ITALY, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: The mixologist’s friend, a juniper-laced cheese that pairs well with gin.
Break out the Bocce balls, and start slinging the drinks. Juni, a newcomer to the cheese world, is a pungent little tuffet that slices like cheesecake and smacks of a stiff gin drink. That’s because native juniper berries harvested from Piedmont are dropped into the curds when this little beefcake is in formation. As this cheese ages over a period of sixty days, it takes on other whiffs and flavors: mushroom, damp stone, butter, pine. Is it cologne or is it cheese? You decide, preferably over a gimlet or dirty martini.
Juni is made by a longstanding creamery that sources milk from a very rare breed of red cattle, known as the Pezzata Rosa d’Aropa. For more than a century, the Rosso family has made cheese, but this new gem is one of their most distinct offerings. This style of cheese is called “toma brusca,” which essentially means “acid cheese.” Don’t let this turn you off. Fresh milk is simply soured so that the curds form naturally. This very traditional method of cheesemaking contributes to Juni’s flavor profile, particularly its ebullient tang.
Good matches: Juni pairs well with herb and licorice flavors. Try it with a salad laced with dill and thyme, or shave it over thinly-sliced fennel and watercress tossed with a little lemon juice and olive oil. It’s very good with cocktails. On a plate, add smoked almonds, green olives, and some shaved speck or fennel-spiked Finnochiona (a terrific Tuscan salami).
Wine/beer: Pair Juni with gin and tonics, or a mineral-heavy red. For beer, seek out an oddball, like a barrel-aged concoction with a juniper accent. Otherwise, try a saison.
Ignore people who tell you that cheese doesn’t pair with cocktails. Gin, with its herbal aroma and taste, is excellent for taming salty sheep’s milk cheeses (see the Pecorino-Perfect Martini, page 192). Cheeses wrapped in leaves, like Banon (page 88), also pair well with gin. For a bright little number, like Pantaleo (page 56), or a soft goat cheese, like Leonora (page 76), try a Hendricks ‘n’ Tonic with a cucumber garnish instead of lime.
Here is a cocktail cheese sampler for your next gin smash: Carre du Berry (page 69), La Serena (page 103), Juni (page 186) or Pecorino Ginepro (page 191), Pecorino di Pienza (page 191) or Moliterno (page 187), Bleu des Basques (page 229) or the white-chocolate taser that is Cabrales (page 233).
For whiskey-based cocktails, serve aged Cheddars, aged Goudas, or Stilton (page 234).
FRANCE, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A buttery, tarty sort with fall-apart-on-the-tongue appeal.
Laguiole (pronounced LAY-ohl) is a firm cheese that takes its name from a town in south-central France. If you’re familiar with Cantal (page 48), this is essentially a raw-milk version. Although only a single producer kicks out this mouthwatering stunner, it was once widely produced across the countryside; in fact, “burons,” or cheesemaking huts, were built solely for the production of this labor-intensive specialty first developed by monks.
Like Cheddar, this is a milled cheese—a process rarely seen in French cheesemaking. Curds are literally passed through a grinder to form pellets that are then pressed together and molded. The resulting texture is nubby. A bite of Laguiole breaks apart like stars. Moist and delicate, it will fill your mouth with a tart tingling and set your head swimming with Van Gogh paintings.
Good matches: Set out a basket of pears and a plate of prosciutto, then lean back and stare at the sky. If possible, slice off hunks with one of the famed knives from Laguiole; this cheese was made for slicing with an elegant pocketknife.
Wine/beer: Dig out a dreamy Merlot or trot off across the hills with a six-pack of IPA.
ITALY, SHEEP’S MILK
PERSONALITY: The perfect first-date cheese when you’re having red wine.
The first thing you’ll notice about this Pecorino-style cheese is its scarred-looking rind. It looks like something you might see at a tattoo convention. The pattern actually comes from baskets, or canestrati, which the Sardinians use in shaping this rugged sheep’s milk cheese. Once the wheels are formed, they’re rubbed down with olive oil and aged for several months until they turn hard but moist.
Moliterno’s paste is oat-colored, the texture crumbly. Remember that Sardinia is a brambly island, loaded with rocks and sheep. You’ll taste these things when you bite off a piece—think toasted nuts, olives, wet rock, woodfire. There’s a craggy beauty to the flavor, a taste of camping trips and arrowhead hunts, which is to say that this is a cheese of nostalgia. When you leave Moliterno out on the counter, it will bead fat, so only set out as much as you plan to eat.
Good matches: Serve Moliterno to a new flame with sopressata and hot pepper jelly. If your date is sweet rather than saucy, offer Marcona almonds and truffle honey.
Wine/beer: Pick up a table wine, preferably a powerhouse Italian red. It’s no sin to serve this with a gin drink, either.
ITALY, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: Like Sylvester Stallone: strong and sturdy but sweet inside.
