Fontina Cheese, Where Have You Been All My Life?

I have a new favorite cheese right now: Fontina.

We have GoatSpawn to thank for this new discovery - she changed the TV to a different channel, which happened to have a cooking show on that mentioned Fontina cheese, which neither Foodgoat nor I had tried before.  The next time he was at the Italian deli, what should he spy in the cheese counter but ... Fontina cheese.

I'm glad he picked some up, because Fontina is a delicious cheese.  Made in the Italian  Alps, in the Valle d'Aosta, since the 12th century, it is a cow's-milk cheese with a nutty taste and creamy but firm texture (versions made in other countries such as the U.S. and Denmark tend to be younger and milder in taste).  It is wonderful all by itself, but it also melts very nicely, as well - becoming smooth, and not turning stringy or crusty or separating.  I would say it's not unlike Gruyere, or maybe provolone, but tastier. 

Cheesy Dreams

It's an old wives' tale that eating cheese gives you nightmares. I've actually never heard of this, until I came across a study by the British Cheese Board in 2005 that looked into it.

They found that eating cheese before bed actually helps with getting a good night’s sleep (it's the tryptophan). The best finding, though, is that different cheeses cause different types of dreams. For example:

• Stilton, a blue cheese, not surprising perhaps, resulted in really vivid and weird dreams, though not necessarily bad dreams, for 75% of men and 85% of women who ate it. How weird? Talking soft toys, a vegetarian crocodile upset because it could not eat children, dinner party guests being traded for camels, soldiers fighting with each other with kittens instead of guns and a party in a lunatic asylum.

• Brie caused women tended to experience nice dreams, such as Jamie Oliver cooking dinner in their kitchens, or sunny beaches, but men had obscure dreams, such as driving against a battleship, or having a drunken conversation with a dog.

• Cheddar-eating participants tended to dream of celebrities.
  

Now this is a study just crying out for verification and reproducibility. Time for some nighttime snacks!

How Foodgoat Rang in the New Year

Foodgoat spent the last day of 2007 cursing and denouncing the name of Tony Dungy.

The only things that made him feel a little better was Slyman's sandwiches (one with Swiss cheese and mustard, by the way, is a "Smurf", which makes it loads of fun to order), a bottle of our favorite J sparkling wine, and hours of Puzzle Quest.

Only a little.

The Theorem of the Cheesy Ratio

After waiting months in the In-and-Out-less Midwest wilderness, Foodgoat finally got to go to In-and-Out again while in California.

The last time he was there, he got a little silly and had a 2x6 - two patties, six slices of cheese. Afterwards, he conceded that it might have been too much cheese.

Being older and wiser, this time he stuck with the more delicious 2x4, animal style.

But while awaiting his order, he noticed the receipt listed a 4x4 animal style. Foodgoat caught a worker and corrected the mistake.

He sat down to eat, only to discover that it had not been corrected at all. He still had a gotten 4x4 animal style. Four meat patties, four slices of cheese. What could he do but eat it?

It was good, but ... it was a lot of meat. A lot of meat.

What does this teach us? Well, it proves Foodgoat's Theorem of the Cheesy Ratio, developed after the 2x6 experiment.

The Theorem of the Cheesy Ratio explains why the 2x4 works by describing the perfect proportion of meat to cheese - of two slices of cheese per one meat patty.

Too much cheese - as in the 2x6, which has three slices of cheese per patty - and the cheese doesn't quite melt right. Thus some of the cheese is a little cold, and the whole meat-cheese tastiness is dependent on adequate meltedness.

Too much meat - as in the case of the 4x4, which has 1 meat patty to 1 slice of cheese - and you don't have enough cheese to balance your meat. This is especially important the higher you go in number - a cheeseburger (1 patty to 1 cheese) may be tolerable if you're of small appetite, but get up to 4x4, and you might feel you're just chewing down a pile of meat without enough cheese to make it worthwhile.

But in the right proportion - as in the 2x4, 2 patties to 4 cheese slices - there you find enough meat to be filling but not overwhelming, enough cheese to be tasty but still melted properly.

Humboldt Fog

Our cheese budget has been growing lately. Last week we shelled out over $30 at the cheese stand. But what can we do? We try cheeses, we love them, we must have more. The cheese vendor gives us a slice of a new cheese to try, we love it, we must buy half a pound.

