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Title: The Complete Book of Cheese

Author: Robert Carlton Brown

Release Date: December 7, 2004 [EBook #14293]

Language: English

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BOB BROWN
 The Complete Book
of Cheese
Illustrations by Eric Blegvad
Illustration: cheese store

Gramercy Publishing Company

New York
1955

Author of

THE WINE COOK BOOK

AMERICA COOKS

10,000 SNACKS

SALADS AND HERBS

THE SOUTH AMERICAN COOK BOOK

SOUPS, SAUCES AND GRAVIES

THE VEGETABLE COOK BOOK

LOOK BEFORE YOU COOK!

THE EUROPEAN COOK BOOK

THE WINING AND DINING QUIZ

MOST FOR YOUR MONEY

OUTDOOR COOKING

FISH AND SEAFOOD COOK BOOK

THE COUNTRY COOK BOOK

Co-author of Food and Drink Books by The Browns
LET THERE BE BEER!

HOMEMADE HILARITY

Illustration:TO

PHIL

ALPERT

Turophile Extraordinary
Contents
1. I Remember Cheese
2. The Big Cheese
3. Foreign Greats
4. Native Americans
5. Sixty-five Sizzling Rabbits
6. The Fondue
7. Soufflés, Puffs and Ramekins
8. Pizzas, Blintzes, Pastes and Cheese Cake
9. Au Gratin, Soups, Salads and Sauces
10. Appetizers, Crackers, Sandwiches, Savories, Snacks,
Spreads and Toasts
11. "Fit for Drink"
12. Lazy Lou
APPENDIX—The A-B-Z of Cheese
A B C D E F G H I J K L M
N O P Q R S T U V W Y Z
INDEX OF RECIPES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Illustration
Chapter
One
 I Remember Cheese
Cheese market day in a town in the north of Holland. All the cheese-fanciers are
out, thumping the cannon-ball Edams and the millstone Goudas with their bare
red knuckles, plugging in with a hollow steel tool for samples. In Holland the
business of judging a crumb of cheese has been taken with great seriousness for
centuries. The abracadabra is comparable to that of the wine-taster or tea-taster.
These Edamers have the trained ear of music-masters and, merely by knuckle-
rapping, can tell down to an air pocket left by a gas bubble just how mature the
interior is.
The connoisseurs use gingerbread as a mouth-freshener; and I, too, that sunny
day among the Edams, kept my gingerbread handy and made my way from one
fine cheese to another, trying out generous plugs from the heaped cannon balls
that looked like the ammunition dump at Antietam.
I remember another market day, this time in Lucerne. All morning I stocked up
on good Schweizerkäse and better Gruyère. For lunch I had cheese salad. All
around me the farmers were rolling two-hundred-pound Emmentalers, bigger
than oxcart wheels. I sat in a little café, absorbing cheese and cheese lore in
equal quantities. I learned that a prize cheese must be chock-full of equal-sized
eyes, the gas holes produced during fermentation. They must glisten like
polished bar glass. The cheese itself must be of a light, lemonish yellow. Its
flavor must be nutlike. (Nuts and Swiss cheese complement each other as subtly
as Gorgonzola and a ripe banana.) There are, I learned, "blind" Swiss cheeses as
well, but the million-eyed ones are better.
But I don't have to hark back to Switzerland and Holland for cheese memories.
Here at home we have increasingly taken over the cheeses of all nations, first
importing them, then imitating them, from Swiss Engadine to what we call
Genuine Sprinz. We've naturalized Scandinavian Blues and smoked browns and
baptized our own Saaland Pfarr in native whiskey. Of fifty popular Italian types
we duplicate more than half, some fairly well, others badly.
We have our own legitimate offspring too, beginning with the Pineapple,
supposed to have been first made about 1845 in Litchfield County, Connecticut.
We have our own creamy Neufchâtel, New York Coon, Vermont Sage, the
delicious Liederkranz, California Jack, Nuworld, and dozens of others, not all
quite so original.
And, true to the American way, we've organized cheese-eating. There's an annual
cheese week, and a cheese month (October). We even boast a mail-order Cheese-
of-the-Month Club. We haven't yet reached the point of sophistication, however,
attained by a Paris cheese club that meets regularly. To qualify for membership
you have to identify two hundred basic cheeses, and you have to do it
blindfolded.
This is a test I'd prefer not to submit to, but in my amateur way I have during the
past year or two been sharpening my cheese perception with whatever varieties I
could encounter around New York. I've run into briny Caucasian Cossack,
Corsican Gricotta, and exotics like Rarush Durmar, Travnik, and Karaghi La-la.
Cheese-hunting is one of the greatest—and least competitively crowded—of
sports. I hope this book may lead others to give it a try.

