Langres, (Lan)-GREY-sah. Just kidding, I have no idea.

Dear Reader,

Long have I been gone from the bandwidth-bound halls of the blogonet, and far have I travelled. I return now for those hopeful ears still checking this site like a cold war spymaster keeping the back channels open and waiting for the wall to fall. I'm not sure my analogies have gotten any better, but that little segway was meant to signal my change of location. I'll give you a hint, some ill-advised people built an ill-advised wall and it's neither Palestine nor any of the southernmost US states. Also the wall is gonzo. While that brain-teaser teases your brain, let me tell you about today's cheese. I have honestly no idea how frequently these posts are going to come out, but I'm going to savor writing it so I hope you at least mildly enjoy reading it.

In keeping with my new top-secret location, today's cheese is available in it's true form only in Europe (dang, my loose lips have loosed a clue!). For those of you familiar with this blog, me, or cheese (funny how they are interchangeable here...), it will be clear that this is an unpasteurized cheese. Furthermore it's French. I'm not in France. I don't speak a word of the language that doesn't describe curdled milk. Hailing from the high pastures of the Champagne-Ardenne region, it's a stinker. I'm sitting at this very moment nose directly above a cut of it, and it has a definite aroma. Smells like a thousand million tiny little bac-teria encouraged by repeated baths in a brine solution munching away at a Penicillium Camemberti feast. Flowers are overrated Langres is not.

Origin: Champagne-Ardenne, France
Milk: Cow, unpasteurized
Affinage: 4-8 weeks
Rennet: Animal
Notes: Mine was on the younger side of Langres, and was still pretty much intact. On the near side of 8 weeks it'll be a sloppy, glorious mess. Colored with annatto, aged in damp vaults, and occasionally bathed in Champagne, this cheese has everything. 50% fat per solid content, AOC protected, super delicious.
Thoughts: For all its intense smell the flavor is not at all harsh. That is not to say it lacks flavor, though, far from it. The smallest morsel has more notes than you'd find in a modest three course meal or middle school rendition of Hot Cross Buns. The snow-white paste in the center has texture and spring, and leads you on a wonderland of flavor, never peaking but also never dying. The creamy richness parades mushroom, hay, hints of garlic, and something that I can only describe as the damp interior of a cheese aging shack. Because that 1) is so universally appealing 2) so universally relate-able. The creamline and the washed rind add some spice, waking up the back of your palate and then bathing it in heavy cream. I seem to be digging deeper. Oh well, if you're reading this blog at all you have the best chance of the whole world to find these descriptions even slightly appealing. The rind is unlike most any washed rind I've tried before, truly working with the rest of the cheese and just layering on the textural and flavor highlights with hints of bacon and just enough bite to remind you that you're consciously eating something and not just awash in a cheesy dream. Eat it. Eat it right up.

Get this. Here I am walking around the streets of (spoiler alert) Berlin when I see a specialty Italian foods store. Flush with confidence after my recent purchase of today's cheese I enter the establishment and ask the stout yeoman behind the counter about his wares. He proudly shows off 4 or 5 Italian cheeses that I could find you at your local King Soopers or Shaws. Unswayed I ask him if he carries any buffalo cheese, something the Italians do even better than impractical exotic super cars with unreliable electronics. He shows me a plastic-sealed (see supermarket brand) ball of Mozzarella di Bufala di Campagna. Feeling that I'm treading dangerously close to a certain Monty Python script, I ask him if he carries any other buffalo cheeses, having tried at least 4 myself and blogged about as many as well. He tells me in his best German customer service tone that there are no other Italian buffalo cheeses. I then shot him through the head. A joke you too will get if you watch the linked video. Or if you, like me, have already memorized it.  

Morbier, Morbi-HEY!

Dear Readers,  

They rhyme, you see. 

A lot of you folks might have heard of this particular French specialty, but I just realized I had not yet shared it with you, my internet friends. Here it is. Morbier. 

It is in fact pronounced morbi-yay, which makes it one of the happier and more joyful cheeses out there. It gets its characteristic streak of ash from a little story of old. Back in the day they would take the morning milking and layer those curds into the bottom of the form, and then cover that with a layer of vegetable ash to preserve it throughout the day. That evening the second milking would go on top of the first, giving the final cheese a layer of ash with both form and function. These days they do it just to keep up the tradition, but we like it anyways. The same ash system is seen in modern cheeses such as Humboldt Fog, and it is pretty sexy. You know, for a cheese. 

Origin: Franche-Comté, France 

Milk: Cow, raw or pasteurized

Affinage: up to 2 or 3 months

Rennet: Animal

Notes: Part-Skim milk, and the sweet aroma and yellow-orange rind of a washed-cheese.

Thoughts:  This cheese is mild at first but the creamy goodness develops into a delicious semi-soft morsel. The flavor is meaty and not as harsh as some French cheeses, and although the smell is definitely that of a washed-rind the bark is, as always, worse than its bite. There is a lot of differentiation among brands here, so make sure you are a diligent cheese shopper. Ask that stout yeoman, demand a sample, give it the old smell-test. If it doesn't smell like much, you don't want it. This is a cheese to be warmed up, served with some salami and bread, and washed down with a hearty red. Or pop, I don't know. 

