Some evenings after getting off the train in Grand Central, I take a “short cut” through the fantastic Grand Central Market on my way to the subway, but it is usually more of an excuse to stop by the Murray’s Cheese counter there. On a recent evening, I was in a rather racy mood and asked a Murray’s Cheese woman to suggest a tangy cheese to me. I was given a sample of something, and I was blown away by how unusual and tasty it was. It was full of contradictions: nutty and sharp, fruity and pungent. Then she mentioned it was a washed rind. This surprised me because the cheese was so not scary. Washed rinds are supposed to be scary, right? These cheeses were supposed to be accompanied by a nostril assault that makes you pray to the patron saint of clothespins. Right?
Well, this one was surprisingly approachable. I bought a quarter pound of it and took it home. As the Hubs and I enjoyed the cheese over the next couple days, I continued to marvel at the fact that it was a washed rind. Sure, it was a little stinky in aroma, but not in taste. I began to think I had washed rind cheese all wrong. In order to do right by it, I came up with the idea of The Culture Club: Mission Stank.
I purchased the cheeses at Stinky Bklyn and Murrays Cheese. Stinky has really wonderful, personal customer service. I happened to go in when it wasn’t busy, so the cheese monger spent a lot of time with me, and he explained that washed rind cheeses are called such because as they age, the outside of the cheese wheel is repeatedly bathed in a brine or other liquid that promotes bacteria growth, which eventually causes a heady aroma. He patiently described and let me taste many of the examples they have. I asked what types of accompaniments went best with this type of cheese, and he suggested a lambic beer, a sweet white wine, or a bubbly wine. For bread, he said a rye or pumpernickel works well.
Murray’s Cheese, I think mostly by virtue of the enormous counter over which you must lob questions to the sales people, offers a little less personalized service, but the people are nice enough and if you make clear that you are buying something, they are happy to let you taste too. This sales person also mentioned a sweet white wine, like a Reisling, to go with it, and she also suggested a chutney and a white bread.
[A Note: when you buy washed rind cheeses, be prepared to get stares or worse on your way home (if you use public transportation that is). On my way home from Murray's, people waved their hands in front of their noses when I entered the subway, and at one stop, two women moved to the next car of the train to escape the smell. Such is magnitude of the stank!]
So, the line-up: 5 cheeses (3 from Stinky, 2 from Murray’s; I presented them on a board accompanied by the labels from the respective stores so that we would know what we were eating); 3 breads: pumpernickel (thanks to the Predicate), Mazzola’s amazing cranberry-nut bread, and baguette (both care of Em, who also brought some yellow plums and avocados!), plus some plain crostini; 2 spreads: ginger jam, mango chutney; and a flight of 3 beverages: Cherry Lambic (c/o Predicate), a Rose Cava, and a sweet Riesling. Grapes, plums, and cherries were also on hand to cleanse the palate. I’d say we more than had our bases covered!
We couldn’t do a washed rind cheese tasting without sampling a cheese from France, the stinky cheese capital of the world, now could we? We started with Livarot [$22/lb. at Stinky], a cow’s milk cheese from the Normandy region of France. A fun fact from Stinky label: Proust once referred to this cheese as “the feet of God.” That is about right! Someone asked if the rind was edible, and I said that Stinky technically said yes, but not advised, Murray’s said yes, please do. The Predicate brazenly declared, “I’m gonna try the rind,” quickly followed up by a dead-serious “The. Rind. Is. Not. Good.” This cheese was soft and oozy, with a little some bitterness that was brought out by the lambic and especially the pumpernickel. It tasted a bit better with the Riesling, which surprised me as I dislike Riesling itself enough that I didn’t think it could make anything taste better.
The second cheese was called Dorset [$20/lb. at Stinky], made in Champlain Valley in Vermont, at a farm with a funny name: Consider Bardwell Farm. Atypically among washed rind cheeses, the Dorset is rather firm. It has a really strong pungent smell, but the taste is almost reminiscent of a cheddar or some thought gouda. It was very accessible among washed rinds, especially on the cranberry bread, which Em pointed out lent a nice contrast to the pungency. But the Predicate noted that “the pumpernickel brings out the stank.”
The most familiar cheese in this bunch was the Taleggio, from the Lombardia region of Italy. [$13.99/lb. at Murray's]. The Hubs noted from the start that the aroma was very earthy and green, “like brussel sprouts.” This cheese was thought by most of us to be beyond “accessible” and indeed approaching mundane. The Hubs mused that “it almost tastes like Laughing Cow.” While I wouldn’t go that far, we all agreed it was the least interesting cheese overall. Em, while acceding that the cheese was not “controversial,” appreciated the ultra-creamy texture.
Grayson [$19.99/lb. at Murray's] from Meadow Creek Dairy in southwest Virginia. The milk comes from Jersey cows reared using sustainable farming practices, which made me feel even better about this truly enjoyable cheese. It was the stinkiest of the bunch (which says a lot!), but we didn’t let the olfactory onslaught intimidate us. With this cheese especially, we all remarked on how cuckoo it was that something could smell so wrong, but taste so right. It was soft but not oozy, creamy and fruity, and I deemed it my favorite, though Hubs thought it tasted a bit of fish, which, though I didn’t taste it, I admit isn’t something most people look for in a cheese.
One doesn’t normally associate washed rind cheese with Ireland, but indeed there is at least one produced there, and we tried it. It is called Ardrahan [$20/lb. at Stinky], and is from Kanturk in County Cork. It has a creamy, brie-like texture, and is almost as stinky as the Grayson. This one was for me unpleasantly bitter, though for others, especially paired with the sweet-ish cranberry bread or the lambic wasn’t half bad. The Cava ended up not pairing well with any of the cheeses, but this cheese least so, as Em pointed out.
Overall: Most of us enjoyed the Dorset and Meadow Creek the most, though Livarot ran a close third place. The Talegio and Dorset would be the best for washed rind philistines. If bitter is your thing, go for the Livarot or Ardrahan.
The Lambic and especially the Riesling paired well with all the cheeses. I wouldn’t recommend anything dry, like the Cava.
The pumpernickel, while tasty on its own, tended to bring out the worst in all the cheeses. The cranberry bread went well with all, and the baguette provided a nice, unobtrusive platform for the flavors. The plain crostini operated the same way, but offered a nice crunch too.
The chutney was too overwhelming in flavor for these cheeses (though not for cheddar), but the ginger jam worked well with most of them. Honestly, though, I would skip the spreads with washed rind cheese, and just simply bask in the revelatory stank of it all. Though your fellow subway riders might be sorry, I promise you, you won’t be.
The inspiration for making this dish was two-fold. First, I went to the great little French restaurant in my neighborhood, Ici, for brunch a couple weekends ago, and I had the quinoa with roasted vegetables and pesto, which was really simple and delicious. Second, when I talked on the phone with my Mom last weekend, she told me about a bulgur recipe she makes, and it sounded like a healthy and simple weeknight meal. When I went to the store to buy the bulgur, I spied the quinoa and it occurred to me that it would be a slightly exotic stand-in for the bulgur wheat from Mom’s recipe.
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