A Whirlwind...of Cheese!

It only took about 18 days, but I'm finally feeling like a New Yorker again.  I've been honked at on the BQE, elbowed on a crowded E train, and glared at for snapping intrusive photos with my phone at Whole Foods.  But darn it, if you're going to buy a piece of Parmesan this big--

--and push it around like a baby in a stroller, then I should have the right.  Right? 

Anyway, I always feel particularly New Yorkery every September, when the brutal summer heat yields to cool fall breezes and the promise of a kaleidoscope of beautiful foliage in the parks and to...tornadoes...?  Yep, if you didn't catch the news this week, then you missed the (now confirmed) fact that two tornadoes touched down--one in Queens, one in Brooklyn.  Our neighborhood, fortunately for us, was pretty much unscathed by the storm.  But how about this for a segue: while those twisters might have passed us by, we've been caught up in our own whirlwind...of cheese!

Before school started, we made a quick trip up to Green Mountain National Forest in Vermont, where we camped along the pristine shores of  Branch Pond.  There we enjoyed cooler temperatures, the company of our good friends, Melinda and Attila, and, of course, a well-composed cheese plate:

Who says you can't nibble on a nice Comte and a good Stilton before roasting some meat on a stick?

And speaking of well-composed cheese plates, we chanced upon a nice one at The Richardson in Williamsburg:

Counter-clockwise from left: toasted raisin-walnut baguette, prosciutto, Cabot Clothbound Cheddar, Cypress Grove Humboldt Fog, dates, and toasted sourdough baguette.  Yes.  Awesome.

What struck me the most--and what might strike you--were the portions of cheese.  We couldn't finish them.  And these two cheeses are indeed worth finishing, and they come with my highest recommendation.   But I can do no better than Liz Thorpe:

"[Cabot Clothbound] doesn't even smell like cheese and certainly lacks the tangy sharpness I expect of American cheddar.  Instead it has the pleasantly musty smell of a damp root cellar full of old potato bags, plus a meaty, jerky whiff.  Inside, the pale straw-colored paste has been masterfully pressed smooth...it has a signature candied flavor...with salt...a sweetness that just hangs there, and the first bite is like baked potatoes, tight in their papery jackets, with melted lumps of sweet butter tucked and melting inside..." (Cheese Chronicles, pgs. 119-120).


"A mouthful of Humboldt Fog is like tropical frosting: light and smeary but bright.  Sunny, with a lemony, citrusy tang.  That bloomy encasement softens the zest, though, so it manages to be herbaceous as well" (pg. 198).

But in any cheese vortex, there's bound to be a bad wedge or two.  Last weekend, for instance, we bought an awful quarter pound of Morbier at Fairway.  I've had the stuff before and loved it, but this particular chunk, to quote Shelly, "smelled like sweaty socks and tasted like rotting compost, but definitely not in a good way."  We tossed it out.

Finally, this morning we cruised the Williamsburg Greenmarket and picked up, among other things, a small wedge of Consider Bardwell's Rupert.  The bright yellow raw cow's milk is aged for ten months and, to be brief, has a dynamic fruitiness and a nice, nutty zing.  I'm excited to pair it with a little vino later today...

The cheese tornado will, of course, continue on its path--sweeping me and my cholesterol levels up along with it....