UNITED STATES, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A Chester County beefcake with a gentle purr.
Fat Cat is a great gateway cheese for anyone who likes the mouthfeel of a triple crème but wants to explore stronger, earthier flavors. Young, this cheese tastes mushroomy with a lovely yeasty aroma that calls to mind freshly baked bread. As it ages, it grows beefier and takes on the smell of sautéed onions. For a similar cheese with more kick, look for Red Cat, a variation on this cheese washed in beer.
In Philadelphia, Fat Cat is much loved by locals who appreciate the hard work of Sue Miller and her family, who make this cheese at their dairy farm in Chester County. The Millers use raw milk from their own pastured Holsteins—a small herd of about eighty—and hand-make cheese in small batches three times a week. This is an excellent cheese for a wintery supper or a country picnic.
Good matches: Grab a loaf of rustic bread or walnut rolls, and serve this cheese alongside stew or a dish that features sautéed mushrooms. Fat Cat is also good with apricot jam and cured meats.
Wine/beer: Pick up a bottle of Chardonnay, or try serving this with Smuttynose Old Brown Dog Ale or another full-bodied, hoppy brown ale.
UNITED STATES, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A grizzly fellow from Virginia with an Italian temperament.
Taleggio heads, give me your attention. Next time you get the urge to worship at the feet of a beefy master, ask for Grayson. From Galax, Virginia, this pudgy dawg has all the trappings of an Italian Taleggio (page 158)—the same prawn-colored rind, the same mattress-like feel (think Memory Foam), and a similarly arresting shtink. Since it’s made from raw milk, and most imported Taleggio ain’t, Grayson is arguably a New School cheese with Old World flavor. You’re not going to find more nuanced barnyard beefiness on American soil than this, unless you toss your shirt off and jump on some Hooligan (page 148).
Rick and Helen Feete make this cheese at Meadow Creek, where their Jerseys graze, rotating among pastures. The Feetes are full-on dairy nerds, and last we heard, they still lived in a trailer. Liz Thorpe, who writes about her visit to their farm in The Cheese Chronicles, compares Grayson’s texture to a plump burlesque dancer and puts the flavor “somewhere between ball-park peanuts and coarse pâté.” Tell me you aren’t left breathless.
Good matches: Grayson is panini-ready; try it on a grilled cheese sandwich with bread-and-butter pickles à la Saxelby Cheese in Manhattan. Dark bread, bacon, and cornichons pair well, too. If you want to offset the funk, try a tomatoey jam or chutney.
Wine/beer: Pick a Belgian Tripel or a barrel-aged funkster. A big beer is essential to counteract this cheese’s largesse. If you’re a wino, you’ll need a red with thunder thighs, like a full-bodied Zin, or a spicy Gewürztraminer. For the hardcore: bourbon.
IRELAND, COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: An Irish rose, lovably smelly and hardy.
In the kingdom of stinkers, two prize rounds come from lady cheesemakers in County Cork: Mary Burns who makes Ardrahan (page 142) and Giana Ferguson, who produces this pinky butter cake. With its rose-colored rind, Gubbeen (pronounced goo-BEAN) is one more sweet-smelling reason that you should explore luxuriant washed-rind cheeses. Take a bite and let your mind wander back to the moment you first rode a bike without training wheels. Gubbeen has that thrilling rubber-on-pavement aftertaste that comes with some brine-washed cheeses, a flavor that’s a bit wild but also sentimental. Folded into the background, you’ll notice hints of peat, sautéed mushrooms, toasted hazelnuts, and mustard greens.
Ferguson is a cheese maven, having been at it since 1979, and together she and her husband Tom nurture a “cheesemaker’s herd,” as they call it: an amalgam of breeds. Theirs includes Jerseys, Shorthorns, British Friesians, and the Kerry Cow—Ireland’s only native bovine. Milk from each breed contributes something special to Gubbeen; one breed might deliver a rousing wallop of butterfat while another delivers sweetness. Playing with milks at this level is the mark of a plum cheese-maker. Ferguson’s children, Fingal and Clovisse, are also food artisans; they run a smokehouse and an organic garden that supplies local restaurants.
Good matches: Think of Gubbeen as the sticky toffee pudding of cheeses and pair it with nuts and honey, along with rum-soaked raisins. Or, serve it for an appetizer with just-picked baby vegetables, like carrots, breakfast radishes, and wee zucchini. Highly recommended: stuff squash blossoms with Gubbeen—just give them a quick dip in egg batter, then fry. It’s a perfect way to express a cheese named after the Gaelic word gobin, or “small mouthful.”
