French Cheese: Roquefort

Roquefort, a sheep milk cheese, has been in the spotlight since Charlemagne chose it to be his favourite and late medieval French kings gave this culinary marvel special status which was way before the Enlightenment philosopher Diderot decided to plonk the title of The King of Cheeses—don't tell Roquefort, but quite a number of cheeses are considered kingly including Parmesan and Comté—upon its unsuspecting head. The eponymous village and surrounding area certainly needed a royal boost as it was described as being the land where neither vineyards nor corn will grow. By the 20th century Roquefort was enjoying international appreciation.

The famous Combalou caves lined with fleurines (fissures) which ensure the air is kept consistently fresh and cool are referred to as the cabanes, hence the women employees are called the cabanières. To this day some work is mostly done by women because wrapping the cheese for affinage requires a gentle hand. However, in large part, the manufacture is highly technical and mechanised, but without violating any of the strict parameters necessary to keep its special designation.

Nuts and dried fruit in general go well with cheese. A totally fabulous way to present that tasty duo with Roquefort is to serve fruit/nut cake with it.

With that in mind, I went ahead and ordered such an item from The Simply Delicious Cake Company situated in Shropshire, UK. Unlike them I can be immodest and say that their name could conceivably be replaced in a New York minute with a way more appropriate one of The Mind-Blowing Delicious Cake Company. Among their many offerings is a fruit cake just for cheese. This masterpiece contains figs, dates, raisins, apples, and apricots with walnuts and ground almonds thrown in for good measure and is held together by a nearly skeletal structure—no skimping on fruit and nuts at this bakery—of moist, butter-rich cake. Though sweetened with brown sugar and molasses which deepens its fruity, nutty flavours even further, it isn't sweet enough to grace a cup of tea. But it is a perfect companion for cheese, especially cheddar and blue cheese.

France is in the middle of its second canicule, that is, heatwave, for the season. One advantage? It does not take long to bring Roquefort to room temperature! Like all good companions, the cake brings out the best in the Roquefort, and the Roquefort does the same for the cake. Saltiness and sweetness are perfect foils, but also the comforting solidity of the cake takes on the crumbly tanginess of Roquefort like a champ.

Roquefort makes an easy and wonderful dip for crackers and crudités. Mash it with some crème fraîche and enough cream to get the desired consistency. The dip also can be mixed into pasta. With all the green beans streaming in from the potager, a quick meal lately has been a salad of green beans, capers, Roquefort, and chunks of French bread, all tossed together with olive oil, vinegar, salt, and freshly ground black pepper.

Le Livre du Fromage (Éditions des Deux Coqs d'Or, 1968) advises that all wines go well with Roquefort with the exception of sweet ones so if you are considering champagne go brut. But for a sublime pairing, choose from the great red wines like Pape Clément, Châteauneuf du Pape, Chambertin, Clos Vougeot, and Haut-Brion.

À la prochaine!

Related Posts

Saint Agur Bleu

Comté

Coulommiers 

Pont-l'Évêque

Maroilles

Reblochon
Bleu d'Auvergne
Cantal
Bresse Bleu

Related Link

The Simply Delicious Cake Company's website

French Cheese: Saint Agur Bleu

Saint Agur enjoys a cherished reputation despite the fact that it was created rather recently unlike the other notable cheeses from the same region.  There is not a shred of terroir regarding it: The saintly reference is fictive; Agur is a Basque word for hello; it's made from pasturized cow milk with added cream. Coming into being in 1988, means there's nary a mention in my second-hand Le Livre Du Fromage (Editions Des Deux Coqs D'or) which was published twenty years before the French company Bongrain (presently known as Savencia Fromage & Dairy) put this luscious double-cream cheese boasting 60% butterfat on the market.  The French Wikipedia article recommends Vouvray demi-sec as accompaniment. It's so rich, it can be whipped. And whipped it was.  Moist dried apricots were topped with swirls of whipped Saint Agur, coarsely chopped walnuts, and drizzles of maple syrup.