The cool dairy kids use volcanic vegetable ash. From them volcanoes. Truth.    

Beecher's Marco Polo, Marco, Polo, Marco, Polo, Marco

Rarely do we find cheeses named for popular pool playtime activites, but here is one such cheese. To be perfectly frank I can't decide if their naming method makes the most sense to me. Their website credits the great explorer for bringing spices and peppercorn back to the Old World, but we don't call all fur products Lewis and Clarks, or all... all... there's a Christopher Coloumbus joke to make here but I feel like it'd be in bad taste.

Fortunately, what's in good taste is this cheese. Beecher's Marco Polo is a rare exception to my rule of no shenanigans in my cheddar. By shenanigans, of course, I mean things that aren't milk, rennet, salt, or starters. This would usually include black peppercorns and most certainly includes peppers, garlic, horseradish, and, heaven help us, maple smokiness of questionable origin. In the case of Beecher's, though, the cheese is already so good that they get away with it. 

Origin: Seattle, Washington, USA

Milk: Cow, pasteurized

Rennet: Animal

Affinage: 4-6 months

Notes: Milled green and black peppercorns from Madagascar. Perhaps not the most locavore of choices, but true enough to its name. So.... check that one off the bucket list.... eat Madagascar peppercorns. Yup.

Thoughts: Sweet and nutty are immediately met with the dark and spicy notes from the peppercorn, but no one flavor ever overpowers the other. The rich and almost chocolatey nature of the cheddar is the perfect match for the spice of the peppercorn, and the already delectable texture of their cheddar is only highlighted by the occasional crunch. The aftertaste is one of a slight heat, peppery of course but deliciously so, and overall the cheese proves that flavors can be added without making the entire experience dull, heavy, and boring.

Mad Men is like miracle gro for the old man in me.

Lou Bergier Pinchin, The Cheese Of The House

Actually, the name means Father of the House, but this a cheese blog, after all. 

This is no ordinary cheese, this is actually one of those crazy progressive tree-hugging earth-saving vegetarian cheeses. Watch out, I hear they only eat whey. Or something. 

But really, though, this is fun even as vegetarian cheeses go. It doesn't use the usual thistle nonsense, instead it's the so-called Kinara Method, with alpine flowers only. This is a fun and oldschool system, but it certainly works cheese magic. The name is in reference to Nonno Magno, the grandfather of the founder, and all that Italian familial love is present in the rich paste of Lou Bergier Pinchin. 

Origin: Piedmont, Italy

Milk: Cow, unpasteurized

Rennet: Crazy Kinara vegetarian

Affinage: 60 days

Notes: Don't be put off by the natural and soft rind, it's definitely still delicious. Funky though it may look, it's a keeper. 

Thoughts: Chewy, ultra creamy, this cheese has everything. Meat notes. Salt notes. More meat notes. More salt notes. Nothing like Italian cheeses to make you think you're eating steak. Delicious milky steak. The texture is what sets this apart, chewy and sticky, it melts on the palate once it heats up. It has a Mochi-like beginning texture, with a milky and fully over-the-top creaminess carrying the flavor along. Mushroom and garlic tag along because, hey, who doesn't like them?

Flat tires on my car tried to kill the Cheese, but the cheese overcame it with the power of awesomeness and tire patches!!!!!

Neufchâtel, Super Delicious and Super Unimportable

Some people go their entire lives and never eat really incredible cheese. There are some cheeses that require expeditions, quests, life plans. Neufchâtel is one of those cheeses. Not much of a crazy story for this one, but here's what I have. This was one of those cheeses I had been looking to try when I was in Germany, and sure enough my local stout yeoman always had some on hand. I got the prized heart slice, which meant both a super delicious and a super messy piece. Here it is, folks, a cheese to definitely try if you're ever in France. 

Origin: Normandie, France

Milk: Cow, unpasteurized

Rennet: Animal

Affinage: 6-8 weeks

Notes: Name controlled cheese, 45% fat content. Melts like buttah. 

Thoughts: Though the chalky, almost crumbly paste is dry at first it is decadently sharp and full of salty/sweet goodness. As it breaks down a dark creaminess covers the palate and the fatty richness takes over with notes of grass and mushrooms fighing their way though. Mine had lost a little of its structural integrity on the way home from the store (it was a little hot that day) but this displays all the better the different parts of this surface ripened beauty. The rind and creamline themselves form a sensational pair, every bit as smooth and unassuming at first as you could hope but building into a pretty decent bite towards the end and on into the aftertaste. Combine some of the creamy, milky interior with this spicy shell and you get a flavor sensation that is hard to beat, truly a testament to the power of a good French cheese. 

I am a little sad to be using up these delicious unpasteurized cheeses, I won't be able to replace them with new entries until my next visit. What's a functioning cheese addict to do?