Holla For Challerhocker

Columbia Cheese--a super cool cheese importer--wrote a lovely missive on Charllerhocker, one of our favorite cheeses from Switzerland:

I first met Walter Rass in May of 2012 at his dairy in Tufertschwil, Switzerland. I was immediately struck by the remarkable hybridity of the operation- here was this master cheesemaker, 25 years at his own family dairy, producing a unicorn he called Challerhocker, a cheese built for the modern cheesemonger; alongside, on alternating days, he was still making an exceptional Appenzeller for the mass market.

Both cheeses were studies in precision, every wheel seemed perfect and consistent and photo-ready. That day I even met his Appenzeller dealer- the man responsible for grading his every batch of Appenzeller cheese- and they let me join them bending plugs and sniffing rinds. He was effusive in his praise, pointing to Walter’s vaunted status in Appenzeller circles- the best of the best. Yet, here he was very publicly steering his ship toward a cheese of his own design, one that would harness the precision and economy of Appenzeller production but also reach back through time to reintroduce true craft into creation.

Within the bright white walls of the sparkling dairy upon which Walter rebuilt his family home years ago, he was infusing Challerhocker with the spirit of his home and his village- the cultures were now embedded in yogurt his wife Annelies would make in weekly batches. The rennet arrived not in freeze-dried packets or tan vials but as whole calves stomachs, dried and ready to be cut slowly into strips and steeped in this same family brew. To drive the point home the rough, hand drawn label read “Walter and Annelise Rass, Tufertschwil Switzerland”.

Challerhocker became even more deeply rooted in our and our customers unconscious minds. The next year found Challerhocker production surpassing Appenzeller. Finally by June of 2014, we arrived at the dairy to the news that Challerhocker was now the only way forward- Walter had officially ceased production of Appenzeller.

This didn’t just mean that we would have enough cheese to fill orders through December for the first time ever. It meant Walter had turned a corner, and that we- and by “we” I mean Columbia Cheese and our retail partners throughout the US- were now written into the story. The cheese was coming and it was up to us to help it find a home, to share what we loved and give it shape to the folks wandering into our shops each and every day.

As a part of this process, I traveled again last week to see Walter and Annelies and to attempt an objective documentation of the cheeses, the process, the milk supply, the cultures, etc. Frankly, I was trying to get to the essence of the ephemeral. It proved to be a challenging assignment. What I was hoping to share was the precision by which Walter transforms his traditional raw materials (fresh, small-herd milk/ house produced cultures/ house made rennet/ simple brine) into a now familiar and remarkably consistent “product” by way of modern mechanics (a hose to transport curd from vat to the typical contemporary press) and historic craftsmanship.

The difficulty was in finding where recipe and development and daily craftsmanship intersected. Walter’s every movement seems designed for a specific, minute task and frankly it was difficult to keep up with him (as the blurry photo of the pouring of culture into the vat attests). The ongoing and immediate adjustments were impossible to capture. And in spite of some obvious consistencies and efficiencies procured from years of success, the essential nature of the production remains enigmatic. Why does he skim the fat from culture with a gentle blowing of air across its surface? How does he know exactly how many cheeses he can wash in the cellar before returning to a properly prepared cut curd? He couldn’t answer these questions, either.

As the morning wound down, I found myself watching Walter as he collected every single rice-grain-sized curd in the draining table, as he has every day for 25 years. It was a stark reminder that these cheeses were historically instruments of an essential agricultural economy. It is only through innovation, superior craftsmanship, and the everyday work of the dedicated cheesemonger that they have become objects of desire, lifted out of the commodity market and given a place at the center of our culinary lives.

Yours in cheese, Jonathan

Re-posted with permission from Columbia Cheese

3 Myths About Parmesan

Raise your hand if trying to understand the Parmesan vs. Parmigiano-Reggiano debate hurts your brain. Which one is better? Are they the same? Does it matter at all?

It does matter, if you want it to. There's that old saying, You are what you eat. If that's the sort of daily mantra you like to repeat to yourself, and if munching on the most delicious food is your thing, than you're going to want to know how and why parmesan is quite different from Parmigiano-Reggiano. Let's discuss a few myths:

1. The word parmesan means Parmigiano-Reggiano This is true! Parmesan is the English translation of Italy's Parmigiano-Reggiano. However, this doesn't mean that products designated parmesan are made in the same way or of the same quality. The United States has a stinky little history of not following international laws for naming. Much like Champagne and Kobe Beef, Parmigiano-Reggiano must be made to very specific specifications, and under specific circumstances, before it can be christened with that name. Very simply, the rules are: Parmigiano must be made with only three ingredients. Those ingredients are milk made in the Parma/Reggio region of Italy, salt, and animal rennet. It seems so simple, but check the back of the next bag of grated parmesan you buy. If it contains cellulose powder, potassium sorbate, or other ingredients like that, then it's an imposter. No Parmigiano for you.