There are several packaging options available here, from tubs to foil-wrapped hexagonal forms . . .

. . . but my favourite is a reasonably sized slab encased in a resealable tray.

These robustly flavoured, dark olive-green flecks are floating in a creamy ocean thereby creating a balance between mild and sharp that is alluring.

Each walnut was cut into four pieces. The pitted apricots were pulled apart gently to make thinner halves. 

Halving also reveals a deeper coloured succulence. Put chunks of Saint Agur in a mixing container/bowl, add a little cream, and whip away. Using a teaspoon, place a small mound on each apricot, and repeat with another but smaller mound. If desired, the whipped cheese can be piped on via a pastry bag or a sturdy plastic bag with one corner snipped.

Top with a walnut piece and sprinkle a few drops of maple (or honey). If getting your fingers sticky is not a concern than let those apricot boats carry as much sweet cargo as is your wont. The combination of salty and sweet is a perfect way to wake up lethargic tastebuds, while the gold and white colour theme psychologically perks you up in the bleak of winter.

À la prochaine!

Related Posts

Comté

Coulommiers 

Pont-l'Évêque

Maroilles

Reblochon
Bleu d'Auvergne
Cantal
Bresse Bleu

French Cheese: Comté

Ah, the confusing world of Gruyère! It seems, and that verb is the best to use in the realm of perplexity in which such a venerable cheese finds itself, Gruyère is a cheese made in the eponymous town in Switzerland. Simple, you say? Get ready for a wave of undulating nuance. A similar cheese made in France is called the same name. Additionally there are several French cheeses that are considered to be Gruyère but have different appellations like Beaufort, Emmental, and the subject of this post, the gorgeous and glorious Comté, one of the finest cheeses in the world. Being a mountain cheese, and since salt was not the easiest commodity to drag up steep inclines, it was used sparingly. Because of less salt its meltability increased. Comté's versatility will cheer up a cheese platter as well as dishes like fondue, croque-monsieur (grilled cheese), and savoury tarts.

There are two grades, the brown label which denotes possible holes and the green label which means that the texture will be more smooth. The latter is preferred for cheese platters. The affinage is rather broad and can be anywhere between a minimum of 4 months to 18 and longer. My beauty is aged twenty months and has the green label so I am going to use it on platters besides cooking with it.

Based on the age, I am guessing that the cows whose milk produced it did not dine on summer pastures. If they did, the colour would be more golden because of the higher carotene content.

When first moving here all those years ago, I sampled a bit of Comté on a platter presented by our dinner hostess. The other cheeses were way more impressive to my tastebuds and from that time on, I got my hands on every other French cheese I could. My conjecture is that our host must have served a less aged version, because when I tasted some the other day, I was impressed to an embarrassing degree. What degree would that be, you ask? I climbed up on our roof and yelled, Eat aged Comté. Now. Please. Thank you. (Note to The Calm One: our roof badly needs repairs.) The flavour hovers between tangy and sweet tinged with caramel, and I mean hover, you're never quite sure which of those two tastes will dominate, keeping your palate awake. The texture is similar to the richest nougat, unctuous beyond belief with a touch of gooeyness before giving way to an umami cloud pervading every nook and cranny of my very fortunate mouth. It is essential to bring the cheese to room temperature to get the full sensory experience.

Spying some leftover pastry dough along with several leeks and crème fraîche in the fridge, I created Comté Crème Fraîche Leek Pastry Bites to celebrate the serendipity of having those ingredients at my fingertips.

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Slice leeks lengthwise almost but not cutting through the root end. Splay the leek layers while rinsing under water to get any dirt or sand out. Slice thinly, discarding the root. Gently saute with a bit of butter and water in a covered skillet for about five to ten minutes till translucent and soft. Put just enough crème fraîche along with the leeks in a bowl in order to use a stick mixer to get a rough blend. Salt to taste.

While the leeks are simmering, roll out dough and cut into five-centimetre (two-inch) circles. Pierce with the tines of a fork to prevent puffing up during baking. Bake about ten minutes. Remove and switch oven to broil function.