Illustration
Chapter
Two
 The Big Cheese
One of the world's first outsize cheeses officially weighed in at four tons in a fair
at Toronto, Canada, seventy years ago. Another monstrous Cheddar tipped the
scales at six tons in the New York State Fair at Syracuse in 1937.
Before this, a one-thousand-pounder was fetched all the way from New Zealand
to London to star in the Wembley Exposition of 1924. But, compared to the
outsize Syracusan, it looked like a Baby Gouda. As a matter of fact, neither
England nor any of her great dairying colonies have gone in for mammoth jobs,
except Canada, with that four-tonner shown at Toronto.
We should mention two historic king-size Chesters. You can find out all about
them in Cheddar Gorge, edited by Sir John Squire. The first of them weighed
149 pounds, and was the largest made, up to the year 1825. It was proudly
presented to H.R.H. the Duke of York. (Its heft almost tied the 147-pound Green
County wheel of Wisconsin Swiss presented by the makers to President
Coolidge in 1928 in appreciation of his raising the protective tariff against
genuine Swiss to 50 percent.) While the cheese itself weighed a mite under 150,
His Royal Highness, ruff, belly, knee breeches, doffed high hat and all, was a
hundred-weight heavier, and thus almost dwarfed it.
It was almost a century later that the second record-breaking Chester weighed in,
at only 200 pounds. Yet it won a Gold Medal and a Challenge Cup and was
presented to the King, who graciously accepted it. This was more than Queen
Victoria had done with a bridal gift cheese that tipped the scales at 1,100 pounds.
It took a whole day's yield from 780 contented cows, and stood a foot and eight
inches high, measuring nine feet, four inches around the middle. The assembled
donors of the cheese were so proud of it that they asked royal permission to
exhibit it on a round of country fairs. The Queen assented to this ambitious
request, perhaps prompted by the exhibition-minded Albert. The publicity-
seeking cheesemongers assured Her Majesty that the gift would be returned to
her just as soon as it had been exhibited. But the Queen didn't want it back after
it was show-worn. The donors began to quarrel among themselves about what to
do with the remains, until finally it got into Chancery where so many lost causes
end their days. The cheese was never heard of again.
While it is generally true that the bigger the cheese the better, (much the same as
a magnum bottle of champagne is better than a pint), there is a limit to the
obesity of a block, ball or brick of almost any kinds of cheese. When they pass a
certain limit, they lack homogeneity and are not nearly so good as the smaller
ones. Today a good magnum size for an exhibition Cheddar is 560 pounds; for a
prize Provolone, 280 pounds; while a Swiss wheel of only 210 will draw crowds
to any food-shop window.
Yet by and large it's the monsters that get into the Cheese Hall of Fame and come
down to us in song and story. For example, that four-ton Toronto affair inspired a
cheese poet, James McIntyre, who doubled as the local undertaker.

We have thee, mammoth cheese,

Lying quietly at your ease;
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go

To the greatest provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.

May you not receive a scar as

We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to send you off as far as
The great world's show at Paris.

Of the youth beware of these,

For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek; then song or glees
We could not sing, oh, Queen of Cheese.

An ode to a one hundred percent American mammoth was inspired by "The

Ultra-Democratic, Anti-Federalist Cheese of Cheshire." This was in the summer
of 1801 when the patriotic people of Cheshire, Massachusetts, turned out en
masse to concoct a mammoth cheese on the village green for presentation to
their beloved President Jefferson. The unique demonstration occurred
spontaneously in jubilant commemoration of the greatest political triumph of a
new country in a new century—the victory of the Democrats over the
Federalists. Its collective making was heralded in Boston's Mercury and New
England Palladium, September 8, 1801:

The Mammoth Cheese

AN EPICO-LYRICO BALLAD

From meadows rich, with clover red,

A thousand heifers come;
The tinkling bells the tidings spread,
The milkmaid muffles up her head,
And wakes the village hum.

In shining pans the snowy flood

Through whitened canvas pours;
The dyeing pots of otter good
And rennet tinged with madder blood
Are sought among their stores.

The quivering curd, in panniers stowed,

Is loaded on the jade,
The stumbling beast supports the load,
While trickling whey bedews the road
Along the dusty glade.

As Cairo's slaves, to bondage bred,

The arid deserts roam,
Through trackless sands undaunted tread,
With skins of water on their head
To cheer their masters home,

So here full many a sturdy swain

His precious baggage bore;
Old misers e'en forgot their gain,
And bed-rid cripples, free from pain,
Now took the road before.

The widow, with her dripping mite

Upon her saddle horn,
Rode up in haste to see the sight
And aid a charity so right,
 A pauper so forlorn.

The circling throng an opening drew

Upon the verdant-grass
To let the vast procession through
To spread their rich repast in view,
And Elder J. L. pass.

Then Elder J. with lifted eyes

In musing posture stood,
Invoked a blessing from the skies
To save from vermin, mites and flies,
And keep the bounty good.

