Cheddar and Apple Paste

This pairing might just be my new fall favorite: Quickes Farmhouse Cheddar and Mitica Apple Paste. I sampled the two together at yesterday's Cheese, Apples, and Ale tasting. Gorgeous. Imagine earthy autumn smells, plus the cidery taste of apples. Then add the musical texture of crumbly cheddar and sticky-smooth fruit puree.

Quickes Cheddar takes especially well to sweet condiments. Made by Mary Quicke of Devon, England, this farmhouse cheddar has a hint of cigar box. In other words, it's musty. Or, to use the words of writer and cheesemonger Liz Thorpe: "it's cellary."

You can tell that this cheese was wrapped in cloth, larded, and then stored in a damp place. Those earthy notes are what make a cheddar a true "farmhouse cheddar." If you don't like boot-stompin' goodness, you're better off with a different style, a cheddar without the word "bandaged" anywhere near it.

Quickes Cheddar has a caramel-sweetness that I love. It makes me think of eating a caramel-covered apple in a leaf pile. The blend of toffee notes and autumnal leafiness is just lovely. If you eat the apple paste first, the slightly bitter notes of this cheese disappear. And the mustiness gets tamped down.

I found Mitica's Apple Paste at Quince, my neighborhood cheese shop, but you should be able to find it at various gourmet shops or online.

The same company also makes membrillo paste and those glorious rounds of chocolate, wrapped in waxed paper, that are so good for baking. Fresh apples are always a lively companion for cheddar, but when you want to vary the experience...well, a little apple paste on an espresso spoon sparkles it up.

Wensleydale: A British Classic

Besides being a star in Wallace & Gromit cartoons, Wensleydale has a great story. It’s made by a single creamery in Yorkshire, England that relies on a recipe from twelfth-century Cistercian monks. Production has been up and down over the years, but right now there are gorgeous wheels to be had, making this mild, toothsome cheese the Clothbound Must-Have of the moment.

To read more, please click here.

Full disclosure: This post is part of a paid series I write for Di Bruno Bros., one of my fave cheese haunts in Philly. I choose the topic, and the posts run on the store's blog (http://www.dibruno.com/blog/).

Cappucetto Rosso: Pair with Fangs

Take one look at this cheese and tell me it doesn't make you think of the Twilight series. It's a little bit virgin, a little bit vampire -- the white paste, the fir bark wrapped around the rind. It's also mild, sweetly so. I want to call up Stephenie Meyer. I do. I think this cheese would look awesome on a book cover.

Cappucetto Rosso is a creamy raw-milk cheese from Lombardy. The name actually means "Little Red Riding Hood," which is only part of the reason I bought this bloomy dream. The other reason is, of course, the rind. The writer in me loves a pretty cover, and this cheese just might just have the hottest surface mold I've ever seen. Fir bark aside, check out the lines running across this little wheel. Looks like fine print, right?

Okay, textural metaphors aside, this cheese tastes and smells like a walk in the forest. It has a milky front end and a woodsy finish. It's mild, even near the bark, although it gets a wee bit sprucey. Think white truffles, pine sap.

I like cheeses with Personality, but so often that makes for blazin' strength. Happily, this character-driven cheese is flavorful without being too bitey. Tell your children it's fairy brie, and serve it with bread cut into the shape of toadstools. Or slide it into the lunchbox of your tween, along with a bookmark. She'll get the picture.

Note: I bought this cheese at Di Bruno Bros. on Philadelphia's Chestnut Street. I don't see it for sale online, but I bet you could beg a cheesemonger to mail you some, if you ask verrry nicely.

Ardrahan: An Irish Beauty

If ever there were a “sensuous” category for cheese, Ardrahan just might rock top placement. It is, in a word, plush. Picture a round cushion of a cheese, give it a satiny gold finish and a rich texture, then meditate on this: peanuts, wild mushrooms, a whiff of pasture. It’s cheese nirvana.

Ardrahan hails from county Cork, Ireland, where it’s made by reknowned cheesemaker Mary Burns. Mary began making cheese at her family’s eighteenth century farmhouse back in the early ‘80s. To read on, please click here.


Full disclosure: This post is part of a series I'm writing for Di Bruno Bros., one of my fave cheese haunts in Philly. The deal is, on Wednesdays I get paid to guest-blog on the store's site (dibruno.blogspot.com).

Bridgewater: From Michigan to Moi

The latest issue of Culture Magazine got me hot and bothered. The cover story on ricotta was gorgeous, and the profile of Zingerman's Creamery made me want to pack a cheese valise and hitch a ride to Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Luckily, I didn’t have to. A good friend happened to be on her way home from the Great Lakes state, and she offered to swing by Zingerman’s for me. Just send me a list of the cheeses you want, she wrote in an email.

Bridgewater, I wrote back. Just bring me Bridgewater.

You see, the picture of Bridgewater in Culture was irresistible. It looked like a snowball with peppercorns. With the heat wave we've had in Philly, I yearned for a snowy cheese. Bridgewater also had an interesting inception: the cheese came about by accident when someone left a bag of farm cheese in the trunk of a Honda. I love a good birth story.

When my Michigan friend returned last week, we had an impromptu cheese party pour deux and made ourselves half sick on Zingerman’s cheese. Zingerman’s is actually a famous Ann Arbor deli, known for its glorious cakes, sandwiches, and bread. The company also runs a creamery. Bridgewater is just one of many artisanal cheeses made in house by cheesemaker John Loomis.

If you’ve ever eaten spicy French Gaperon a.k.a. “the salami of cheese,” Bridgewater is similar. It’s much tastier than imported Gaperon, in my opinion – less gummy, more pure in flavor. The recipe Loomis uses to make Bridgewater is actually based upon Gaperon, so said the Zingerman's cheesemonger I talked to on the phone while I was nibbling. "This is so good!" I told him. "I had to call and tell you."

Bridgewater is a double-cream, made from cow’s milk. The texture is like packed snow, and there’s a frostiness I love. The cheese tastes cool and icy, but the peppercorns add heat, so there’s a little bitta that Vicks-Vapor-Rub thing going on – icy hot, ya know?

Imagine a peppercorn snow cone. Yes, that’s it! A perfect cheese for a 90-degree day. Try it with fresh nectarines and a wheat beer (a Michigan microbrew would be ideal).

If you have friends traveling to Ann Arbor, ask them to bring you some. I also recommend City Goat, a beautiful round of bright, citrusy goat cheese that tastes like pillowy sleet. When you don't have central air, you have to make do somehow.

Many thanks to Aimee Knight for ferrying this cheese across the country. For folks without Michigan friends: Zingerman's has a bangin' mail-order business. Both of these cheese are available online.