Put a dollop of leek mixture on each round.

Top with a small square of Comté, squishing it into the tiny mound of leek puree.

Broil for just about a minute, fairly close to the heat. Remember Comté melts fast. The smokiness of aged Comté finds its match with a Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Such a pairing made for a lovely late supper. Their small size allows an easy pop into the mouth without crumbs so they would be great for stand-up buffets. They could be put together ahead of time and then placed under the broiler when needed. Small rich crackers mostly likely would be a fine substitute for pastry.

À la prochaine!

OTHER FRENCH CHEESE POSTS

Coulommiers 

Pont-l'Évêque

Maroilles

Reblochon
Bleu d'Auvergne
Cantal
Bresse Bleu

RELATED LINKS

Comté flavor wheel & wine pairing infographic
Basic Information on Comté 
Two part article by David Leibovitz regarding his visits to 1) Comté  fruitiéres and 2) ripening caves

French Cheese: Reblochon

Reblochon in French means to pinch a cow's udder again. Centuries ago, the French Alpine tenant dairy farmers were taxed on the yield of milk provided by their cows. Since they did not fully milk at first go, the landowner's cut was based on that incomplete amount. The farmer then finished the milking second time around which was kept for making cheese. In this way the landowner was milked, not only in quantity but also quality, as the second milking provided richer milk. However, it was only much later, around the 1980s that tartiflette came into being as a dish to showcase this raw milk AOC cheese. This dish is unforgettable because of the tremendous meltability of Reblochon allowing it to become an instant sauce in which onions, potatoes, and bacon are braised though the bloomy rind coloured with a flush of orange-red remains in the form of an intensely flavoured, honeycombed crisp. I first made this Savoie dish during our ten-year sojourn in Grenoble. This time around, I substituted lean minced beef for bacon because I was aiming for something a little less rich.

The potatoes are from our potager

I love that reblochon comes with its own little cutting board.

Ingredients
makes 6 copious servings
An oven dish holding at least 2 L is required

• Reblochon, 450 g round (because of it being made from raw milk, it is no longer available in America, but a pasturised version is, called Delice de Jura.)
• Potatoes, all purpose, 1 kg
• Bacon (chopped) or lean minced beef, 200 g
• Onions, yellow, medium, 2 (around 200 g)
• White wine or broth or cream (which is what I used), 10 cl
• Oil (if not using bacon), 2-3 T (I used sunflower)
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
• Nutmeg, if desired (freshly ground), to taste

Peel potatoes and cut into chunks roughly the size of unshelled walnuts: big enough to know it's a potato, small enough so it will become tender.

You will need a large fry pan, preferably non-stick. Thinly slice the peeled onions. You can halve them first, then slice. If using bacon, render it first for a minute or two and then add onions. If using beef, brown in a separate pan in a little oil, set aside, and add onions to the large fry pan well slicked with oil. Saute onions over medium-low heat for several minutes until translucent and a little soft.

Add potatoes and cook gently for about twenty minutes, stirring from time to time.

When they are fork tender, though not completely cooked, splash in the wine or broth or cream. Stirring more frequently, simmer for another five minutes.

Preheat oven to 200 degrees C. Meanwhile, cut the round of cheese in half, then slice crosswise each half to get 4 thin sections.

Chop coarsely two sections of cheese and add them along with the potato mixture into an oven dish. If substituting beef, add that. Mix well. Season to taste. Place the two remaining sections of cheese (with the rind side facing up) on top.

The wonderful oval ceramic dish gotten from a flea market cost just a few euros

Bake for around 20 minutes until the potatoes are fully tender, the cheese is oozing and bubbling like there is no tomorrow, and the rind is golden and crisp. Let cool for a little while for the ocean of cheese to thicken a bit.

Tartiflette most likely is derived from the Arpitan word for potato

Serve with green salad and white wine. If you chose beef instead of bacon, light red wines like Sancerre and Beaujolais are possibilities. And thank your lucky stars those Alpine dairy farmers were smarter then their landowners.

