Manchego: From the Sheep of La Mancha

Fromage-du-mois friends may remember an early post on this site, in 2006, about Manchego. For those who missed it, I thought I'd re-introduce this simple staple of the cheese world.

Many people have probably heard of and/or tried Manchego (Queso Manchego, officially). If you haven't, I would encourage you to give it a shot.

Manchego is a very nice, 'nutty'-flavored, Spanish sheep's milk cheese. It is still Spain's "most popular cheese" and it remains name-controlled: it must be made in its region of origin to be called (Queso) Manchego.

Manchego hails from the expansive, sometimes barren region of 'inner Spain' called Castile-La Mancha (the link is from El Sol Villas, which offers vacation villas throghout Europe). Apparently, the expansive plains of La Mancha are subjected to a climate of seasonal extremes, often pummeled with unrelenting winds and broad sweeps in temperatures throughout the year (read: Don Quixote and his windmill travails). The thick-fleeced sheep of La Mancha, who provide the milk for this ubiquitous fromage, are some of the only animals able to withstand this climate.

Manchego is usually quite mild, a little bit briny, and tastes like it is "of the earth", if that makes any sense. And the common description of it being "nutty" I think is especially accurate. Like many cheeses, it becomes more acrid and tangy when it is aged.

The seal (above) is Queso Manchego's official Protested Designation of Origin (PDO) Seal, certified by the European Union. It can be placed only on Manchego cheese wheels when they are produced from the milk of La Mancha's sheep, and, aged for at least 60 days.

Literature fans will note that the seal includes a silhouette of the famous "Don Quixote" on his horse, and---I believe--a second, rider-less horse by his side (or.....does anyone see Sancho Panza on the second horse?).

Enjoy!

A Tale of Three Goat Cheeses: Notes on a Fromage Flight

I recently had the pleasure of sampling some delicious and intriguing fromage with the esteemed Goudacris. We found ourselves in the heart of San Francisco's rapidly-bougifying Mission District and remembered that there was a new cheese establishment in town.

Aptly named Mission Cheese,

this place has just the right amount of trend: a tall chalkboard serves as the day's menu; a sleek, chartreuse tiled bar complements the otherwise minimalist décor. There is also some compelling chalkboard art involving sheep whose fleece is made of people's names. The spot is best described as a “cheese cafe” that also happens to be a cheese shop. They have an extensive list of fromages that can be purchased by the pound, but most patrons seem to come for the cheese flights, cheese sandwiches, and adult beverages.

Gouda and I settled on the “Pacific NW” cheese flight, a glass of Periscope rosé (on tap, of course), and a bottle of Scrimshaw. Our flight was introduced to us by a charming gal who seemed to really know her fromage. The flight contained three fromages (all goat), three exciting cheese knives, some baguette slices, green apple slices, and cornichons.

The first cheese was “Up in Smoke”, an award-winning goat cheese from Oregon's central coast that's first smoked over alder and hickory and then wrapped in smoked maple leaves. Very impressive. It looks like a delectable fromage dolma, and I felt like a kid at christmas as we unwrapped our little fromage gift. Up in Smoke's taste was described to us as “bacony”, but I found its flavor to have more of a smoked ham or smoked turkey quality. Then again, I'm a vegetarian, so perhaps I shouldn't be trusted on this. What I do know is that this cheese was delicious. Some chevres tend to be a bit dry, flaky, and crumbly (which can end up being quite messy), but this goaty fromage was creamy and spreadable. We sampled it plain, with bread, and with apple. The apple-fromage combination was simply delightful – the pungent, smoky creaminess (or was it creamy smokiness?) was complemented perfectly by the apple's tart crispness. yum.

The next leg of our fromage journey took us to Bend, Oregon for the “Pondhopper”, a semi-hard goat cheese. Its claim to fame is that it's washed in a local beer, which is meant to give it a hops-y flavor. Here's a review of the process (and the fromage). This cheese was considerably more subtle than the first, but this is not to say that it wasn't complex. Au contraire! For me, eating the Pondhopper was like eating several cheeses in one, each flavor arriving in succession like Wonka's three-course dinner gum. I initially got hints of monterey jack, followed by a tangy, almost brie-like taste, and then a more pungent, grassy flavor. Outstanding! I felt that the beer notes were most prevalent in the final stages. This is an extremely compelling cheese that I hope to enjoy again soon. It's supposed to make an excellent mac-and-cheese, but I think its subtlety may be better enjoyed in small slices, especially at $39/lb. Zing!

The final stop on our fromage flight was a semi-soft Washingtonian goat cheese called “Off Kilter”, which I've just learned is washed in a Scotch ale. This is an important detail, because both Goudacris and I seem to have (mis)heard our server tell us that the cheese was washed in scotch. Wishful thinking, perhaps... as a scotch lover, the prospect of a scotch-fromage marriage made me almost giddy with delight. Needless to say, the fromage tasted nothing like scotch, but it seems rather unfair to hold that against it. And yet, all things considered, I still feel that this cheese was underwhelming. It had a pleasant, earthy taste to it, but it paled in comparison to the first two fromages. I've sampled quite a few beer/ale-washed cheeses in my day, and this one was my least favorite. A bit too subtle, perhaps, even for a refined cheese-taster such as myself.

All in all, it was a delightful, fromage-filled afternoon. Someday soon, I'd like to go back to Mission Cheese and try their "cheesemonger" flight (a fromagey spin on the "chef's selection") and perhaps a sandwich. I'll be sure to give a full report.