That's what happened with the Humboldt Fog, which, according to the cheese guy, is one of the hottest cheeses of the day. Made by Cypress Grove Chevre, the goat cheese was dee-licious, with a tangy, blue cheese-like center surrounded by a more brie-like creaminess. Rich and flavorful, it's definitely a party cheese.

So we bought crackers and had ourselves a party of two.

I Never Thought I'd Meet a Blue Cheese I Didn't Like

But I have. And it's name is Stella.

It's possible that we have been spoiled by wallowing in the hedonistic creamy indulgence that is the Point Reyes Blue. It's possible that we got a bad batch of cheese, as might have happened with our Morbier experience. But it's also possible that the Stella Blue cheese just has a weird, bitter taste that ruins ham sandwiches.

Cheese Most Foul

Take a look at this cheese to the left. Take a good look. Remember it. Burn it into your memory. And if, one day, you should actually see this cheese from afar, RUN.

It's Morbier cheese, a semi-soft cows' milk cheese, and for this you can thank, or perhaps more appropriately, curse, the French. Because it stinks. And not just in a "my, rather pungent, isn't it?" stink, but in a "for the love of God, what foul, putrid creature from the depths of Hell has crawled onto my cheese tray???" stink. It smells like parts of the body that would cause cause children's books to be banned when mentioned therein. It's bad enough within whiffing distance, but it is disturbingly worse when handled by human hands. Only repeated washings with strong chemical soap could remove the stench from Foodgoat's hands.

The Cheese Lady said that if you could get past the smell, the taste would be lovely. The taste was not, and frankly, the taste would have to be pretty damn ambrosial in order to make the smell worth it.

Just to show you how bad it was, not even Sienna would try it. When the dog even the dog won't eat it, I'm not sure it can still qualify as cheese.

Beer Cheese

Beer and cheese is a combination known to us as Good, but beer cheese? Not so known.

According to wikipedia, it's also known as Weisslacker, and it's a German cheese that's is now made in the U.S. too. I don't think there's beer in it - it gets its name from the practice of eating it with beer or dipping into the beer (this I did not try).

I can verify that it is a pungent and salted cheese. Not too pungent - but flavorful enough to stand on its own, making it a very good cheese to nibble on.

Yay or Nay Wednesday: Cheese Wedding Cake

Having summarily dismissed any traditional wedding cake, I'm greatly tempted by this alterna-cake, posted at Bridalwave: not a cheesecake, but a cake of real cheese.

I would have wheels of Point Reyes blue cheese, smoked gouda, an English cheddar. Can you carve roses out of mozzerella?

Best of 2006: Point Reyes Blue

On reflection, 2006 has certainly been the year of the Point Reyes Blue for us here at Foodgoat. We were late coming to it (it has been around since 2000), but we made up for lost time with still boundless enthusiasm. Through it, we broke through the seemingly impermeable fortress of the Cheese Lady's good graces. With it, Foodgoat took his BLT to the even loftier heights of the BABlue (Bacon Avocado and Blue cheese).

So tart! So creamy! So delicious with everything!

Winning her over

Last Saturday (prior to our weekly 24 DVD marathons), Foodgoat and I got the shock of our lives at the West Side Market.

The Cranky Cheese Lady, whose glare has sent us cowering away like the dog from the vacuum cleaner, smiled at us. Then she chatted. Then she actually waved.

What prompted this sudden blossoming of kindness?

Cheese. But not just any cheese: Point Reyes Blue.

Point Reyes, aside from being one of the loveliest places on earth, also produces astonishingly delicious cheese. The Point Reyes Blue is certainly one of, if not the, best cheese we have ever had - a memorable cheese, to say the least. It's more creamy than crumbly, and it's so flavorful - but flavorful in a way that's complex and interesting. I could happily eat it alone, it's so good.

Such excellence does come at a price, but Point Reyes Blue is something to savor.

In any case, it seems that by ordering the Point Reyes Blue from Cranky Cheese Lady, we found the keys to her hardened retail heart, because what followed was a warm conversation about the yumminess of Point Reyes Blue and the prettiness of the California coast.

Fine and tasty food can win over anyone.

