March 2007


The cheeses of the north are kind of the working class heroes; the ones you love to eat every day. They don't get the long aging that farmhouse cheddar does; they lack the sense of prosperity and out-of-London-but-never-the-less successful, gentleman farming that's so charming in Cheshire, and they certainly don't carry the cachet that's been bestowed on Stilton.

Which is why, like the dark Dales and rather bleakly majestic Pennines mountains of northern England, these cheeses not first on any world traveler's hit list. But don't let that lack of a listing in Travel and Leisure put you off—these are some great tasting cheeses, unfamiliar to most of the world, but beloved of most folks who've had the chance to experience them.

Farmhouse Lancashire from Graham Kirkham
High Flyin' Floofy Monstahs
This is probably the best known of this northerly bunch here in Ann Arbor. The Kirkham family's farmhouse Lancashire—selected and matured for us by our friends at Neal's Yard Dairy—has long been a Zing favorite.

Many of us have come to smilingly know this cheese by its rather rock and roll sounding moniker of the "floofy monstah." To translate from the Lancastrian dialect, "floofy" is "fluffy," a reference to the wonderfully crumbly light texture that's so unique to traditionally made farmhouse Lancashire like Graham's. "Monstahs," or "monsters," is a reference to the monstrously amazingly good flavor that Graham's cheeses can have when they're at their best (which is what we get thanks to the tasting and selecting skills of everyone at Neal's Yard Dairy).

It's good to remember that Graham Kirkham is the only one making the truly traditional version of the cheese. Fortunately for us, Graham left his career as an auto mechanic to take over from his mother in 1997. With the help, patience and support of the NYD folks, the improvements have been sent back to the shop so to speak and today the cheese is probably as good as it's ever been.

It's the totally traditional method of making it. Graham is using three-days curd. So he's making cheese on, say, a Saturday, that would mean he'd be working with a blend of Friday's curd, Thursday's curd and Wednesday's as well. Working a bit more like a chef than a science-centered cheesemaker, Graham mixes each cheese by eye and feel, not from a strict, predetermined recipe. The curd is then blended with salt, put into forms and aged for at least four months before it's ready to send our way.

Although it's hardly a rock star in the food world, farmhouse Lancashire is a unique cheese, and it's long been one of my favorites. It's really one of the most three-dimensional eating experiences I've had. In fact, I don't think I can really separate the taste from the texture—the cheese is crumbly and creamy, mellow and tangy all at the same time. If you cut it with a wire, Lancashire looks a lot like cheddar. If you break it, it looks a bit more like Parmesan. Lancashire is actually much, much softer than either of those two better-known offerings.

I'll state unequivocally that Lancashire is more interesting to eat when it's served at room temperature. In that warmish state it's great with fruit and nuts of all sorts. Or just crumble it (it melts better crumbled than cut) onto a slice of bread (Farm would be great I think) and run it under the broiler 'til the edges of the bread are golden brown and the cheese is almost running off the edges. It's superb served with apple cider (hard or soft) or a good glass of English ale.

Working Its Way Back—The Return of Well-Made Wensleydale
The bad news is that, Wensleydale was one of the traditional British cheeses that fell completely off the map of farmstead production. The good news of late, though, is that Randolph and the folks at Neal's Yard have been working closely for the last few years with a quality-conscious, mid-sized Creamery in Hawes.

Slowly, and actually very surely, they've recreated much of the flavor of the cheese when it was at its traditional best. The Hawes Wensleydale is made from pasteurized milk, but in fairly small batches and with Randolph's gentle guidance the cheese is already darned good. After visiting last year, having seen the progress they've made already, and from what Randolph's told me, I'm guessing that in the coming years the cheese is going to get even better still.

The Hawes Wensleydale continues to grow on me—I like it more each time I eat it. It's got a soft, gentle flavor, with a really nice, slightly honeyed sweetness, with undertones of good Greek yogurt. It's got a fine, starchy texture that makes it akin to eating a good roasted potato or loaf of Farm bread from the Bakehouse.

