connie:
Anne's notes on Langres surpass anything I can say. The trivia I might add is that Langres is from Champagne.
Anne:
Langres and Epoisses are from the same family of cheeses. Traditionally, the Langres was made with a small divet in the center, onto which the lucky gourmand poured champagne before consuming the cheese. For me, staging the cheese tasting was merely an excuse to try the Langres. I have an automatic affinity to rare things, and Langres, being made au lait cru is not only rare, but also ephemeral, as it is available only in the fall. In particular, I wanted to try it in conjunction with the Epoisses. After all, is it really worth going to all that trouble to procure?

We ended up drinking this with a Chandon Blanc de Noirs sparkler. The tradition of pouring it on top is no longer in fashion, and in fact the Langres did not appear to have much of a concave shape. Nevertheless, we honored the tradition.

It was an odd combination, the cold bubbling wine congealing the soft cheese. For taste, I would have prefered a deeper wine. Jenkins (author of The Cheese Primer) suggests a Rhone red with French prunes, which in a last minute effort tried to find but failed.

In order to do this cheese justice, I decided to taste it again, this time both myself and the cheese unadulterated with alcohol, and compare it head to head with the Epoisses. The Langres has a much more subtle, complicated flavor, while the Epoisses has that overwhelmingly barnyardy quality. The Langres is sweeter, delicate, more golden in flavor. The smell experience holds the same joy as freshly baked breads. The creamy aftertaste suggests truffles soaked in honey, but there is an odd floral quality to it as well, balanced out by its more musky essence.

Epoisses is bold, the aggressive socialite. Nothing is hidden, all is revealed. Langres is coy, winking from darkened corners and smiling secretly under bedsheets.

Forme Sauternes

(upper left corner)
Connie:
From the Aurvergne, this is a Forme d'Ambert that has been soaked in Sauternes wine. Sweet, salty and stinky, it's a blue that I have reviewed before. Sauternes, of course, would be a natural pairing with this one, but at this point, although it was suggested, no one was sober enough to stumble to the wine shop to get one.

Good thing too, because when our tour was complete, the carnage was apparant... a broken table, a stinky dining room, 9 empty bottles of wine and ten aching but happy and bloated tummies.

"Zack," I said the next day. "We were pretty inebrieted."

"Yes, honey. You were pretty inebrieted," he replied.

"Do you remember anything about broken furniture?" I asked.

"In fact, I do. But Max said you and Anne wouldn't remember. I agreed" he laughed. "It was as we foresaw it."

"Oh. It's a good thing you drove home that day."

As I passed out on our couch, I couldn't help but think that Steingarten's analysis of the aftereffects of choucroute applied equally well to my situation. "[Y]ou... lie immobile in a netherworld between sleep and wakefulness for the next eighteen hours. Then you can eat again. The French would call this a liver attack, but they call everything a liver attack." (from The Man Who Ate Everything)

We'll do it again, for sure. I'm confident that our guests had a good time Justin declared that "these are like, ten of my favorite cheeses now!". Next time, we'll stick to more specific regions - I'm a huge fan of the Loire. Spanish cheeses also intrigue. Anyone know how I can get ahold of some Torta del Casar?

Anne:
(A quick aside: here is a tantalizing recipe to use with this excellent cheese, by Guy Savoy, owner of a resaurant of the same name in Paris, France. Pumpkin soup with Forme d'Ambert.)

About that table... when my sister commented about it the next morning I replied in jest, "One of my drunken friends musta busted it." Later that night I mentioned it to Ryan who came over to make dinner. I could tell he was looking at me funny.

"What," I demanded.

"You really don't remember, do you," he replied, smiling in sweet irony. Turns out I, at least in part, was to blame. Doh!

Inebriation, sadly, does not enhance one's memory of taste. Next time, I'd say less wine and more cheese. If we structured the cheese and wine pairing more tightly, I think we can manage to have several cheeses with each glass.

There is so much to taste and explore! I am particularily interested in comparing and contrasting related cheeses. I can't wait for the next round- but I guess I'll have to wait until we've all recovered a bit. In the meantime, I'll just nibble on this left over Epoisses.

Posted by connie at November 13, 2003 09:14 PM | TrackBack