Savoie Fare II: The Return of Reblochon?

About a year ago, I was running a cheese counter in a store near Chicago.  I love talking about cheese as much as writing about it, so it was a treat to get to know customers and help them get to know our cheeses.  Usually, this was gratifying: watching someone leave their comfort zone and fall in love with something unexpected; identifying a flavor from their past and sending them home with a wedge to savor; figuring out a fun, unique combination of cheeses for a special occasion.

Inevitably, there were disappointments: someone would request a specific cheese that we didn't have or couldn't get.  When a cheesemonger "can't get" something, it usually means one of two things: a) the cheese took "Best in Show" at the American Cheese Society conference; b) the cheese is made with raw milk and aged for less than 60 days.  Thanks to a great distributor,  we were blessed with an enviable supply of Cabot Clothbound Cheddar (ACS Best in Show, 2006); however, not even they could deliver the sublime, delicious (and illegal) Reblochon.

Reblochon, from the same region as Tomme de Savoie, has a luxurious, melting texture that makes people fall in love with French cheese.  Its flavor is mellow and creamy, with undertones of bacon and walnuts, and it has the mouthfeel of fudge.  There is an appealing, funky scent to the cheese, but it is not overwhelming like some washed-rind cheeses.  I love it at room temperature, smeared onto some rustic bread.  It is also popularly enjoyed in the regional dish, tartiflette, in which it serves as the gooey topping over potatoes, onions, and bacon.

If you were to smuggle some of this precious, unpasteurized cheese past customs officials, you'd only be respecting tradition.  The original makers of this cheese, taxed on their milk production, devised a scheme to fool the tax man.  They'd short-milk the herd, wave au revoir to the inspector, and go back for reblochon, "a second pinching of the udders."  The resulting milk had higher fat content than the reported milk, and went into the family's private cheese creation.

Alas, Reblochon comes of age around 45 days, and is overripe at 60... or so I thought.  A non-AOC* version of the cheese, Fromage de Savoie, has spotty availability in the US.  Recently, I found a wheel at Whole Foods-- not in a secret back room, but in full display of the open cheese case.  The label proclaimed "au lait cru," and it tasted full-flavored and perfectly ripe.   I can't explain how it's available, but I'm thrilled.  If you have any insight, please post a comment!

If you can't find Fromage de Savoie, Edel de Cleron and Fromager des Clarines are excellent, pasteurized cheeses in that style.

*AOC (appellation d'origine controlee) status indicates that the product is produced in the traditional manner in a specified, geographical area.  Similar systems exist for Italian and Spanish products.  Some examples include Roquefort, Parmigiana-Reggiano, and Rioja.

Savoie Fare

At one o'clock, Tomme de Savoie; nine o'clock, Fromage de Savoie

I would like to introduce to you one of my oldest cheese friends, Tomme de Savoie.  I came across Tomme during my college semester at University de Savoie in Chambery, France.  Another exchange student directed me to take the bus to the Carrefour store outside of town, which she described as the French version of Target.  My expedition yielded such treasures as an all-purpose pot for the kitchenette and scented, pink toilet paper (with the texture of  finest-grit sandpaper) for the bathroom I shared with my three suitemates.  But I was blown away by the dairy section of the megastore: two mosaic aisles of yogurt and dairy confections (including yogurt flavors such as coconut and watermelon, and dark chocolate mousse in six-packs), an aisle devoted to butter, and a cheese counter populated by three fromagiers and a crowd of unknown cheeses.  A patient fromagiere listened to enough of my stumbling French to determine that I was as ignorant of the cheeses of France as I was of her language; wisely, she steered me toward the family of Tomme, whose members were squat, unassuming, and unquestionably local.  I tasted slivers of several, including one covered with grape must and another made from goat's milk, but chose to take home the simple Tomme de Savoie au lait vache cru (raw cow's milk).

A couple of months later, I got to know Tomme more personally on a journey to her homeland.   One of my new French friends had a brother who was getting married in her hometown of Boege in Haute-Savoie.  He was a chef in Geneva, and a lavish wedding dinner was planned; would I like to serve at the feast?  Oui! 

In addition to her chef-brother, ma copine also has a cheesemaker-father who crafted the regional specialties: Abondance, Reblochon, and my buddy, Tomme de Savoie.  He showed me the small, tidy room where he heated fresh cow's milk in a large vat, and the compact cellar where immature wheels slowly ripened into luscious Savoyard classics.  Outside, he pointed to the hilltops across the valley, where his herd of cows spent the warm days in high-altitude pasture.  The beauty and serenity of that scene revisits me every time I taste Tomme de Savoie.  

Of course, such an experience is not a prerequisite for enjoying the cheese.  Under its inedible, natural rind, Tomme de Savoie offers a smooth, yellow paste with a mild, nutty flavor and a hint of sharpness.  I recommend cutting one slice at a time and devouring each with a hunk of peasant bread (something with a little rye and molasses).  As for a beverage, nothing too fancy: choose a mellow, brown ale or a soft, red wine to complement the simplicity of this charming cheese.

Note: Despite its tough-looking exterior, I find Tomme de Savoie to be a delicate cheese that suffers quickly when wrapped completely.  To prevent your wedge from deteriorating, cover only its cut faces with plastic wrap and leave the rind exposed to breathe.

Raw Milk Co-Star: Vermont Shepherd

Featured in the photo with Chase Hill Farm Camembert is a wedge of the acclaimed American sheep’s milk cheese, Vermont Shepherd. Vermont Shepherd is also a raw milk cheese, its natural rind formed over a four- to eight-month aging period in a hillside cave. The remarkable quality of this cheese reflects the terroir of the Major Farm in Putney, Vermont, where the herd of ewes graze and are milked, and where the cheese is produced and aged. Vermont Shepherd is a true farmstead cheese, influenced by the Basque cheesemaking traditions that the Majors traveled to the Pyrenees Mountains to learn.

A wheel of Vermont Shepherd has convex sides and a mottled brown, natural rind, resulting from many layers of mold that are brushed smooth during cave-aging. When you sit down to enjoy a wedge of it, you may notice that the rind, which is not meant to be eaten, carries the slightly musty scent of hay. The cheese has a smooth, pale yellow appearance, and its texture is pleasantly dense and tacky in the mouth. Savory from start to finish, the rich flavor of Vermont Shepherd exhibits an initial note of sourness, an indication of its pure ewe’s milk composition (sometimes referred to as “sheepiness”). Its complex flavor is characterized by fleeting herbal notes and a lingering, nutty sweetness.

Vermont Shepherd is a versatile cheese that can be appreciated by connoisseurs and novices alike. With its rich, subtle flavor profile, Vermont Shepherd is complemented by a range of accoutrements, including dried or preserved fruits (the cheesemaker suggests cherry preserves or glazed figs), nuts, or olives. I prefer the intensity of concentrated fruit to fresh fruit with this cheese, and suggest that you save the apples and grapes to accompany other cheeses. Similarly, choose a flavorful beverage to drink with Vermont Shepherd, be it a fruity red or white wine, a semi-dry cider, or a rich, smooth beer.