Wine/beer: Pair this with a Zinfandel or a Burgundy, or seek out a fruity brown ale or IPA.
UNITED STATES, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A rural princess with a potty mouth.
Put on your Daisy Dukes and crank up the jukebox. Cato Corner Farm’s Hooligan, as its name suggests, is full of wild, fatty-licious stink. Prepare yourself for the smell of boiled peanuts, pick-up truck exhaust, and bare feet. Mark and Elizabeth MacAlister, the mother-and-son team that makes this little beast in Colchester, Connecticut, are famous for cutting some seriously stinky cheese and naming their wheels appropriately. If you like Hooligan, look for Drunken Hooligan or the famed Dairyaire.
Like Epoisses, Hooligan is a washed-rind cheese. Twice a week, it’s bathed in brine and buttermilk to develop an orange crust, which is edible despite the fact that it begins to resemble a poisonous mushroom. Inside, Hooligan turns lush and creamy, with notes of steak and sautéed onions. The combination is glorious. Both Slow Food and Saveur magazine have recognized this as one of the best cheeses being made in the United States. Just don’t be surprised if feral cats come out of the woods while you’re eating it and try to lick your breath.
Good matches: Break out the moonshine and the Johnny Cash. All you need is some good bread and some county fair kettle corn.
Wine/beer: A cheese this bold needs a Belgian blonde. For a striking match, try Russian River Temptation. An old world red wine may do the job, but it needs to be husky and, ideally, French.
UNITED STATES, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A happy hipster with a light aroma of hay and bike rides.
Made in the style of Alsatian Munster (page 152), this treat from Ghent, New York has become a washed-rind darling of the cheese counter. It’s lush and meaty with a hint of Brussels sprouts, but the boldness is dialed back compared to other stinkers in this class. Crack the windows, but don’t fret: you won’t need to air out the house. This isn’t as brutally funky as Munster or Limburger (page 149).
Hudson Red comes from Twin Maple Farm, a hub for Hudson Valley cheese promotion. The owners started off with an umbrella business called The Pampered Cow, which they launched to promote local cheeses from their area. Soon after, they retrofitted a barn to create a cheese-making facility. Using milk from their neighbor’s Jersey herd, they experimented with making cheese, to great success. In 2011, Hudson Red won a gold medal from the North American Jersey Awards.
Good matches: Grab some pickled Brussels sprouts and a loaf of pumpernickel bread. For a fall cheese board, add caramelized onions or roasted veggies and some cured meat, like speck or bresaola, along with sliced apples and toasted walnuts.
Wine/beer: Pick a Riesling from the Finger Lakes, or choose a beer from the Big Apple, like Local 2 from Brooklyn Brewery—a malty Belgian Strong Ale with plenty of fruit and a hint of hops. For something interesting, try a tart Flemish sour or a snifter of Cognac.
GERMANY, COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: The equivalent to absinthe in the cheese world—toxically strong but strangely appealing.
The nice thing about mentioning the word “Limburger” in a crowded room is that it’s easy to evacuate the amateurs. Limburger smells gory, but it’s actually a lot mellower than most people think; if you can stand to eat raw onion on a burger, then you’re not going to be traumatized by a brick of Limburger. Take it out on the porch with a couple cans of beer and some good rye or pumpernickel bread, and you’ve got the fixings for a decent Euchre tournament or, at the very least, some dominoes. Add sardines and onions, and it’s likely you’ll attract old guys in loafers and black socks.
Limburger has its roots in Belgium (thank the Trappists), but today it’s mostly associated with the Germans who export it in rich, unctuous blocks. When German immigrants settled in the States, they brought the recipe for Limburger with them and built factories throughout Wisconsin. Today, there is only one surviving Limburger maker on American soil: Myron Olson of Chalet Cheese Cooperative in Monroe, Wisconsin. He still starts his mornings with a slice of rye toast slathered with Limburger and strawberry jam. If you want to meet other Limburger heads, travel to Florida, which has the highest per capita Limburger consumption in the United States. Those snow birds need to peck at something.
Good matches: Try Limburger on a grilled cheese sandwich, or make like cheesemonger Dan Black and whip up a Limburger lamb burger. Because it’s a powerhouse, Limburger works perfectly in mac ’n’ cheese (see recipe, page 150).
Wine/beer: Find an assertive red with big barnyard notes, or go for a Belgian Strong Dark Ale, especially one with some fruit. An icy bock beer works, too. Keep that in mind for Oktoberfest.