This is the ultimate working man’s cheese of northern Italy. It’s not as pineapple-y as Asiago (page 180), but it’s still sweet with a butter-scotchy earthiness that’s hard to pass up. Montasio is made in the Alpine region of Friuli where it’s officially recognized by the Italian government as a specialty of the region. This honor, called a “Protected Designation of Origin,” took cheesemakers thirty years to earn, though this cheese has been made in the Italian Alps since the 1200s. The recipe was originally developed by a group of mountain-dwelling monks at the Moggio Abbey.
Today, Montasio is used all over Italy for frico, a lacy crisp made of toasted grated cheese. Italians tend to eat Montasio when it’s young, but the American palate leans toward sharper, sweeter flavors. Aged Montasio gains a lactic, or milky, sweetness that’s almost like candy.
Good matches: Pack a working man’s lunch with a hunk of Montasio, some cured meat, olives, and a wedge of crusty bread. On a cheese board, try Montasio with sliced red pears.
Wine/beer: Pick a simple white, preferably from Northern Italy; a Sauvignon Blanc or Pinot Grigio also works well. For something more robust, try a Valpolicella. A lager or pilsner work, too.
CROATIA, SHEEP’S MILK
PERSONALITY: An obscure cheese from a remote island—a wildling.
The Croatian island of Pag is a rocky, windswept place known for two things: delicate lacework and this fascinating cheese the color of driftwood. On the nose, it smells like acorns and pine. On the tongue, it tastes surprisingly bright, like citrus and salted herbs. This is a cheese that cries out for desert camping and vision quests; it is a cheese of extremes, an ideal snack for the parched renegade. One can imagine the photographer Ansel Adams carrying a roughhewn nub in his pocket through Yosemite.
Paški Sir is made with the milk of small, lean, indigenous sheep. They munch salty grasses where they can, since much of the island is rock. Each one produces less than half a liter of milk each day, due to the conditions, which means that creating a single wheel of this crystalline delicacy requires diligence and good herd management. Although this is a new import to the United States, Paški Sir has garnered raves from every cheesemonger we know. It’s a great gift for foodies.
Good matches: Try sage honey and salted anchovies, a combination favored by Croatians. Truffle honey pairs well, too, as do quince paste and fig jam. For a twist on traditional pesto, blend this cheese with pistachios and olive oil, or just shave curls of Paški Sir over steamed veggies.
Wine/beer: Try a Riesling or South American Malbec. Otherwise, try a Pilsner or an IPA, depending on the age of the cheese.
ITALY, RAW COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A laugh riot of flavor, the Jim Henson of hard cheeses.
Authentic Parmigiano is a Muppet movie in your mouth. It’s so good, so full of bright tasting joy—pineapple, sea salt, toasted almonds, vanilla—you may erupt in crazy laughter, or even whinny. We’ve all seen it happen, when the forces of umami (the sweet-salty taste commonly associated with Parm, or some Asian cuisine) wake a person from Parm-shaker slumber. Once you taste real Parm, you will never go back to the green can. . . unless you don’t really care for the company you are serving. Anything labeled “Parmesan” from America is an imposter.
Real Parmigiano is splurgey because it’s a labor-intensive cheese. For example, authentic Parm can only be made in certain “zones” of Emilia-Romagna between April 15 and November 11, when the cows are eating the lushest grass. Each wheel must then be stamped with its birth date to ensure that it’s properly aged a full eighteen months before it’s released on the market. For the finest Parm, Di Bruno Bros. looks to master ager Giorgio Cravero, a fifth-generation cheese man who selects and matures the finest wheels at his cave in Bra. Each wheel is routinely cleaned, flipped, and even tapped with a small mallet to detect the pitch of ripeness. Ahh, that must be some sweet jazz.
Good matches: Break off chunks of Parm and dip them into truffle honey or aged balsamic for an earth-shattering experience.
Wine/beer: Giorgio Cravero serves his authentic Parm with Prosecco. For something more robust, try a glass of Valpolicella. Don’t be embarrassed to try it with a Lambrusco either, a sparkling red from the same area. As for beer, lagers always work well; so do amber ales.
In Italy, Parm rinds are used like bay leaves. Instead of throwing out the hard ends, toss them into a broth-to-be. As it simmers for hours, the ends will soften, releasing sweet-salty flavor. This is a great way to add depth to vegetarian recipes, in particular. Before you serve the soup, remove the ends. Chop them into “croutons” if you want, then toss them back in. Soft and chewy, these little nuggets add great texture, and the letters stamped into the rind will remind you of alphabet soup.
I have never been much of a dessert guy. At a restaurant, I am apt to order a second appetizer after the entrée while my wife enjoys her pots de crème. But at home, a few nuggets of Parmigiano Reggiano drizzled with syrupy aged balsamic suffice every time.
This is to Italians what peanut butter and jelly is to Americans: a comforting pairing, beloved nationwide and available in almost every household. There is no wonder why. Parmigiano is nutty, crunchy and earthy against the sweetness and viscosity of the balsamic. Together they are the perfect end to a meal: enough complexity to leave you wanting for nothing, and just enough sweetness to close off the palate.