2. All versions of Parmigiano-Reggiano (real or otherwise) tend to be dry and best for cooking Completely false. If you're seeking out true Parmigiano, you'll find that it's actually wonderful eaten on its own. Cravero Parmigiano-Reggiano (the one we sell at our shops) is particularly succulent, with sweet notes of caramel and cherry. Giorgio Cravero--the man who selects and ages each wheel at Cravero in Bra, Italy--prefers his Parmigiano to have intentional sweetness and moisture. Thank goodness! Because it's lovely and worthy of a spot on your cheese board. Skip the round green shaker of grainy parmesan in favor of a Parmigiano you can actually taste.

3. All versions of Parmigiano-Reggiano are fatty and bad for you, just like most cheeses Oh no. No no no. So long as you avoid the bastardized versions of this cheese that contain anything other than milk, salt, and rennet, you're consuming something good for you. The concentration of pure milk in Parmigiano's paste means it's full of protein, calcium, and phosphorous and is free of additives and preservatives. True Parmigiano is so uniquely nutritious that it's been known to be a staple with astronauts on space missions. So take that!

The Year of the Sheep

“People born in the Year of Sheep are tender, polite, filial, clever, and kind-hearted. They have special sensitivity to art and beauty and a special fondness for quiet living.” —The Internet

Sometimes we like to wax philosophical behind our cheese counter. We spend our entire days surrounded by fermented milk. That’s kind of an odd sort of thing to do, no? But it’s a wonderful exercise to stop, think, and imagine where our fermented milk originates. And what better time to take stock than during Lunar New Year?

This Thursday is Lunar New Year and it so happens that 2015 is the year of the Sheep (we think). We love sheep’s milk cheeses at our cheese counter. I mean really love them. Several of our bestselling cheeses are made from sheep’s milk, quite the feat considering that the vast majority of our cheeses are cow’s milk and we might only have 3 or 4 sheep’s milk cheeses at any given moment.

Why so few sheep cheeses? The biggest reason is that sheep just don’t produce a lot of milk. A sheep produces milk seasonally—for about half the year (and not a lot of it while it is milking), whereas cows produce milk for up to 300 days of the year. That means a sheep cheese producer must produce all of their cheese for the year in just a few months.

The most popular sheep cheese at our counter (and a staff favorite) is Abbaye de Belloc. It is a gorgeous cheese with a textured, dusty rind. Crack it open and you reveal a silky bone white paste. This is a monk’s cheese—meaning the recipe was developed by monks at an abbey in the Pyrenees mountains of France.  Abbaye de Belloc doesn’t hit your tongue with an immediate punch of salt or sweet, rather its richness builds and it releases subtle caramel and faintly grassy flavors. The texture is just killer. Not too dry, not at all waxy, just dense and perfectly chewy.

Monks and sheep, apparently, both have a special fondness for quiet living. The beginning of Lunar New Year is, however, a great time for celebration. We are more likely to think of fireworks or lion dances than we are to imagine meditative contemplation. One fortune prediction for the year of the Sheep 2015 is that it is a year to be tolerant of family. So perhaps a wedge of Abbaye de Belloc, a nice bottle of something from the Southern Rhone, and a trip to your cantankerous Uncle’s house are in order.

Happy Lunar New Year!

[purchase Abbaye de belloc] [original illustration by Nate Braun / sheep image via]

In Praise of Bavarian Cheese

German cheese has kind of a bad rep. Or not really a rep at all, if you think about it. What do Americans think about when they think about German cheese? Probably that smeary, stanky Limburger cheese that's more often the butt of jokes than a key player at the dinner table.

But there's one German cheese exporter who's trying to change our trepidation into infatuation: Kaeskuche, a little 9-year-old operation run by Norbert Stieghart. Norbert's whole mission is to reacquaint the world with Bavarian cheeses (Bavaria being a primary cheese-producing region in Germany).

According to Norbert, after WWII, German cheesemakers and consumers became more interested in cheap protein sources than the care and craft of delicious cheese. It's been a long time since the country's traditional mountain cheeses have had a champion. Do a simple Google search and you'll see--quality German cheese is like a super fast unicorn that you only catch glittery glimpses of before wondering if you're just a crazy person standing alone in a fake enchanted forest.

Then in swoops Norbert! This guy is dedicated. He's so committed to German cheeses that he'll ride his trusty motorbike up grassy hills and gnarly peaks that cars can't reach (see above!), all to transport 30-pound wheels of cheese to his customers in Singapore, Dubai, and the United States. We're pretty lucky to have him, right?

Alpe Loch is one of these giant Bavarian beasts. The Fuchs family crafts this cheese at their high-altitude dairy, which was actually destroyed twice by avalanches in the past. Their cheese (which has been aged for over a year) bursts with all the nutty, grassy complexity that comes from cows allowed to graze on rich, green mountain pastures. This is cheese with character, cheese with a distinct Bavarian-ness that you'll only understand once you've taken a bite.

[awesome illustration by Cheesemonger Nate Braun]