À la prochaine!

RELATED POSTS

French Cheese: Cantal
French Cheese: Maroilles
French Cheese: Bleu d'Auvergne
French Cheese: Bresse Bleu

French Cheeses: Cantal Apple Clafoutis

Years ago, when we first arrived in France, cheddar was much harder to come by so I had settled on using Cantal as a substitute since it has a similar melty butteriness though the flavour is tangier. Nowadays cheddar is frequently sighted in our fridge, often along with Cantal. It is one of the several superb AOC cheeses from the Auvergne region. There are three levels of affinage (aging): jeune (young) Cantal aged from one to two months; entre deux (between the two, that is, between jeune and vieux Cantal) aged from two to six months; vieux (old) aged more than six months. Cantal is further categorized by it being made from pasteurized milk (laitier/dairy) or from raw (fermier/farm).  Entre deux laitier is the one that is easily found and is used in this clafoutis. 

Cantal is one of the oldest French cheeses, dating back to the time of the Gauls

Though being simple and homey, Cantal apple clafoutis is pleasantly balanced between savoury and sweet. With a golden brown puffiness, it is as attractive to the eye as it is to the palette.

Ingredients
Adapted from this French site
makes a 20 cm/8-inch square

• Eggs, large, 2, (or 3 medium)
• Flour, white, 100 g/7 dry oz
• Milk, whole, 200 ml/6.8 fluid oz
• Apple, royal gala, large, 1
• Cantal, entre deux, 100 g/3.5 dry oz
• Salt, 1/2 tsp
• Black pepper, a grinding or two
• Nutmeg, freshly grated, 2 large pinches

Preheat oven to 180 degrees C/350 degrees F. Slice the cheese and the cored apple (peel if desired) thinly.

In a mixing bowl, beat eggs well, either with a fork or a whisk. Blend in the flour with a wooden spoon until very smooth. Add the nutmeg, salt, and black pepper. Pour in the milk and stir well.

In a well-buttered oven dish, layer the apples and cheese. I did three layers, ending in cheese for a nice browned effect.

Pour the batter over the layered cheese and apples.

The apples should be barely covered. Bake for around an hour or until the surface is completely puffed (including the centre). A knife inserted should come out mostly dry.

Let cool for a bit so it will set. Slightly warm to room temperature is a good range for serving.

At one time, a large, uncut Cantal was referred to as a Tomme which is synonymous to Fourme which refers to a type of drum created by les danseurs de bourrée de l'Aubrac for their dance which they did in their Burons (ancient stone dairy huts) situated upon the wild hill area of Auvergne. After eating a few servings of this custardy, savoury, slightly sweet dish, I did a dance too.

Le Livre du Fromage recommends several wines to go with Cantal, and one is Rully (a Burgundy Chardonnay) which happened to be in our cellier. Figs from our tree rounded off the meal.

À la prochaine!

RELATED LINKS

Wikipedia article on the bourrée (French clog dance)

French Cheeses: Bleu d'Auvergne

When The Calm One and I lived in Grenoble which at that time was part of the southeast French region of Rhone-Alpes, we often found ourselves visiting neighbouring Auvergne* which is known for cheese, lentils, forests, dormant volcanoes, mineral water, Charolais beef, aligot, and potée auvergnate. I remember walking down an aisle of a regional products shop while gawking at huge jars of this earthy pork and vegetable stew.  Apprehensive if I lugged one off the shelf that it would crash down on me and any unfortunate folks nearby, hence permeating us with essence of pork for all eternity, I refrained and bought a packet of Cantal cheese biscuits instead. They were rich, small, thick rounds which melted in my mouth. I ate the entire contents as if they were candy. Boasting these five beloved fromages—Cantal, Saint Nectaire, Forme d'ambert, Salers, and Bleu d'Auvergne—it beats any other administrative area in France for the number of gorgeous A.O.C. cheeses it produces.  Bleu d'Auvergne is a bit sauvage like the eponymous countryside. One can never eat enough blue cheese, unless of course if you detest it.  I would like to say to such folks go back to the planet from which you came. Yet even better, remain on earth and give me your portion. Crumbling blue cheese over scrambled eggs, pasta, soup, and salad (much quicker than making a dressing of it), really over most things, you can't go wrong. Its pungent, salty creaminess enhances, well, life.