-CHEESEMONGER HUNTER FIKE
ITALY, COW’S MILK
PERSONALITY: The Mars Bar of the cheese world, it’s all almonds and nougat.
If you want a less salty and less expensive version of Parm, Piave (pronounced pee-AH-vay) is your new stalwart. It’s got the same crumbly, crystalline texture, but it’s a tad sweeter. Think butterscotch and a whiff of almonds.
Piave is named after a river in the Veneto, an Alpine region of northern Italy where native cows, the Bruna Alpa, are raised for their rich milk. The complex flavor notes in this cheese come from their food source, mostly wild grasses and mineral springs. Note that Piave is sold in three categories depending on its age. Look for one that’s aged six months or more, known as Piave Stagionato or “Red Label.”
Good matches: This is a great table cheese. Serve it before or after dinner with a swoosh of good balsamic and a dish of almonds or walnuts. It’s also stellar stirred into risotto. For something unusual but delicious, try a nibble with dried mango.
Wine/beer: Pair this hard sweetie with raisiny reds, Zinfandel, or Riesling. A brown ale or malty Belgian Dubbel also works well.
ITALY, SHEEP’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A rare “buried” gem, steeped in ancient tradition.
There are Pecorinos. . . and then there are Pecorinos. This is a special cheese, and once you try it, you’ll understand why. Like most Pecs, it’s made from sheep’s milk, the richest of milks, but it’s aged in an unusual way: in the ground. That’s right, since Roman times, cheesemakers have followed a ritual of carrying this cheese into the Umbrian hills, wrapping it in cloth, lowering it into a hollow, packing it in wild herbs (juniper, wild thyme, rosemary), then burying it. The tradition harkens back to an age when ancient cultures were often raided, and cheesemakers were forced to hide their wares from roving bands of Saracen pirates.
Tucked away, this cheese ferments, becoming pleasantly sweet and almost boozy. After ninety days, it’s unearthed on the Feast Day of Saint Catherine and served around the winter holidays. The flavor is rich and earthy—imagine buttered popcorn served at a backyard bonfire. Although this is a hard cheese and not very pretty-looking, it dissolves on your tongue like a good piece of fudge.
Good matches: This makes an impressive fireside appetizer alongside martinis. Try serving it in a rustic dish, cubed or broken into shards. After dinner, pair it with chestnut honey, dried fruit, and dessert wine.
Wine/beer: This salty character needs a glass of port or sherry, though martinis are an especially fine touch. You could also play around with sparkling wine or a hard cider.
ITALY, RAW SHEEP’S MILK
PERSONALITY: Picture a handsome wood cutter with juniper cologne.
Ginepro is a bright, woodsy cheese that is bathed in balsamic vinegar and packed in juniper berries. Notice the deep mahogany coloring around the rind, a striking contrast to the white glow of the paste. This semi-hard sheep’s milk cheese is a Pecorino, although it’s nothing like its more popular cousin, Romano. Ginepro is usually sold on the young side so that its center is soft and citrusy, not yet compact and crystalline.
In the province of Emilia-Romagna, Ginepro is used as a table cheese, but it’s also a great cheese for cocktail parties, since it’s fatty and forceful enough to stand up to surly drinks. On a cheese board, its black rind causes double takes.
Good matches: Pick up a loaf of olive bread, some walnuts, and a bitey Italian salami. This is a good cheese to eat alongside soups or to filch from the fridge as you suck down a martini.
Wine/beer: Try a citrusy wheat beer, a bottle of Chianti, or a licorice-scented white. For something different: a briny cocktail with a twist of lemon, preferably one made with gin.
ITALY, SHEEP’S MILK
PERSONALITY: A gentleman’s cheese, best served with olives and a martini.
When the characters on Mad Men were slinging back drinks, they should have reached for a Pecorino chaser. This one, nicknamed “Grand Old Man” after the cheesemaker’s grandfather, is fit for the jet set. It’s the Armani of Pecorinos, the luxury liner of hard grating cheeses that are too good to grate. Reserve this one for retirement parties, cocktail soirees, and evenings of bachelor-to-bachelor banter. No cigars, please; you’ll ruin your palate.
Grand Old Man is distinguished by a yearlong maturation period (most Pecorinos fly off the shelf after three months) and incomparable taste. Notes of almond and olive ring like bells, but there’s no sharp clang or rough, muttony taste. The recipe for this Tuscan godfather extends back a millennium, making it one of the oldest Pecorinos in existence. When you break off a hunk, you’re touching tradition—it’s Homeric. Look to The Odyssey for references.
Good matches: Truffle honey and Tuscan-style bread create the ultimate trifecta here. For an interesting variation, try it with plum membrillo, a variation on the Spanish fruit paste that is typically made from quinces. To serve, break this cheese into chunks using a sturdy knife, and set it out in a dish as you would almonds. Each bite should be savored like candy.
Wine/beer: This is an excellent cocktail cheese, particularly for a gin drink or something Champagne-based. A spicy Italian red is ideal, too. Beer is not the best pairing here, but it would be perfect with that rare Scotch lingering in the back of your liquor cabinet.