Now mellow strokes the yielding pile

From polished steel receives,
And shining nymphs stand still a while,
Or mix the mass with salt and oil,
With sage and savory leaves.

Then sextonlike, the patriot troop,

With naked arms and crown,
Embraced, with hardy hands, the scoop,
And filled the vast expanded hoop,
While beetles smacked it down.

Next girding screws the ponderous beam,

With heft immense, drew down;
The gushing whey from every seam
Flowed through the streets a rapid stream,
And shad came up to town.

This spirited achievement of early democracy is commemorated today by a sign

set up at the ancient and honorable town of Cheshire, located between Pittsfield
and North Adams, on Route 8.
Jefferson's speech of thanks to the democratic people of Cheshire rings out in
history: "I look upon this cheese as a token of fidelity from the very heart of the
people of this land to the great cause of equal rights to all men."
This popular presentation started a tradition. When Van Buren succeeded to the
Presidency, he received a similar mammoth cheese in token of the high esteem in
which he was held. A monstrous one, bigger than the Jeffersonian, was made by
New Englanders to show their loyalty to President Jackson. For weeks this stood
in state in the hall of the White House. At last the floor was a foot deep in the
fragments remaining after the enthusiastic Democrats had eaten their fill.

Illustration
Chapter
Three
 Foreign Greats
Ode to Cheese

God of the country, bless today Thy cheese,

For which we give Thee thanks on bended knees.
Let them be fat or light, with onions blent,
Shallots, brine, pepper, honey; whether scent
Of sheep or fields is in them, in the yard
Let them, good Lord, at dawn be beaten hard.
And let their edges take on silvery shades
Under the moist red hands of dairymaids;
And, round and greenish, let them go to town
Weighing the shepherd's folding mantle down;
Whether from Parma or from Jura heights,
Kneaded by august hands of Carmelites,
Stamped with the mitre of a proud abbess.
Flowered with the perfumes of the grass of Bresse,
From hollow Holland, from the Vosges, from Brie,
From Roquefort, Gorgonzola, Italy!
Bless them, good Lord! Bless Stilton's royal fare,
Red Cheshire, and the tearful cream Gruyère.

FROM JETHRO BITHELL'S

TRANSLATION
OF A POEM BY M. Thomas Braun
Symphonie des Fromages
A giant Cantal, seeming to have been chopped open with an ax, stood aside of a golden-
hued Chester and a Swiss Gruyère resembling the wheel of a Roman chariot There were
Dutch Edams, round and blood-red, and Port-Saluts lined up like soldiers on parade. Three
Bries, side by side, suggested phases of the moon; two of them, very dry, were amber-
colored and "full," and the third, in its second quarter, was runny and creamy, with a "milky
way" which no human barrier seemed able to restrain. And all the while majestic
Roqueforts looked down with princely contempt upon the other, through the glass of their
crystal covers.
Emile Zola
In 1953 the United States Department of Agriculture published Handbook No.
54, entitled Cheese Varieties and Descriptions, with this comment: "There
probably are only about eighteen distinct types or kinds of natural cheese." All
the rest (more than 400 names) are of local origin, usually named after towns or
communities. A list of the best-known names applied to each of these distinct
varieties or groups is given:

Brick Gouda Romano

Camembert Hand Roquefort
Cheddar Limburger Sapsago
Cottage Neufchâtel Swiss
Cream Parmesan Trappist
Edam Provolone Whey cheeses (Mysost and Ricotta)

May we nominate another dozen to form our own Cheese Hall of Fame? We
begin our list with a partial roll call of the big Blues family and end it with
members of the monastic order of Port-Salut Trappist that includes Canadian
Oka and our own Kentucky thoroughbred.

The Blues that Are Green

Stilton, Roquefort and Gorgonzola form the triumvirate that rules a world of
lesser Blues. They are actually green, as green as the mythical cheese the moon
is made of.
In almost every, land where cheese is made you can sample a handful of lesser
Blues and imitations of the invincible three and try to classify them, until you're
blue in the face. The best we can do in this slight summary is to mention a few
of the most notable, aside from our own Blues of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Oregon
and other states that major in cheese.
Danish Blues are popular and splendidly made, such as "Flower of Denmark."
The Argentine competes with a pampas-grass Blue all its own. But France and
England are the leaders in this line, France first with a sort of triple triumvirate
within a triumvirate—Septmoncel, Gex, and Sassenage, all three made with
three milks mixed together: cow, goat and sheep. Septmoncel is the leader of
these, made in the Jura mountains and considered by many French caseophiles to
outrank Roquefort.
This class of Blue or marbled cheese is called fromage persillé, as well as
fromage bleu and pate bleue. Similar mountain cheeses are made in Auvergne
and Aubrac and have distinct qualities that have brought them fame, such as
Cantal, bleu d'Auvergne Guiole or Laguiole, bleu de Salers, and St. Flour. Olivet
and Queville come within the color scheme, and sundry others such as
Champoléon, Journiac, Queyras and Sarraz.
Of English Blues there are several celebrities beside Stilton and Cheshire Stilton.
Wensleydale was one in the early days, and still is, together with Blue Dorset,
the deepest green of them all, and esoteric Blue Vinny, a choosey cheese not
liked by everybody, the favorite of Thomas Hardy.