Though certain herbs** can be successfully paired with blue cheese,  I used the ones available from our potager as a visual accompaniment. However, I was delighted that their vibrant fragrance whetted my appetite even more for the cheese.

On the left, Fennel, the herb (not the bulb!), sage, rosemary

Bleu d'Auvergne is essentially a cow-milk version of Roquefort so though similar, it is buttery and creamier.

Parsley and thyme joined the green crowd

Its soft croûte (rind) is lovely in taste and texture so make sure that everybody gets some.

Best served at room temperature

Le Livre du Fromage published by Deux Cogs D'or suggests a Châteauneuf-du-Pape because it is nerveux like Bleu d'Auvergne. The French often use that word to describe wine. Since I doubt it needs to be sedated, it is my interpretation that such wine gives a delicious jolt to YOUR nervous system. Our cellier obliged with a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. High-quality whiskey is another choice as are sweet wines like port, sauternes, monbazillac, and ice which balance out the saltiness.

There were no figs, walnuts, honey, apples, or pears chez nous, all which often are served with blue cheese. We did have some cherries and strawberries on hand, and they went well enough taste-wise. However the creaminess of the cheese was even more pronounced because of the juiciness of the berries. So texture-wise, it was a hit. Lesser known possibilities are blackberries (oh, I can't wait when our bush starts producing!), mushrooms, pineapple, and dark chocolate.

Our strawberry patch is getting close to harvesting. Well, a few have already been picked, by birds, hence the netting.

I sneak a hand under a loosened edge of the netting to get at the berries

David Austin Falstaff climbing rose is putting out many a fragrant bloom.

The grey-green foliage below is that of perennial yellow snapdragons which will bloom soon

A garden wall covered with ivy is ready for another trim.

Calla lilies and bougainvillea charm with their white and pink blooms.

The true flowers on a bougainvillea are not the conspicuous, deep-pink sepals but a hard-to-see, tiny, white blossom

À la prochaine!

*   Auvergne is now merged with Rhone-Alps

** Slightly frozen (yes, you heard right!) crumbled blue cheese combined with minced sour/bitter herbs

RELATED POSTS

French Cheeses: Maroilles

Baked Pasta with Puy Lentils, Basil & Gruyère

Asparagus and Green Onion soup garnished with crumbled Bleu d'Auvergne
Asparagus and Bresse Blue Grilled Sourdough Rye Sandwich
Aligot

RELATED LINKS

The fungus in your blue cheese is having weird sex!
Regional Dishes of Auvergne
Some fruit and alcohol pairing for blue cheese
The science behind food pairing

Our 2016 Noël Feast . . . and the continuing triple feline saga of Dirac, Eli & Ernest

The Calm One and I hope your holidays were joyful. After a nice long break, it's great to be blogging once again. French supermarkets having a foire du vin every autumn encourages squirrelling away bottles in our sous-sol's cool, dark cellier. There is ample shelving for pumpkins, onions, and potatoes from the potager along with space for growing mushrooms, crocks for fermenting various delices, and storing late-ripening tomato vines. A sanctum of plenty. And there are wine racks! A Pomerol from our stash was deemed the best choice for the holiday table. Don't worry, your vision is fine because that is a garlic press in the below photo. We'll blame the cognac that told me to take a sip, OK, several sips as I poured some into the shrimp bisque, not to mention that blindly rummaging the innards of a kitchen drawer with one hand while stirring several pots on the stove in rapid succession with the other renders corkscrews and garlic presses remarkably similar to the touch.