Grainy Cheese of the River

While preparing this excellent recipe I tried a new cheese: Grana Padano (Grainy Cheese of the River). A hard, cow's milk cheese - it provides a great alternative (or addition) to Parmesan and other hard cheeses. Although younger, cheaper, and less flavorful than Parmesan it still has many merits: in the case of the "Cacio e Pepe" recipe nicely balancing the sharper Pecorino. It is also readily available and non-brand specific. Jenkins finds Grana Padano lackluster (describing it as a "serviceable grating cheese"), but I found it outstanding for salads, sauces, and sautes - much more supple than hard cheeses with more personality. Give "Cacio e Pepe" a shot or simply try out a new, different hard cheese.

Any other non-parm cheeses out there that folks enjoy?

You know what they say about the Dutch....

Welcome back fromage-o-philes from around the world! We at Fromage-du-Mois have been on a more than one-year hiatus and are eager to get back to blogging about the delights of cheese. We hope that everyone has been tasting away, as we have. Let's get right back in to it... There is a an excellent, semi-hard, flaky cheese that hails from the Netherlands that is worth a couple of sentences here in this comeback post. (See above picture- courtesy of threemealsaday.com). It is called Robusto and it is a Gouda-like cheese, both in texture and flavor. It has a bit of that great sweet-and-saltiness of a Gruyere as well. The taste itself is a bit sharp on first bite, but fairly simple taken all-together. It starts with that moderate amount of sharpness, then becomes salty-buttery, and finally has a full, nutty finish. Robusto does not overwhelm or have the favlor complexity of other Dutch stalwarts (and U.S. import rarities), like Limburger or Leyden. I think it has just enough sharpness and the right amount of meat to make it a great cheese. Robusto is a solid addition to any platter or part of a wine and cheese tasting. Although some might recommend a full-bodied red wine to accompany Robusto, I like this cheese with a bit of a lighter load, perhaps with something like a Burgundy or Beaujolais. One of my favorite things about this cheese is it's availability, at least where I live in Boston. I have found Robusto readily available and frequently promoted at all the Whole Foods Stores in this are. I have also seen it at many pf the local fromageries. How about near you? And now, you might be wondering what 'they say about the Dutch'. Well, I think I'll have to leave that up to our favorite, irrascible villain from the 3rd film of the Austin Powers series: Johann van der smut (aka Goldmember, 2002).

“Ripe Delight”: A continuation of the “drunken treasure” theme

I’d like to begin by thanking Ricky for another excellent fromage recommendation (see “Chimay with Beer”, 5 november 09). Typically, my comments about his cheese would appear as such, and would follow his original post. But something rather atypical has occurred: although our tasting was planned around sampling Ricky’s belgian treasure, a new fromage was inadvertently discovered… a wonderful and tantalizing fromage… a fromage that warranted – no, commanded – its own post. If you care at all about cheese, read on!

Earlier this week, a modest contingent of fromageophiles gathered in the bastion of pinko commie liberalism that is berkeley, california in order to taste this so-called “beer cheese” of Ricky’s. In the interest of variety and to keep our beer cheese from growing lonely, we decided to add another cheese to the board. Staying in the boozy vein of washed-rind cheeses, we selected a little cheese called “Affidelice” (ah-FEE-duh-leece). Our fromage accompaniments included baguette slices, flatbread crackers, and medjool dates. We also opted for two beverage pairings: a Chimay Red, because it matched our Chimay cheese, and a Beaujolais Nouveau, because, well, it had arrived.

The Chimay cheese was sampled first, and Ricky had not led us astray. It’s a subtle, midly-flavoured, creamy-yet-firm fromage. I definitely tasted the hint of beer, which was intensified by actually drinking some of the very beer it had been washed in. (Somewhat meta, that.) I agree with Ricky that the bitter, salty rind adds a dimension to the flavor, but I found it to be a rather unpleasant dimension. The texture of the rind was quite strange – a bit like eating wet paper. I avoided the rind from there on out and found the cheese quite enjoyable.

Our second fromage was the Affidelice, whose name is an amalgam of the french words for “ripe” (affine) and “delight” (delice). Much like the Chimay cheese, it’s a cow’s-milk cheese whose rind is washed in local spirits. While the Chimay cheese is bathed in Belgian beer, the Affidelice takes its bath in Chablis. But this booze-washing isn’t just for taste – the wine actually contributes to the maturation process by attracting bacteria that keep the cheese soft, supple, and smelly. (See this cheese review for more on that fascinating process.)

Affidelice’s presentation also seems worth noting. It comes in a small, round, wooden box and is further swaddled by a paper wrapper – a veritable fromage cupcake! The rind has a deep orange color, looks slightly runny and wet, and smells so pungent that certain cheese merchants have warned their customers not to be alarmed. The inside of this cheese would be best described using words like “creamy”, “oozy”, and “gooey”. No crumbly morsels to pick up with your fingers here; this fromage is downright spreadable.

With our visual and olfactory inspection complete, we spread the cheese goo onto bread and crackers and moved on to the tasting. I must say: this cheese is nothing short of stunning. Unbelievably smooth and supple, with a tanginess that is simply sublime, this savory fromage satisfies the cheese-lover in me. I even enjoyed the rind, which is a near-first for me. It’s pungent without being too pungent, and its tanginess is formidable without being selfish – when I returned for another bite of the Chimay cheese, I was pleased to discover that its subtlety hadn’t been overshadowed by its oozy cupcake companion. This is no small feat for a strong and stinky cheese. Affidelice, c’est magnifique.