Brie
Sheila Hibben once wrote in The New Yorker:
I can't imagine any difference of opinion about Brie's being the queen of all
cheeses, and if there is any such difference, I shall certainly ignore it. The very
shape of Brie—so uncheese-like and so charmingly fragile—is exciting. Nine
times out of ten a Brie will let you down—will be all caked into layers, which
shows it is too young, or at the over-runny stage, which means it is too old—but
when you come on the tenth Brie, coulant to just the right, delicate creaminess,
and the color of fresh, sweet butter, no other cheese can compare with it.
The season of Brie, like that of oysters, is simple to remember: only months with
an "R," beginning with September, which is the best, bar none.

Caciocavallo
From Bulgaria to Turkey the Italian "horse cheese," as Caciocavallo translates, is
as universally popular as it is at home and in all the Little Italics throughout the
rest of the world. Flattering imitations are made and named after it, as follows:

BULGARIA: Kascaval
GREECE: Kashcavallo and Caskcaval
HUNGARY: Parenica
RUMANIA: Pentele and Kascaval
 SERBIA: Katschkawalj
SYRIA: Cashkavallo
TRANSYLVANIA: Kascaval (as in Rumania)
TURKEY: Cascaval Penir
YUGOSLAVIA: Kackavalj

A horse's head printed on the cheese gave rise to its popular name and to the
myth that it is made of mare's milk. It is, however, curded from cow's milk,
whole or partly skimmed, and sometimes from water buffalo; hard, yellow and
so buttery that the best of it, which comes from Sorrento, is called Cacio burro,
butter cheese. Slightly salty, with a spicy tang, it is eaten sliced when young and
mild and used for grating and seasoning when old, not only on the usual Italian
pastes but on sweets.
Different from the many grating cheeses made from little balls of curd called
grana, Caciocavallo is a pasta fileta, or drawn-curd product. Because of this it is
sometimes drawn out in long thick threads and braided. It is a cheese for skilled
artists to make sculptures with, sometimes horses' heads, again bunches of
grapes and other fruits, even as Provolone is shaped like apples and pears and
often worked into elaborate bas-relief designs. But ordinarily the horse's head is
a plain tenpin in shape or a squat bottle with a knob on the side by which it has
been tied up, two cheeses at a time, on opposite sides of a rafter, while being
smoked lightly golden and rubbed with olive oil and butter to make it all the
more buttery.
In Calabria and Sicily it is very popular, and although the best comes from
Sorrento, there is keen competition from Abruzzi, Apulian Province and Molise.
It keeps well and doesn't spoil when shipped overseas.
In his Little Book of Cheese Osbert Burdett recommends the high, horsy strength
of this smoked Cacio over tobacco smoke after dinner:
Only monsters smoke at meals, but a monster assured me that Gorgonzola best survives this
malpractice. Clearly, some pungency is necessary, and confidence suggests rather Cacio
which would survive anything, the monster said.

Camembert
Camembert is called "mold-matured" and all that is genuine is labeled Syndicat
du Vrai Camembert. The name in full is Syndicat des Fabricants du Veritable
Camembert de Normandie and we agree that this is "a most useful association
for the defense of one of the best cheeses of France." Its extremely delicate
piquance cannot be matched, except perhaps by Brie.
Napoleon is said to have named it and to have kissed the waitress who first
served it to him in the tiny town of Camembert. And there a statue stands today
in the market place to honor Marie Harel who made the first Camembert.
Camembert is equally good on thin slices of apple, pineapple, pear, French
"flute" or pumpernickel. As-with Brie and with oysters, Camembert should be
eaten only in the "R" months, and of these September is the best.
Since Camembert rhymes with beware, if you can't get the véritable don't fall for
a domestic imitation or any West German abomination such as one dressed like a
valentine in a heart-shaped box and labeled "Camembert—Cheese Exquisite."
They are equally tasteless, chalky with youth, or choking with ammoniacal gas
when old and decrepit.

Cheddar
The English Encyclopedia of Practical Cookery says:
Cheddar cheese is one of the kings of cheese; it is pale coloured, mellow, salvy, and, when
good, resembling a hazelnut in flavour. The Cheddar principle pervades the whole
cheesemaking districts of America, Canada and New Zealand, but no cheese imported into
England can equal the Cheddars of Somerset and the West of Scotland.