Our winter-flowering heather obliged with a small bouquet

Pomerol is the AOC referring to a small area within the right bank of the prestigious région viticole of Bordeaux. It has unassuming chateaux, no official classification, and not much recognition outside France until the American wine critic, Robert Parker, extolled its virtues starting in the 1980s. But it does have the exceptional blue clay of Petrus whose domain produces some of the most expensive wines in the world. The main cépage is the merlot grape variety. Pomerol is quite varied, from light to full-bodied. Though our moderately priced bottle did not come from Petrus, it still was wonderful, fleshy and fruity.

Last autumn, we got several, small wine glasses for a pittance at a flea market 

Since Pomerol pairs well with roasted, grilled, and braised meat, roast beef was chosen as the main course. With turf comes surf. Enjoying shrimp bisque at various restaurants, I always wanted to make one from scratch. Next week's post will have detailed instructions on this potent but silky mixture of shrimp, tomato, rice, cognac, mirepoix of carrot, celery and shallot, shrimp stock, cream, lemon, thyme, cayenne, and bay leaf. Until then, let's focus on the garnish, minced shrimp and chives, centred in a shallow soup plate.

The soup was ladled around that tempting little mound. Being of Goldilocks consistency, the bisque washed over my palate in a briny wave with an undercurrent of spice, nutty taste, slight sweetness, a bit of tang, and buttery savouriness, all laced with cream and cognac. It was the better the next day, and the day after, it reached regale status.

Last spring we forced some of the potager's rhubarb by overturning a large terracotta crock over a plant so there would be tender, pink puree in the freezer for our Noël dessert of rhubarb fool. Having made it before, I wanted to try something different which was adding crème anglaise which was folded completely into the whipped cream before partially folding in rhubarb. Having made also crème anglaise before, I, of course, wanted a new slant, so that lovely, thick custard sauce was made not with milk, but with cream. So what we have here is essentially unfrozen ice cream threaded with puree and topped with rhubarb coulis. Details on making the custard will be posted within this month. 

Beautiful billowy bounty

The day after, leftovers! A boon for both the chef, moi, and the dishwasher par excellence, The Calm One. Roast beef was sliced thinly and served with its reduced red wine/pan drippings sauce, along with mayonnaise, cornichons, pickled onions.

Once opened, wine is best consumed within several days

Buttered Brussels sprouts and roasted potatoes were reheated in the oven. Some astuces for great roasted taters is to give the pot of drained, quartered (if smaller, halved), cooked-till-nearly-fork-tender potatoes several good shakes to create texture, and then put them in a roasting pan in which butter was melted till bubbling either in the oven or on the stovetop depending on the pan's functionality, carefully coating all the pieces with the sizzling fat. Leave some room between each piece. Roast at any temperature that is convenient, until well browned. In a hot oven, it takes around thirty minutes.

Meanwhile, in The Furry Kingdom, where Dirac the Cat may be . . .

Eli the Kitten, formerly Eliza the Lost Kitten (who has found a home, ours!), is not far behind. We now think that he was very young when I found him dashing across a busy street, probably closer to two months than the three that we had guessed. Hence, his youth made it difficult to identify his sex. But as he got huskier, I realised, oh, it's has to be Eli, not Eliza. Eli likes to suckle the crook of my arm, especially if it is clothed in my favourite flannel shirt. Only recently has he started to meow, before it was more of a rumbling burple which was heart-rending in its innocence. He regards Dirac as his lost mama, running under his big stepbrother's belly for some determined milking. One is disappointed, the other, beyond irritated.

Ernest the Sous-Sol Cat (formerly Ernest the Stray Cat) continues his half-wild, half-tame ways. Some cold nights, he stays in the mud/potting rooms where his bedding, food, and litter are kept, during others, he is out-and-about, eventually returning, often in a disheveled state, but always pleased with himself.

Ernest loves to lie on the chopped-down mustard plants which had served as an overwintering, living mulch

À la prochaine!

RELATED POSTS

Shrimp Bisque
Rhubarb fool made with custard and cream