Category Archives: Who Moved My Cheese?

Cheese of the Week: Alta Langa La Tur

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I first had this superb cheese, which hails from the Alta Langa Dairy in Italy’s Piedmont region, at Absinthe Brasserie in San Francisco. It was part of an after-dinner course of cheese, during which I thought, multiple times, Why would anyone ever have a dessert course consisting of anything other than cheese?

(For the record, the cheese course also consisted of a Monsenicio blue, also from Piedmont, which was drizzled with Il Caratello aged balsamic vinegar, and a Coupole goat cheese, from Websterville, Vermont, which was paired with cherry chutney. Yum!)

Even given those spectacular cheeses, the La Tur might have been the standout. This extremely creamy cheese is made from a combination of cow, goat and sheep milk. When store-bought, it comes in a disk shape in a pleasingly delicate paper wrapper. As the cheese warms to room temperature, it practically oozes from beneath its flavorful, bloomy rind, which itself adds an interesting juxtaposition of flavor and texture.

The flavors of this soft cheese come alive only after one takes in the buttery texture, and when they do, they yield a mushroomy and pleasantly cave-like taste that I can only describe as ancient. The taste is complicated, earthy, and redolent. The texture continues to add a sensuous and delightful element and, as is especially easy with such a creamy and interesting cheese, it is gone before you can say, “La Tur”, or “Do you think we can get some more?”

Because it spreads so well, La Tur is made to go with crackers or slices of baguette. Absinthe paired it with Medjool dates, as did I. My beloved Dalmatia Orange Fig Spread also worked (with a little going a long way, as the tastes toggled back and forth), as did a medium-bodied Syrah.

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Photos by Susan Sachs Lipman

Cheese of the Week: Istara P’tit Basque Sheep Cheese

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You’ve got to love that hubby of mine. He keeps bringing home fun cheeses to try. This week he brought home a bit of Istara P’Tit Basque, and we had this yummy sheep cheese with port (me) and tequila (him).

What struck me immediately (well, right after the cute size — even a whole wheel is about as big as a large beefsteak tomato) is that it had a clean smell that had a little bite to it, almost like fresh air. I thought: That’s it, The air of the Pyrenees has come in on this cheese, and I was transported and hooked.

The P’Tit Basque was instantly pleasing to bite into, its texture somewhere in that perfect mid-range between soft and hard. If I could smell the air, I could certainly taste the sheep. This was nuttier than a typical cow’s milk cheese. While somewhat creamy, it had a dry, salty finish and a slightly gamey undertone. In short, there was a lot going on. It also retained its interest long after the cheese was gone — indeed, it lingered on the palate an unusually long time. And yet, as wonderful as that quality was, we didn’t content ourselves with the lingering, but kept going back for more until our petite P’Tit was but a memory.

The earthy taste of P’Tit Basque makes it a natural for pairing with strong foods such as a truffle salami (should you be lucky enough to have one of those), or anything else in the mushroom or cured-meat families. Hearty red wine (or port – I had a 20 year Warre’s Otima tawny) will complement this pastoral cheese, as will a great crusty wheat bread (I like La Brea Bakery’s Whole Grain Loaf, which is widely available) or, of course, a bunch of grapes.

So now we can thank the Basques, a hearty ancient people who have endured a tumultuous history in their small, mountainous region between the often-dueling Spain and France, for one more thing: It’s the Cheese.

The wonderful, near-herringbone rind of the P’Tit Basque:

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Photos by Susan Sachs Lipman

Cheese of the Week: Pt. Reyes Original Blue

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You could tell me blue cheese is created by a mold until you’re, well, blue in the face. I still wouldn’t care. I’m a sucker for blue cheese in all forms. Legend has it that the first Roquefort was discovered by accident, by a French shepherd in the early Middle Ages whose wandering eye for the ladies caused him to leave his bread-and-cheese lunch in a cave full of Roquefort mold. When he returned days later, he found his cheese veined in blue and was adventurous — and hungry — enough to give it a try.

Et, voila, blue cheese was born.

The Europeans dominated the blues for years, and the names Roquefort, Gorgonzola and Stilton are protected by region, much like Champagne. In 1941, enterprising Iowan Fred Maytag II began manufacturing an American blue, after microbiologists at Iowa State discovered a way to make it.

Now, the Giacomini family and their Pt. Reyes Farmstead Cheese Company have created their own Original Blue, said to be the only true blue cheese made in California. Luckily, for locals and others, it’s quite good. It’s got the traditional blue-cheese tang, yet is also mild, with a hint of milky sweetness. It’s also wonderfully creamy, so that it can be spread on a cracker, in addition to being crumbled into a salad, such as warm beets with walnuts and a balsamic vinaigrette. And, of course, it looks good, with its great blue veins of you-know-what running through it.

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Photos by Susan Sachs Lipman

Cheese of the Week: Emmi L’Etivaz Raw Milk Gruyere

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I love this cheese unconditionally. It’s exciting. It’s complex. It’s redolent. And it’s mighty tasty. It’s the taste that provides a wonderful surprise, because L’Etivaz has virtually no smell, no hint of the musty, aged quality it unearths on the taste buds. Like any good gruyere, the cheese is just firm enough to have a nice texture, and just soft enough to still offer a little give. The taste is strong and distinctive, somewhat nutty, with a slightly sweet aftertaste. Many different flavors mingle and linger, so that one enjoys the complex taste long after the cheese itself is gone. It’s got a bite to it, and a good mouth feel. Serve it with a full-bodied red wine, a hearty mushroom dish, or strong, tasty figs. You may also be inspired to bake with it — perhaps a French onion soup.

Cheese-o-philes already know this one’s special. It’s made by a small group of family cheesemakers in the Swiss Alps (near the village of Etivaz), who created it to preserve the old methods of heating milk in copper cauldrons over open wood fires, before processing it and aging it in caves. The milk is from high Alpine cows who graze only in summer, on a rare and fleeting combination of grass, flowers, and herbs. You can taste the tradition, geography and care in the cheese. Knowing its heritage, I feel extremely fortunate that it’s available at the corner market, and even more so that my husband brought some home, mistakenly thinking he was buying his favorite, and different, cave-aged gruyere.

Photo by Susan Sachs Lipman

Cheese of the Week: Irish Dubliner with Stout

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With its deep green wax rind, Irish pedigree, and addition of Stout, could there be a better cheese with which to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? This cow’s milk cheese could be mistaken for Cheddar’s smooth cousin. Its buttery texture hits you slightly ahead of its taste, which is pleasingly mild, but also has a noticeable bite. The Stout adds a note of sweetness to the nutty Dubliner, making this a more complex cheese than might appear at first glance, or first bite. It’s a fine cheese for melting onto a sandwich, or serving with water crackers and a fruit spread like Dalmatia Orange Fig Spread. It can also stand up to strong, plain fruit, such as blackberries.

Happy St. Patrick’s!

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