Named for a village near Bristol where farmer Joseph Harding first
manufactured it, the best is still called Farmhouse Cheddar, but in America we
have practically none of this. Farmhouse Cheddar must be ripened at least nine
months to a mellowness, and little of our American cheese gets as much as that.
Back in 1695 John Houghton wrote that it "contended in goodness (if kept from
two to five years, according to magnitude) with any cheese in England."
Today it is called "England's second-best cheese," second after Stilton, of course.
In early days a large cheese sufficed for a year or two of family feeding,
according to this old note: "A big Cheddar can be kept for two years in excellent
condition if kept in a cool room and turned over every other day."
But in old England some were harder to preserve: "In Bath... I asked one lady of
the larder how she kept Cheddar cheese. Her eyes twinkled: 'We don't keep
cheese; we eats it.'"

Cheshire

A Cheshireman sailed into Spain

To trade for merchandise;
When he arrived from the main
A Spaniard him espies.
Who said, "You English rogue, look here!
What fruits and spices fine
Our land produces twice a year.
Thou has not such in thine."

The Cheshireman ran to his hold

And fetched a Cheshire cheese,
And said, "Look here, you dog, behold!
We have such fruits as these.
Your fruits are ripe but twice a year,
As you yourself do say,
But such as I present you here
Our land brings twice a day."

Anonymous

Let us pass on to cheese. We have some glorious cheeses, and far too few people glorying
in them. The Cheddar of the inn, of the chophouse, of the average English home, is a libel
on a thing which, when authentic, is worthy of great honor. Cheshire, divinely commanded
into existence as to three parts to precede and as to one part to accompany certain Tawny
Ports and some Late-Bottled Ports, can be a thing for which the British Navy ought to fire a
salute on the principle on which Colonel Brisson made his regiment salute when passing
the great Burgundian vineyard.
T. Earle Welby,
IN "THE DINNER KNELL"

Cheshire is not only the most literary cheese in England, but the oldest. It was
already manufactured when Caesar conquered Britain, and tradition is that the
Romans built the walled city of Chester to control the district where the precious
cheese was made. Chester on the River Dee was a stronghold against the Roman
invasion.
It came to fame with The Old Cheshire Cheese in Elizabethan times and waxed
great with Samuel Johnson presiding at the Fleet Street Inn where White
Cheshire was served "with radishes or watercress or celery when in season," and
Red Cheshire was served toasted or stewed in a sort of Welsh Rabbit. (See
Chapter 5.)
The Blue variety is called Cheshire-Stilton, and Vyvyan Holland, in Cheddar
Gorge suggests that "it was no doubt a cheese of this sort, discovered and filched
from the larder of the Queen of Hearts, that accounted for the contented grin on
the face of the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland."
All very English, as recorded in Victor Meusy's couplet:

Dans le Chester sec et rose

A longues dents, l'Anglais mord.

In the Chester dry and pink

The long teeth of the English sink.

Edam and Gouda

Edam in Peace and War
There also coming into the river two Dutchmen, we sent a couple of men on board and
brought three Holland cheeses, cost 4d. a piece, excellent cheeses.
Pepys' Diary, March 2,1663

Commodore Coe, of the Montevidian Navy, defeated Admiral Brown of the Buenos Ayrean
Navy, in a naval battle, when he used Holland cheese for cannon balls.
The Harbinger (Vermont), December 11, 1847

The crimson cannon balls of Holland have been heard around the world. Known
as "red balls" in England and katzenkopf, "cat's head," in Germany, they differ
from Gouda chiefly in the shape, Gouda being round but flattish and now chiefly
imported as one-pound Baby Goudas.
Edam when it is good is very, very good, but when it is bad it is horrid.
Sophisticated ones are sent over already scalloped for the ultimate consumer to
add port, and there are crocks of Holland cheese potted with sauterne. Both
Edam and Gouda should be well aged to develop full-bodied quality, two years
being the accepted standard for Edam.
The best Edams result from a perfect combination of Breed (black-and-white
Dutch Friesian) and Feed (the rich pasturage of Friesland and Noord Holland).
The Goudas, shaped like English Derby and Belgian Delft and Leyden, come
from South Holland. Some are specially made for the Jewish trade and called
Kosher Gouda. Both Edam and Gouda are eaten at mealtimes thrice daily in
Holland. A Dutch breakfast without one or the other on black bread with butter
and black coffee would be unthinkable. They're also boon companions to plum
bread and Dutch cocoa.
"Eclair Edams" are those with soft insides.

Emmentaler, Gruyère and Swiss

When the working woman

Takes her midday lunch,
It is a piece of Gruyère
Which for her takes the place of roast.

