Vacherin, The Peignoir Cheese

I’ve wanted to try Vacherin Mont d’Or ever since I first read Patricia Michelson’s description of it in her book, The Cheese Room. She calls it a "melting sensation" and compares the texture to “the folds of a satin peignoir.” Read: nightie.

I was watching Mad Men at the time. I thought of Joan with her high, crimson hair and blousy bedroom attire. When I imagined the taste of Vacherin, I envisioned something voluptuous but repressed, delicate.

Oh, how wrong I was. Vacherin is a tiger. It may, in fact, be the ultimate Mad Men-era cheese because it comes in a box, like an engagement ring, and it’s cinched at the waist with a belt (made of bark). When you bake it, it turns to Jell-O pudding.

Vacherin is a seasonal cheese that hails from the mountain range between Switzerland and France. It’s ready in winter, and that’s because it’s only made with autumn milk when the cows come down from the Alps. The milk from these same cows -- in spring and summer -- is used to make Comté and Gruyere.

The name Vacherin literally means “Golden Mountain.”

Vacherin Fondue

Following Patricia Michelson’s instructions, I baked this cheese in its balsa wood box. At 350 degrees, it took thirty minutes. 

It’s important to wrap the box in foil in case the melted cheese leaks out. After the center warmed, I peeled back the top rind, swirled 2 tablespoons of Sauvignon Blanc into the custardy softness, and served hot Vacherin with boiled potatoes, pickled onions, and cornichons.

Unforgettable. Imagine a forest melting in your mouth. A forest with nightgowns hanging like leaves from the branches. The taste is big -- mushrooms, sweet hay, night sweat -- and the texture is sumptuous. All you need is a salad with a vinegary dressing and a glass of Gewurztraminer.

Online, you can find Vacherin at Murray's and Artisanal. I purchased mine at the counter of Di Bruno Bros. If you're lucky enough to find Rush Creek, a raw-milk version of Vacherin made by Uplands Cheese in Wisconsin, you could try this same recipe.

This is a delightful supper for a winter Sunday. Change into your PJs as it bakes.

C Local: A Stinker That Reeks of Controversy

C Local (left) on our New York-themed cheese board

It has always been my dream to eat Thanksgiving in Manhattan so that I could prepare a fierce cheese plate for the occasion. Thankfully, the occasion came tumbling by and so I found myself at Murray’s last Tuesday, dodging raindrops to buy glorious cheese – “as whiffy and local as possible,” I entreated the cheesemongers.

And so I found my reigning loverboy, this sheep’s milk stinker washed in beer from Brooklyn Brewery. It’s creamy, it’s funky; it smells like body sweat. My friend P., a New Yuck native, called it “sneakery.”

Served with a shmear of strawberry-balsamic jam and a goblet of malty Belgian brown ale, C Local became the platform for my best bite of the weekend. Turkey is lovely, cranberry sauce, too, but nothing beats a beefcake slathered with preserves. Let your mind wander.

Meanwhile, I’ll tell you about this controversial crescent. Back in October, The New York Times wrote about C Local and stirred up a lot of dander over the term affinage (off-ee-NAJ), the process of aging cheese. Cheese shops nowadays engage in a lot of playful tinkering with rinds, and skilled mongers trained in affinage will take in young orphan cheeses and bathe them in spirits to produce a unique specialty.

C Local is a case in point. The mongers receive wheels of a bloomy sheep's milk cheese, called Kinderhook Creek, from Old Chatham Sheepherding Co., and instead of selling them right away, the folks at Murray’s wash these wheels in Brooklyn Brewery's Local 2. By tending to the cheese, they produce a very different product – a one-of-kind wheel that’s sold in limited quantity, often at a premium. 

For someone like me, this is a treat. I love the cheeses produced by Old Chatham, and the beer wash morphs these gentle bloomies into something cantankerous and slightly crusty – just to my liking. 

In the Times article, cheese god Steven Jenkins (author of Cheese Primer) ranted against this practice, attacking cheesemongers for ramping up costs to the consumer and creating a class war among cheese buyers. His response lit up Twitter for several days.

While I am all for equity, I don’t understand Jenkins’ crowbar tongue on the subject of affinage. Ripening cheese requires skill in the same way that, say, refinishing a table requires skill. If I buy a refinished table, I expect to pay the person who slathered on the varnish and attended to final touches.

All this to say, C Local was the highlight of Thanksgiving. Seek it out. And ask for Syd, cheesemongress extraordinaire. She helped me pick out the stunning accoutrements for my New York Locavore Cheesegiving. The day's bounty is detailed below.