If you were up in the Dales, the end of a day's work might often be a Yorkshire hotpot of Wensleydale melted onto toast accompanied by a pint of beer. Like the others in this North Country collection, it's excellent eaten at room temperature with bread, fruit, nuts. When you get to the of a meal, remember that Wensleydale is also the apple pie cheese—it's very typically (and I'll add deliciously) served with a couple wedges of Wensleydale (room temperature but not melted) riding atop the crust.

Red Leicester
Based on emotion alone, I'd have to class myself as a big promoter of this cheese. As a kid who grew up on American singles, I gotta have a soft spot in my heart for a farmhouse cheese that's supposed to be super orange. The Red Leicester cheese is back from an unplanned "retirement" of probably two decades. It's being made by very nice folks who are seriously dedicated to doing the right thing when it comes to traditional cheese making.

Best we know, no one has made an on farm Leicester cheese for decades; I vaguely remember some being made when we opened the Deli back in the early '80s. David and Jo Clarke have started to make it again at Sparkenhoe Farm in Leicestershire. The Clarkes wanted to get into cheesemaking in the interest of diversifying their family farm and capitalizing on the already very good milk their herd was producing.

Originally, the Clarkes decided they wouldn't make the old local Leicester cheese that their region was once known for. But, as David related when a bunch of us visited a few months ago, "We kept asking around about which cheese we should make. People kept saying 'if you could make the local Red Leicester the way I remember it, that'd be wonderful.'" They ended up coming upon a guy who remembered the cheese well from his youth. And with the help of his taste memories, they set out to make it.

"We're pretty close to it now," David said. It's exciting to be able to support the hard work that they've done to restore what was for too long a lost tradition.

While they're only a year or so into what will hopefully be a decades-long process of development, the cheese is already pretty darned good. The Clarkes are working only with the milk of their own Friesian Holstein herd. They clearly understand the quality of the cheese is hugely dependent on the quality of the milk and they put enormous energy into their animal husbandry. David declared, "We want our herd to top out at 58 inches in height. Big cows have big problems and I like smaller cows. We know them all, our cows; they all have names. We look out for all of them."

The cheese itself comes in traditional, flat, 20-kilo,cloth-wrapped wheels. I really love the aroma of this cheese. It's kind of earthy and woodsy. Its flavor goes straight back to the back of the mouth with a surprising creaminess. It is pretty darned tasty. Again, it's very, very good with ale, great on a grilled cheese.

Cotherstone
While we were in England just after the New Year, Randolph was saying that he loved Cotherstone because it was one of the most primitive of English cheeses. In the same way that our Creamery cream cheese carries you back to the way folks were eating a hundred years ago, Cotherstone is a taste of the way Englishmen were eating up north centuries ago.

In Randolph's view, Cotherstone itself is probably a direct descendant of the better known Wensleydale. In the 19th century, because it could be kept for a long time, Cotherstone proved popular with cheese traders. Today, as far as I know, there's only one place left making Cotherstone. It comes from the farm of Joan Cross at Barnard Castle, where she has been making the cheese for over 25 years.

The traditional cheesemakeing season is from May to the first frost in the fall, but at Barnard Castle today it is made pretty much all year round. It's usually getting to us after about three months of maturing. Mrs. Cross made the cheese in the farm kitchen as a child, as did her mother and aunts. While this may sound somewhat romantic to us, it's not easy work. And it has to be done pretty much every day through the entire milking season. Which is why it didn't really surprise me that much that Randolph revealed that, "Joan once told me she married Olwen to get away from cheesemaking." Even so, she continued to make the cheese in small quantities and sell it to local shops.

If you, like me, like the crumbly English classics like Lancashire, Wensleydale, even Cheshire, you're likely to enjoy the Cotherstone. Like all the other cheeses here, Cothertone is the kind of cheese you just eat and enjoy as is. It's a little crumbly in texture, nicely sort of yogurt-like, maybe slightly lemony and milky in its flavor. Not as sweet as Wensleydale, not as buttery or as lively on the tongue as Lancashire but bouncier than say Double Gloucester or Red Leicester. It's excellent with oatcakes for breakfast. Put it out with great with a pint of stout before dinner. Or eat it for a snack, as part of a Plowman's lunch with a bit of pate, pickled onions and country bread.