Victor Meusy

Whether an Emmentaler is eminently Schweizerkäse, grand Gruyère from

France, or lesser Swiss of the United States, the shape, size and glisten of the
eyes indicate the stage of ripeness, skill of making and quality of flavor. They
must be uniform, roundish, about the size of a big cherry and, most important of
all, must glisten like the eye of a lass in love, dry but with the suggestion of a
tear.
Gruyère does not see eye to eye with the big-holed Swiss Saanen cartwheel or
American imitation. It has tiny holes, and many of them; let us say it is freckled
with pinholes, rather than pock-marked. This variety is technically called a
niszler, while one without any holes at all is "blind." Eyes or holes are also
called vesicles.
Gruyère Trauben (Grape Gruyère) is aged in Neuchâtel wine in Switzerland,
although most Gruyère has been made in France since its introduction there in
1722. The most famous is made in the Jura, and another is called Comté from its
origin in Franche-Comté.
A blind Emmentaler was made in Switzerland for export to Italy where it was
hardened in caves to become a grating cheese called Raper, and now it is largely
imitated there. Emmentaler, in fact, because of its piquant pecan-nut flavor and
inimitable quality, is simulated everywhere, even in Switzerland.
Besides phonies from Argentina and countries as far off as Finland, we get a
flood of imported and domestic Swisses of all sad sorts, with all possible faults
—from too many holes, that make a flabby, wobbly cheese, to too few—cracked,
dried-up, collapsed or utterly ruined by molding inside. So it will pay you to buy
only the kind already marked genuine in Switzerland. For there cheese such as
Saanen takes six years to ripen, improves with age, and keeps forever.
Cartwheels well over a hundred years old are still kept in cheese cellars (as
common in Switzerland as wine cellars are in France), and it is said that the rank
of a family is determined by the age and quality of the cheese in its larder.

Feta and Casere

The Greeks have a name for it—Feta. Their neighbors call it Greek cheese. Feta
is to cheese what Hymettus is to honey. The two together make ambrosial
manna. Feta is soft and as blinding white as a plate of fresh Ricotta smothered
with sour cream. The whiteness is preserved by shipping the cheese all the way
from Greece in kegs sloshing full of milk, the milk being renewed from time to
time. Having been cured in brine, this great sheep-milk curd is slightly salty and
somewhat sharp, but superbly spicy.
When first we tasted it fresh from the keg with salty milk dripping through our
fingers, we gave it full marks. This was at the Staikos Brothers Greek-import
store on West 23rd Street in Manhattan. We then compared Feta with thin wisps
of its grown-up brother, Casere. This gray and greasy, hard and brittle palate-
tickler of sheep's milk made us bleat for more Feta.

Gorgonzola
Gorgonzola, least pretentious of the Blues triumvirate (including Roquefort and
Stilton) is nonetheless by common consent monarch of all other Blues from
Argentina to Denmark. In England, indeed, many epicures consider Gorgonzola
greater than Stilton, which is the highest praise any cheese can get there. Like all
great cheeses it has been widely imitated, but never equaled. Imported
Gorgonzola, when fruity ripe, is still firm but creamy and golden inside with rich
green veins running through. Very pungent and highly flavored, it is eaten sliced
or crumbled to flavor salad dressings, like Roquefort.

Hablé Crème Chantilly

The name Hablé Crème Chantilly sounds French, but the cheese is Swedish and
actually lives up to the blurb in the imported package: "The overall characteristic
is indescribable and delightful freshness."
This exclusive product of the Walk Gärd Creamery was hailed by Sheila Hibben
in The New Yorker of May 6, 1950, as enthusiastically as Brillat-Savarin would
have greeted a new dish, or the Planetarium a new star:
Endeavoring to be as restrained as I can, I shall merely suggest that the arrival of Crème
Chantilly is a historic event and that in reporting on it I feel something of the responsibility
that the contemporaries of Madame Harel, the famous cheese-making lady of Normandy,
must have felt when they were passing judgment on the first Camembert.

Miss Hibben goes on to say that only a fromage à la crème made in Quebec had
come anywhere near her impression of the new Swedish triumph. She quotes the
last word from the makers themselves: "This is a very special product that has
never been made on this earth before," and speaks of "the elusive flavor of
mushrooms" before summing up, "the exquisitely textured curd and the
unexpectedly fresh flavor combine to make it one of the most subtly enjoyable
foods that have come my way in a long time."
And so say we—all of us.

Hand Cheese
Hand cheese has this niche in our Cheese Hall of Fame not because we consider
it great, but because it is usually included among the eighteen varieties on which
the hundreds of others are based. It is named from having been molded into its
final shape by hand. Universally popular with Germanic races, it is too strong for
the others. To our mind, Hand cheese never had anything that Allgäuer or
Limburger hasn't improved upon.
It is the only cheese that is commonly melted into steins of beer and drunk
instead of eaten. It is usually studded with caraway seeds, the most natural spice
for curds.

