You know these ladeez—ultra-rich and luxurious? Leave them alone in your house and they’ll gorge themselves on strawberries and drink all of your Champagne. If you appreciate naughty types, you’ll fit right in with these triple crèmes.
Anton’s Red Love | Banon | Brie de Meaux | Baked Brie with Pears and Apricots | Carles Roquefort | Casatica di Bufala | Constant Bliss | Délice de Bourgogne | Harbison | Peach Balsamic Compote | Hummingbird | Semolina Crackers with Sea Salt | Kunik | La Serena | La Tur | Largo | Moses Sleeper | Noble Road | Robiola Bosina | Saint Marcellin | Seal Bay | Sottocenere | Ticklemore | Truffle Tremor | Weybridge | Winnimere | Cheese Board: An Evening in Paris | Cheese 101: How Cheese is Made
GERMANY, COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: The bodice-ripper of washed rinds—naughty but nice.
You haven’t seen cheesy packaging until you’ve seen the label on Anton’s Red Love, a Taleggio-like square from Bavaria. The photograph on the balsa wood box looks like the cover on a Harlequin Romance: a buxom maiden with braided hair feeds a runny wedge to a bearded chap with a big grin. Turns out, the bearded chap really is named Anton. He may go down in history as the first European cheesemaker to embrace sexy ad campaigns, and it works. Anton’s Red Love is one sexy beast.
In texture, ARL is like a cream-filled Bismarck. The exterior is bready and chewy, while the interior remains pudding-soft, like Bavarian cream. The taste is pleasantly mellow for a washed-rind cheese: milky, lightly stinky, with a floral hook. Think of a picnic in a pasture. You’ve got your fresh bread, your soft blanket, your cows chewing cud in the distance. If you want to introduce your special someone to a second-base stinker, this is the cheese to please. If it helps, tell her Anton named this cheese after his wife, a flaming redhead—true story. He also makes a cheese called Bavarian Blonde.
Good matches: Pair this with crusty bread and berry preserves. Because this cheese is big and buttery, we think it’s ideal for breakfast in bed. On a cheese board, try serving it with another Bavarian cream cake, Chiriboga Blue (page 233).
Wine/beer: Pour a glass of Riesling or a Belgian Strong Ale.
FRANCE, GOAT OR COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A bunting of leaf-wrapped joy, perfect for camping trips.
Cheese wrapped in leaves always promises to be gorgeous. As the leaves break down, the dairy within turns woodsy and supple. Peel open this little package of earthy pleasure and you can’t help squealing like a Girl Scout. Banon is to the cheese world what foil-pack dinners are to young campers dressed in green smocks.
Don’t be surprised if you taste a touch of booze. After Banon gets swaddled in chestnut leaves, the whole puck is dunked in eau-de-vie, a delicious spirit. It’s rumored that Roman Emperor Antonius Pius was so hooked on Banon he ate himself to death. To make sure your Banon is ripe, give it a squeeze; it should give beneath your fingers. If not, it may be astringent and chalky inside, a sign of unripeness. The color of the leaves is also a good indicator: a well-aged Banon will have brownish leaves. For a stateside specialty, look for Capriole Farm’s O’Banon, Indiana’s version of Banon with leaves that have been macerated in Woodford Reserve Bourbon. Yee-haw!
Good matches: Serve this before or after a Provençal-inspired supper richly accented with herbs and seafood. All you need is a baguette to scoop out Banon’s soft insides. If you pack this cheese on a camping trip, take along walnuts and apricots or blackberries.
Wine/beer: Rosé is lovely, and so is a French white or sparkling wine. If your Banon is very ripe, draw out the savory notes with a Rhône red. A malty beer or a spot of Cognac works well, too.
FRANCE, COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A delicate ’tween in a shearling jacket—moody and impulsive.
First, the sad truth about Brie in America: most of it tastes like a rubber Frisbee. Your average supermarket Brie is nothing like the glorious moons Charlemagne swooned over in 774 B.C., nor is it anything like the luxe, grassy wheel you might have melted for in Paris during a recent junket. In the United States, it’s illegal to import young raw-milk cheese, and true Brie is just that: an unpasteurized adolescent. The Brie that comes in from France is pasteurized to meet FDA requirements, and it’s made in factories, rather than on small farms—a factor that definitely affects taste.
All this to say: Brie de Meaux from the family-run Fromagerie Rouzaire just outside of Paris produces some of the best Brie for export. Ask a trustworthy cheesemonger to help you select a pudgy diskette, since textures and flavors vary wildly depending on the season and the age of the wheel. Perfect Brie is fleeting, which means that the Brie de Meaux you buy today is not the same one you will buy tomorrow. Still, this tends to be a silky, mushroomy creature—lovely for eating by the spoonful. Some cheesemongers prefer it to ice cream. If you can’t find Brie de Meaux, look for its likeminded cousin, Brie de Nangis.
Good matches: Sauté some mushrooms and ready a baguette, or set out jams and berries. Just remember, Brie is no good cold. Let it relax on the counter for a half hour at least, or put it in a pie pan and heat it gently in the oven, then serve it with sliced pears and toasted, slivered almonds. Around the holidays, try Baked Brie with Pears and Apricots (page 90).
Wine/beer: Brie always likes bubbly, but a Côte de Rhône or unoaked Chardonnay can work magic as well. Otherwise, seek out a yeasty and effervescent ale.
There is a simple rule of thumb about rinds: if a rind appeals to you, eat it; if it doesn’t appeal to you, don’t fret. As long as the rind isn’t dipped in wax, it’s fair game. Keep in mind that the rind often contains the most flavor. That’s the case with Brie: its slightly spongy surface tastes peppery, a nice contrast to the mushroomy cream filling underneath. If a party guest leaves you with a pile of Brie rinds, simply broil them on baguette rounds, then drizzle them with honey or fig jam for a midnight snack. Add some cracked pepper and toasted nuts or green apple slivers, and you will wish for many more rind-fearing friends.