New York Locavore Cheese Plate

• Cheeses: C Local, Across The Pond, Little Big Apple
• White Lavender Asparagus, from Brooklyn Brine
• Strawberry-Balsamic Jam, from Anarchy in a Jar
• Toasted Raisin Pecan Crsips, from Eli Zabar
• Columbus Sopressata
• Big Picture Farms Goat Caramels

The Call of Wild 'n Stinky Cheeses

I’m sure you feel it, too. The craving. When you catch a whiff of musty leaves on your walk to work, or when pull on a wool sweater that still smells a little sheepy -- those earthy, beasty smells make you want one thing: stinky cheese.

No? Seriously? Okay, I’m alone here, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it. There is something about November weather – all this dampness and decay – that makes yeasty, feisty cheeses kind of appealing. 

That’s why I’m excited to tell you about Stinky Føttene (pictured above), a new beefy champ from Hook’s Cheese Company out of Mineral Point, Wisconsin. I am especially proud of Tony and Julie Hook for calling this cheese what it is. The name literally meets “stinky feet.”

In the cheese world, people shy away from using the word “stinky” or “whiffy.” Most mongers and makers will use the term “pungent,” as if this is a kindler, gentler way to refer to certain “interesting” cheeses with “aromatic” qualities.

I prefer not to tiptoe. Stinky cheese has always been all right with me. I like to eat it with dark bread and dark beer, preferably in a darkish kitchen with maybe a little Hüsker Dü playing in the background.

Gateway Stinkers

Stinky Føttene is a good gateway stinker. “For a stinky cheese, it’s pretty palatable,” my friend Austin said, when I served him a wedge at a recent harvest party. My friend Tracy deemed it “the IPA of cheese.” I’d have to agree. Our wedge – airdropped in from a Wisconsin source – didn’t necessitate any nose plugs.

Still, it had all the qualities I like in a stinky washed-rind cheese: a gooey orange rind (from a good wash with saline or booze), a creamy texture, and a toothsome beef-stewy quality that is characteristic of stinky cheese.

What makes a cheese stinktastic? Most are washed-rind cheeses, which is a style of cheese that developed out of monastic cultures. Many early monasteries produced beer or spirits alongside cheese, and some sweet bald Man Of The Cloth finally put the two together. Think of Epoisses, a famous Googoo Cluster from the Trappists.

Washed-rind cheeses are literally bathed in a solution – brandy, beer, etc. – that adds flavor and moisture. No surprise, eating these stinkers alongside Trappist ales and dark liquor makes for a very merry pairing.

Must-Try Whiffies: From Mild to Wild

If you are sensitive to stink, ask a cheesemonger to help you find the right round for you. Stinky cheeses tend to get whiffier as they age, so ask for a young buck. In the store, the cheese might hit you like a herd of rowdy bulls, but at home – with the right condiments and libations – you’re going to find that it lows like a calf.

Below are some great seasonal stinkers. I like to serve these before a big meal – or as a meal – because they pair well with other strong flavors, like pickles, cured meat, dark beer,  spiced nuts, and even marmalade.

Ardrahan – Ireland’s version of a stinky cheese. It’s so gentle, it purrs.

Anton’s Red Love – It’s a stinky pillow-top, which means Not Too Stinky. The texture is silken. I could sleep on this, it’s so featherbed good.

Red Hawk – A not-too-stinky dream puff from California's Cow Girl Creamery. Rich and faintly peanutty. One of my favorites.

Hooligan – Plenty stinky but so delicious. Think of a cow barn with a tire swing -- you’ll taste both. This is one elegant but intense cheese, and it’s made by a former English teacher and his mom, in Connecticut. Oh, please. It’s cute and stinky. It’s the Hello Kitty of Stinky Cheeses.

Stinking Bishop – Need I say more?

Epoisses – The only cheese I serve on Thanksgiving Day, always with baguette rounds and celery sticks. It’s the dip du jour for stink-loving Brady Bunchettes.

Limburger – A truly repugnant smelling cheese that has the taste and texture of onion frosting, although it never tastes quite as strong to me as it smells. One man makes Limburger in the U.S., and he tells me it’s good on toast with a smear of strawberry jam. I like to make Limburger Helper.

Full Discosure: Stinky Fottene was sent to me as a sample, among other Wisconsin whiffies that I requested for a Thanksgiving Cheese Board.