Limburger
Limburger has always been popular in America, ever since it was brought over
by German-American immigrants; but England never took to it. This is
eloquently expressed in the following entry in the English Encyclopedia of
Practical Cookery:
Limburger cheese is chiefly famous for its pungently offensive odor. It is made from
skimmed milk, and allowed to partially decompose before pressing. It is very little known
in this country, and might be less so with advantage to consumers.

But this is libel. Butter-soft and sapid, Limburger has brought gustatory pleasure
to millions of hardy gastronomes since it came to light in the province of Lüttich
in Belgium. It has been Americanized for almost a century and is by now one of
the very few cheeses successfully imitated here, chiefly in New York and
Wisconsin.
Early Wisconsiners will never forget the Limburger Rebellion in Green County,
when the people rose in protest against the Limburger caravan that was
accustomed to park in the little town of Monroe where it was marketed. They
threatened to stage a modern Boston Tea Party and dump the odoriferous bricks
in the river, when five or six wagonloads were left ripening in the sun in front of
the town bank. The Limburger was finally stored safely underground.

Livarot
Livarot has been described as decadent, "The very Verlaine of them all," and
Victor Meusy personifies it in a poem dedicated to all the great French cheeses,
of which we give a free translation:
 In the dog days
In its overflowing dish
Livarot gesticulates
Or weeps like a child.

Münster

At the diplomatic banquet

One must choose his piece.
All is politics,
A cheese and a flag.

You annoy the Russians

If you take Chester;
You irritate the Prussians
In choosing Münster.

Victor Meusy

Like Limburger, this male cheese, often caraway-flavored, does not fare well in
England. Although over here we consider Münster far milder than Limburger,
the English writer Eric Weir in When Madame Cooks will have none of it:
I cannot think why this cheese was not thrown from the aeroplanes during the
war to spread panic amongst enemy troops. It would have proved far more
efficacious than those nasty deadly gases that kill people permanently.

Neufchâtel

If the cream cheese be white

Far fairer the hands that made them.

Arthur Hugh Clough

Although originally from Normandy, Neufchâtel, like Limburger, was so long

ago welcomed to America and made so splendidly at home here that we may
consider it our very own. All we have against it is that it has served as the model
for too many processed abominations.

Parmesan, Romano, Pecorino, Pecorino Romano

Parmesan when young, soft and slightly crumbly is eaten on bread. But when
well aged, let us say up to a century, it becomes Rock of Gibraltar of cheeses and
really suited for grating. It is easy to believe that the so-called "Spanish cheese"
used as a barricade by Americans in Nicaragua almost a century ago was none
other than the almost indestructible Grana, as Parmesan is called in Italy.
The association between cheese and battling began in B.C. days with the Jews
and Romans, who fed cheese to their soldiers not only for its energy value but as
a convenient form of rations, since every army travels on its stomach and can't
go faster than its impedimenta. The last notable mention of cheese in war was
the name of the Monitor: "A cheese box on a raft."
Romano is not as expensive as Parmesan, although it is as friable, sharp and
tangy for flavoring, especially for soups such as onion and minestrone. It is
brittle and just off-white when well aged.
Although made of sheep's milk, Pecorino is classed with both Parmesan and
Romano. All three are excellently imitated in Argentina. Romano and Pecorino
Romano are interchangeable names for the strong, medium-sharp and piquant
Parmesan types that sell for considerably less. Most of it is now shipped from
Sardinia. There are several different kinds: Pecorino Dolce (sweet), Sardo
Tuscano, and Pecorino Romano Cacio, which relates it to Caciocavallo.
Kibitzers complain that some of the cheaper types of Pecorino are soapy, but
fans give it high praise. Gillian F., in her "Letter from Italy" in Osbert Burdett's
delectable Little Book of Cheese, writes:
Out in the orchard, my companion, I don't remember how, had provided the miracle: a flask
of wine, a loaf of bread and a slab of fresh Pecorino cheese (there wasn't any "thou" for
either) ... But that cheese was Paradise; and the flask was emptied, and a wood dove cooing
made you think that the flask's contents were in a crystal goblet instead of an enamel cup ...
one only ... and the cheese broken with the fingers ... a cheese of cheeses.

Pont L'Evêque
This semisoft, medium-strong, golden-tinted French classic made since the
thirteenth century, is definitely a dessert cheese whose excellence is brought out
best by a sound claret or tawny port.

Port-Salut (See Trappist)

Provolone
Within recent years Provolone has taken America by storm, as Camembert,
Roquefort, Swiss, Limburger, Neufchâtel and such great ones did long before.
But it has not been successfully imitated here because the original is made of
rich water-buffalo milk unattainable in the Americas.
With Caciocavallo, this mellow, smoky flavorsome delight is put up in all sorts
of artistic forms, red-cellophaned apples, pears, bells, a regular zoo of animals,
and in all sorts of sizes, up to a monumental hundred-pound bas-relief imported
for exhibition purposes by Phil Alpert.

