Winter Cheese & Airport Security: Americans Do It Better

I have always loved fall and winter. You know what's better than hot, sweaty summer discomfort; better than pit-stained tank-tops on sweaty men with hairy shoulders; and better than the smell of b.o. and back-alley public urinals? Warm blankets by the fire; sweaters, scarves, mittens, and completely-clothed strangers; a blast to the nose of caramelized oven-air from fresh batches of gingerbread or holiday cookies; averting those same fully advertised public urinals in fresh snow. The best thing of all about the colder seasons? The cheese.

Winter cheeses are traditionally richer because winter milk is higher in butterfat late in the lactation cycle. Milk composition is also affected by diet changes in winter months, when feed is supplemented by grain and silage as colder weather begins to limit pasture availability. What winter milk lacks in grass-fed nutritional benefits and delicate flavor nuances of terroir, it emphatically reconciles with a body slam of intense, fatty, unctuous, creaminess.

And guess what America? Despite what the old-world traditionalist and globe-trotting, new-age, landed gentry might tell you, the finest winter cheeses in the world are not all found in Europe. Two of the very best seasonal cheeses are American born. Both Rogue River Blue and Rush Creek Reserve also happen to appear on my list of foods I would request for my last meal on Earth.

Just last year Rogue Creamery's Rogue River Blue was named one of the best cheeses on the planet at the World Cheese Awards in England. The Oregon cheese was one of the first American-made cheeses to be exported to Europe (and for a long time only one of two American cheeses being sold in Europe). It is without a doubt my very favorite blue cheese. If I could find it for under $39/lb, I would buy it by the wheel.

The cost is absolutely worth it. Released only in the fall and winter when richer milk is available, it disappears again around late February and March (depending on demand). It is creamy and peppery, with a sweet nuttiness owed to being wrapped in grape leaves that have been macerated in pear brandy. The green leaf-ensconced wheel is reminiscent of the of the Spanish blue, Valdeon, similarly wrapped in Sycamore leaves. Valdeon is a delightfully peppery blue in it's own right. But in a head-to-head match up Rogue River Blue is the Maserati facing off against a guy riding a Rascal in a street race.

The second amazing winter cheese is Uplands Cheese Company's Rush Creek Reserve from Wisconsin. In 2011, I experienced Rush Creek Reserve with a good friend and fellow cheesemonger for the first time. We were both left on the verge of tears. At its peak, Rush Creek is a spoonable, thick, joy-filled custard dance of bacony, beef brothy, woodsy, and sweet grassy flavors. It is a small washed-rind wheel wrapped with spruce bark and sold whole. I call it a friendship cheese because the whole wheel is meant to be eaten in one sitting with good company.

Rush Creek Reserve pays homage to Vacherin Mont d'Or, a cheese nearly identical in appearance and style. Like many winter cheeses, Vacherin follows an Old World cheesemaking tradition based on transhumans, or the movement of people and livestock with the seasons. In the Alps, after the summer months are over and the reckless partying up on the mountaintop pastures comes to a close, the herd makes its way down to the valley for the colder winter months. The milk during this season, while fattier, is less bountiful. Therefore, the cheesemakers don't have quite enough to make the larger wheels of hard Alpine cheeses. But they do have just enough to make the smaller gooey wheels of Vacherin. Uplands Dairy honors this tradition by only making Rush Creek during the winter months, and making their firmer, larger Alpine-style Pleasant Ridge Reserve during the spring and summer when the cows are on pasture.

Vacherin and Rush Creek have similar flavor profiles, but in many ways Rush Creek does it better (in my opinion). Vacherin is an exceptional cheese with many devotees. It is equally worth the anticipation of Winter. But it is slightly more vegetal and not quite as beefy, bacony, and bold as Rush Creek. If you have the misfortune of being a vegetarian, then Rush Creek is a far superior route to a meaty flavor fix.

Washed rind cheeses like Rush Creek and Vacherin are potently smelly, especially when un-refrigerated. So let's say you are carrying a wheel of Rush Creek reserve in your carry-on luggage. You should, then, be prepared to have everyone assume you haven't bathed.

On a recent trip back to NYC, the very friend who shared that weirdly existential moment of first eating Rush Creek kindly gave me a wheel to take home. Knowing that I'd be hard pressed to find Rush Creek Reserve anywhere in Texas much less in Del Rio, I guarded that cheese with my life and kept it in my carry-on near my jewelry and wallet. If someone shoved rotting vegetables and a gassy toddler into my backpack, it may have come close to matching the smell. This did not please TSA. The multiple other greasy, brick-like pieces of cheese next to it also did not please TSA.

There was a moment of terror in my heart when I suspected the Rush Creek reserve may have sufficiently warmed and become too runny, and thus, akin to a liquid. I began pep-talking my gut, imagining I'd have to sit next to the security line and eat the entire wheel by myself before going to my gate. It would not be thrown out. Fortunately, a quick scan and second trip through the x-ray proved it was not a foul-smelling explosive device.