Foodgoat Chili

Foodgoat hasn't tried Cleveland chili (chili with a fried egg and sour cream on top) but he was inspired to invent the never-before-seen Foodgoat chili ... chili with bleu cheese and sour cream on top. Yup, that's bleu cheese. And yes, it was a bit odd ... oddly delicious! Boo-yah! Boo-YAH!! BOO-YAHHH FROM CLEVELAND!!!

Yes, Ladygoat may have been watching too much Mad Money lately.

Dear Cheese Lady,

I do not know why you are so cranky. The other day you practically bit off Foodgoat's head for misinterpreting a request for Parmesan cheese as a request for you to cut another slice off the block of Parmigiano-Reggiano. We took the pre-cut slice and ran, ran until we were sure towering demon, aflame with hate, was not bearing down upon us.

Had that been an isolated event, we would understand. Everyone has a bad day. Maybe a rogue had ganked you one too many times. Maybe you too saw Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and its horrendous (though not nearly as nauseating as the ending of Breakfast as Tiffany's) Hollywood ending on TCM. Or perhaps a human foot fell out of sky into your backyard, as it did to my mother's co-worker. Things happen.

But you are always cranky. Every week we buy cheese; every week we quail under your angry glare.

You are the polar opposite of the Bacon Lady, who always jokes around with us, and the Old Vegetable Man, who pretends to charge us $400 for asparagus every week.

Can it be that you do not enjoy your job? Could it possibly be (I shudder to consider it!), that you do not like cheese, one of the great accomplishments of human civilization?

Because if I worked at a cheese stand, if I could try cheeses all the time, if I could share with people my favorite cheddars, bleus, and fetas, and get paid for it ... good Lord, woman, I'd be the freakin' gladdest Pollyanna on the block.

From now on, we will hide until we see you with another poor customer, at which point we will buy the cheese from the Cheese Punk Kids (we've seen them smile) or the Cheese Owner-Guy (who happily talks cheese to us).

All that Irish For

All that Irish for
St. Patrick's Day isn't a big thing around Foodgoat. I'm not into holidays that encourage physical abuse just because you wore the wrong shirt. Nor am I into binge drinking, or co-opting an ethnic identity in order to justify it. Not to mention that Foodgoat retains some residual animosity towards certain schoolyard bullies, coincidentally all Irish-American.

However, I will take this opportunity to introduce you to Dubliner Irish cheese. I picked up a big block of it at Costco because I thought it was cheddar, but it's not. In fact, it tastes like something of a cross between cheddar and Parmesan. It's a new cheese, I think only made by this one company, but I'm not sure (I'm even more clueless about cheeses than I am about wine, even though I love cheese). Along with Hungarian paprika, it really made the mac & cheese extraordinary.

I will also note that I've always wanted to go to Nighttown, the Irish restaurant down the street, not because I have a yen for Irish food. I don't even like corned beef ... unless it comes out of a can. (Once, Foodgoat made a dish for me and my siblings, out of canned corn beef and cabbage, just to show us how nasty the canned stuff could be. But it didn't work, because we like it. We like mashed potatoes from a box too. Take that, Foodgoat!).

No, the cool thing about the restaurant is that it tributes Joyce's Ulysses. I was English major, okay, and I'm dorky about things like that. But first I actually have to get around to reading the damn thing. At 783 pages, don't hold your breath waiting for my post about it.

For the love of cheese

We here at Foodgoat can only aspire to the literary heights achieved by Mariann Simms' winning entry in the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which honors the originator of "It was a dark and stormy night" (subsequently plagiarized many times over by Snoopy) with even worse opening sentences to imaginary novels:

They had but one last remaining night together, so they embraced each other as tightly as that two-flavor entwined string cheese that is orange and yellowish-white, the orange probably being a bland Cheddar and the white . . . Mozzarella, although it could possibly be Provolone or just plain American, as it really doesn't taste distinctly dissimilar from the orange, yet they would have you believe it does by coloring it differently.

I am tempted to try Polly-O Twistarellas. Not so much because it sounds so very tasty, but because string cheese in general makes me nostalgic for elementary school. It was one of those special things that I only got once in a while in my lunch box, like Fruit Roll-Ups, Oreos, or those cubes of a cheese with a cow head on the label. Usually all I got was a ham and cheese sandwich, a piece of fruit, and a Capri Sun.