Valentine’s Cheese Advice

With the economy in the toilette, it’s an awfully good year to be a loving spendthrift. Instead of bedazzling a sweater and going out on the town, I suggest you bedazzle some goat cheese and stay in with some Steely Dan.

It’s as easy as picking up these chevre hearts—available at the Fair Food Farmstand in Reading Terminal—or making your own. Come on, you can find some fresh goat cheese and figure out how to press it between sheets of waxed paper for some easy molding. Pete Demchur of Shellbark Hollow rolls his cuties in fresh lavender buds and pink peppercorns, but you could roll yours in some paprika, craisins, or za'atar. That a grrrl, Martha.

Below, I've listed all the scrumptious sides you could ever want for a lover’s cheese board. Pick up some goat cheese, a weepy Brie, and a sweet hunk of Valdeon, then lock the door. Turn off all the lights, scramble for a candle, and feed your naughty cherub these tender morsels:

• Cherry preserves
• Spiced pecans
• Dark chocolate
• Honey
• Dates
• Baguette
• Champagne

Don’t forget to relax the cheese! What I mean is: while you’re taking a warm bath, leave the cheeses on the counter. You'll want to serve them at room temperature. Otherwise this whole exercise is pointless.

Cheese & Champagne Class: Bone up on the finer points of serving bubbly and Brie at a Cheese & Champagne Class at Di Bruno Bros., 1730 Chestnut St., on Friday, Feb. 10, at 6:30 p.m. The swarthy Richard-Luis Morillo will demo and discuss. Tickets: $20. For more info, call 215-665-1659 and ask for "Catering."

Three New Stinkers from Neal's Yard

From back to front: Stawley, Cardo & Saint James

Some people get excited about shoes, I get excited about cheese that smells like shoes. Don’t ask me how this started – my mother tells me that I loved to crawl as a baby and refused to walk until I was more than two. Maybe during those formative years I developed a nose for scrunge.

Needless to say, I got very excited in Di Bruno Bros. this week when I learned that the cheesemongers had just received a shipment of new whiffies from Neal’s Yard Dairy in London. Neal’s Yard is to milk what Milan is to Italian leather. Their cheeses are just as sumptuous. And just as expensive.

So, here’s what I did: I closed my eyes, opened my billfold, and bought three num-nums. Then I picked up a good loaf of bread, plucked the last of the Sungold tomatoes from the vines in the yard, and had myself a stinky cheese fest and photo shoot.

The boyfriend was out of town. He wouldn’t have liked this fete. Not at all. I didn’t care. I wanted the stink to myself. And because one of these stinkers cost $49.99/lb, I was happy not to share it. Not with anyone but you.

Allow me to describe the funk I was in:

Stawley

This raw goat from Somerset looks like a toad stool, a very fall-appropriate lump. Its jacket is stunning, a thick bunting of Geotrichum – the same mold you find on Brie. Underneath, there is a gorgeous cream line and a center of nougat. This little package is slightly tangy, a twinge peppery, but mostly it's just beautifully balanced citrine softness. I want an ottoman made of Stawley for my tired Friday feet.

Cardo

Next up, a washed rind goat's milk cheese made with thistle rennet as a coagulant – who knew? What a stunning gesture. Thistle rennet imbues cheese with a vaguely artichoke-like taste that I happen to love. If you like La Serena, a gooey Spanish cheese also made with thistle rennet, you'll want to seek out this wicked sliver. Cardo, a fudgy, faintly gritty cheese, reminded me of sirloin – very beefy. It’s the blood pudding of cheese. Curiously, it smells like baby feet, which is to say, very sweet.

Saint James

“This cheese reminds me of dead flesh, but in a good way,” Di Bruno Bros. cheesemonger Zeke Ferguson told me as I was trying Saint James in the shop. I like Zeke, but should I trust him? Saint James smells like barn boots but tastes like warm grass, cooked mushrooms, and scrambled eggs. It’s made from sheep’s milk, so it’s a creamy thug, full-flavored and tongue-coatingly rich. For such a big cheese, it has a purr of a finish. I could have eaten a loaf, despite the gritty rind – a common trait in cheeses that are brined.

Note: I'm told that Di Bruno Bros. is testing these British babies out on the American market. Maybe we can start a minor squall if enough people ask for them. They are quite unique, and together, these three stooges make a splendid cheese plate for the discriminating Anglophile. 

Cabot Clothbound Cheddar

For my Di Bruno Bros. column this week, I write about Cabot Clothbound Cheddar, a beautiful mummy of a cheese from Vermont. It's bandaged in cloth and "larded," then cave-aged -- like an Egyptian pharaoh. Whenever I eat clothbound cheddar, my mind flashes to the mummified cats on display at the Penn Museum. 

Sorry, that's a bit ghoulish, but I do find it fascinating that cheesemakers adopted this method of preservation to create wildly flavorful cheeses. This one smells like the woods and tastes like a thousand things. If you want to read about it and try a little clothbound cheddar tasting (highly advised around Halloween), you'll find all the info over on the Di Bruno Blog, where I post twice a month to earn my cheese allowance.

If you're a cheddar head with lofty aspirations of understanding this tricksy style of cheesemaking, check out The Cheese Chronicles, by Liz Thorpe. She writes beautifully and thoughtfully about cheddar in her chapter on "The Amish: Seeking the Roots of American Cheese" (pp. 90-123). I reread it over a nibble of Cabot Clothbound, and as always I fell under Thorpe's spell. She talks about cheddar the way some people talk about craft beer -- with reverence, pop, and understanding.

If you want more juicy backstory about Cabot Creamery and how Vermont became a cheese mecca, listen to Ann Saxelby's interview with Paul Kindstedt on "Cutting the Curd," a Brooklyn radio show all about cheese. Kinstedt has trained many American cheesemakers and is a sort of Gandalf figure in the American farmstead cheese movement. His take on the Vermont cheese scene is fascinating, and you'll enjoy Ann Saxelby's gently probing Midwestern twang. 

The Strange Beauty of Scamorza

On appearance, Scamorza (ska-MORT-sa) is one of the ugliest cheeses. It looks like the belly button of a giant baby – dried out, pale, and slightly waxy. For years, I avoided it. No one I knew ate it, and the only person I ever saw order it in the cheese line was an old man with very large ears.

Turns out, that old man knew something I didn’t know. Scamorza is good company for the end of summer. When all that your garden offers is a few lonely herbs, you might as well pluck them and make Scamorza toasts with olive oil, herbs, and black pepper. To continue reading, please click here.

Full disclosure: This is part of a paid series I write for Di Bruno Bros. Twice a month, I select a cheese and develop a post for their blog. This is how I cover the cost of my dairy habit.