I've traveled with cheese in my carry-on many times. Each time, my bag is searched. Each time I see the bemusement behind the askance looks the TSA agents give me. And I have to believe I've made their day a little brighter. I suppose a TSA agent's job is a lot of discarding shaving cream, reading the fluid ounces on obnoxiously-sized perfume bottles, re-scanning mouthwash. Pretty boring stuff. Imagine the joy of uncovering a sack of delicious winter cheese! Finding the most well-fed malodorous holiday traveler of them all! Maybe it's just my imagination, but I have to believe those winter cheeses performed a Christmas miracle: making a TSA agent smile.

Winter really is the most wonderful time of the year.

Shepherds of Cheese: A Journey

It's been a while. I know. Living the cheesy life in Del Rio has been getting progressively better. But as it is wont to do, Life got in the way a bit.

Shortly after I connected with the Kitchen in town where I could teach cheese classes, I also started working a nine-to-five day job because, well, my student loans keep reminding me that a graduate degree might be one of the worst investments around. I am fortunate to have found a great work environment and an opportunity to pay the bills during our Del Rio tenure. But at the end of the day it does what most day jobs do: leave me too tired to pursue life passions. In sum, I haven't really been making much cheese at home lately.

That's not to say I haven't had any cheesy stories to tell. I've just done a bad job of motivating myself as both cheese and writing go. I aim to fix that.

Let's talk cheese classes first. Since we last spoke, I started the second semester of classes. Last semester, I focused on home cheesemaking. This semester I decided to focus on, my favorite, cheese-eating. The difficulty of doing a series of tasting classes in Del Rio deserves the attention of its own post.

For the cheesemaking classes I could just order my supplies from the internet, prepare a demo batch the day before, and repeat in class. Doing a tasting class requires considerably more planning.

I've said it before, but as it pertains to cheese, Del Rio is, in a word, lame. You have to go to San Antonio if you want something other than Oaxaca cheese, or a block of Manchego that's been in plastic vacuum wrap for months and, though "imported," may well have been made from the milk of Del Rio's stray cat and dog population from the taste of it. So tack on a 2.5 hour trip the weekend before class. This also means I have to time the class according to a scheduled and independent need to leave town such that I'm not blowing $100 on gas just to get cheese.

To add insult to injury, there is no cheese shop in San Antonio. The options are Whole Foods or Central Market, both of which have acceptable selections. They're acceptable, that is, if you don't mind sifting through the pre-cuts, having zero personalized help from a cheesemonger, and paying a hefty mark-up.

Shopping in a specialty grocery store also means: 1) I have to be vigilant about re-wrapping the cheese in breathable cheese paper or wax paper so it can sit in my refrigerator for an entire week before class, and 2) I have to be extra vigilant about looking at the "pack date" on each pre-cut.

Both of those points are often overlooked, but crucially important. Sure if you're snagging a piece cheese from your local mega-center-supergiant-market that was packed and shipped in a vacuum seal, then it was either made to live that way or there's just nothing you can do about that faint taste of plastic. But a piece of Montgomery Cheddar or perfectly ripened Taleggio should never be suffocated by the succubus of shrink wrap for days on end. It should be left intact until shortly before it finds its forever belly, at which point it should be delicately caressed by a carefully folded wrap job in wax or cheese paper. If you see a piece of cheese with a pack date of more than a couple days, and there is any warm body behind the cheese counter, then you insist (nicely) that they cut you a fresh piece. And then you rush that piece(s) home and immediately transfer it from its plastic coffin to wax paper. The cheese and your tastebuds deserve no less.

The importance of who that warm body behind the cheese counter is also of importance. I've been a cheesemonger. I'd like to think a decent one, but at the very least, one who cared about and loved the product. But I also know from the consumer end how a good cheesemonger can turn an ordinary cheese purchase into an exceptional one. If there's nobody there to help you who really knows and cares about the cheeses, then you leave with a stack of forgettable snacks. Those snacks may be tasty, but you have no appreciation of how they fit together, how they were made, why they taste the way they do, and which taste better with your semi-sweet off-dry blush red table wine (the answer is none; get a better wine. What are you? In high school?). Worst of all, you likely won't even remember what you had even if you liked it because you never had a conversation about it.

If, like me, you have a working knowledge of what cheeses are what, what cheeses you need, or what cheeses you like, you STILL need a cheesemonger.

You need someone there to guide you to the cheese that has a few days to peak versus what needs to be eaten right away. This was especially important for me because I had a full week to kill before serving it for class. With soft-ripened cheeses, I had to use my best judgment from feeling and sniffing through the plastic.

You need someone there who knows the selection to help you come up with ideas for a specific crowd, purpose, or occassion. Because I didn't have the luxury of previewing the selection a few days in advance I had to pace around the cheese case for a solid twenty minutes, rolodexing the cheeses before me by style, country, milk variety in order to figure out the best pairings and variety. And if they're not going to let you try the cheeses (which any good cheese shop should), you need someone to tell you how cheeses compare in taste.

Admittedly, for the cheesemonger at Whole Foods, I was a tough audience -- like having a lawyer on your jury panel. But at least someone was there, watching over the cheeses on their journey to a good home. Sometimes you need to take the small victories. It feels good to be back.