Roquefort
Homage to this fromage! Long hailed as le roi Roquefort, it has filled books and
booklets beyond count. By the miracle of Penicillium Roqueforti a new cheese
was made. It is placed historically back around the eighth century when
Charlemagne was found picking out the green spots of Persillé with the point of
his knife, thinking them decay. But the monks of Saint-Gall, who were his hosts,
recorded in their annals that when they regaled him with Roquefort (because it
was Friday and they had no fish) they also made bold to tell him he was wasting
the best part of the cheese. So he tasted again, found the advice excellent and
liked it so well he ordered two caisses of it sent every year to his palace at Aix-
la-Chapelle. He also suggested that it be cut in half first, to make sure it was well
veined with blue, and then bound up with a wooden fastening.
Perhaps he hoped the wood would protect the cheeses from mice and rats, for the
good monks of Saint-Gall couldn't be expected to send an escort of cats from
their chalky caves to guard them—even for Charlemagne. There is no telling
how many cats were mustered out in the caves, in those early days, but a recent
census put the number at five hundred. We can readily imagine the head handler
in the caves leading a night inspection with a candle, followed by his chief taster
and a regiment of cats. While the Dutch and other makers of cheese also employ
cats to patrol their storage caves, Roquefort holds the record for number. An
interesting point in this connection is that as rats and mice pick only the prime
cheeses, a gnawed one is not thrown away but greatly prized.

Sapsago, Schabziger or Swiss Green Cheese

The name Sapsago is a corruption of Schabziger, German for whey cheese. It's a
hay cheese, flavored heavily with melilot, a kind of clover that's also grown for
hay. It comes from Switzerland in a hard, truncated cone wrapped in a piece of
paper that says:
To be used grated only
Genuine Swiss Green Cheese
Made of skimmed milk and herbs
To the housewives! Do you want a change in your meals? Try the contents of this wrapper!
Delicious as spreading mixed with butter, excellent for flavoring eggs, macaroni, spaghetti,
potatoes, soup, etc. Can be used in place of any other cheese. Do not take too much, you
might spoil the flavor.

We put this wrapper among our papers, sealed it tight in an envelope, and to this
day, six months later, the scent of Sapsago clings 'round it still.

Stilton
Honor for Cheeses
Literary and munching circles in London are putting quite a lot of thought into a proposed
memorial to Stilton cheese. There is a Stilton Memorial Committee, with Sir John Squire at
the head, and already the boys are fighting.
One side, led by Sir John, is all for a monument.
This, presumably, would not be a replica of Stilton itself, although Mr. Epstein could
probably hack out a pretty effective cheese-shaped figure and call it "Dolorosa."
The monument-boosters plan a figure of Mrs. Paulet, who first introduced Stilton to
England. (Possibly a group showing Mrs. Paulet holding a young Stilton by the hand and
introducing it, while the Stilton curtsies.)
T.S. Eliot does not think that anyone would look at a monument, but wants to establish a
Foundation for the Preservation of Ancient Cheeses. The practicability of this plan would
depend largely on the site selected for the treasure house and the cost of obtaining a curator
 who could, or would, give his whole time to the work.
Mr. J.A. Symonds, who is secretary of the committee, agrees with Mr. Eliot that a simple
statue is not the best form.
"I should like," he says, "something irrelevant—gargoyles, perhaps."
I think that Mr. Symonds has hit on something there.
I would suggest, if we Americans can pitch into this great movement, some gargoyles
designed by Mr. Rube Goldberg.
If the memorial could be devised so as to take on an international scope, an exchange
fellowship might be established between England and America, although the exchange, in
the case of Stilton, would have to be all on England's side.
We might be allowed to furnish the money, however, while England furnishes the cheese.
There is a very good precedent for such a bargain between the two countries.
Robert Benchley, in
After 1903—What?

When all seems lost in England there is still Stilton, an endless after-dinner
conversation piece to which England points with pride. For a sound appreciation
of this cheese see Clifton Fadiman's introduction to this book.

Taleggio and Bel Paese

When the great Italian cheese-maker, Galbini, first exported Bel Paese some
years ago, it was an eloquent ambassador to America. But as the years went on
and imitations were made in many lands, Galbini deemed it wise to set up his
own factory in our beautiful country. However, the domestic Bel Paese and a
minute one-pounder called Bel Paesino just didn't have that old Alpine zest.
They were no better than the German copy called Schönland, after the original,
or the French Fleur des Alpes.
Mel Fino was a blend of Bel Paese and Gorgonzola. It perked up the market for a
full, fruity cheese with snap. Then Galbini hit the jackpot with his Taleggio that
fills the need for the sharpest, most sophisticated pungence of them all.

Trappist, Port-Salut, or Port du Salut, and Oka

In spite of its name Trappist is no rat-trap commoner. Always of the elect, and
better known as Port-Salut or Port du Salut from the original home of the