Twig Farm Mixed Drum Cheese: Goat & Cow's Milk Beauty

Though often harder to find in California then the size/color/style of the thing you're seeking in an Ikea store- anywhere, Twig Farm's Mixed Drum cheese is one my favorite wheels around. Any of their cheeses charm, really, but the Mixed Drum is instantly seductive. I watch for its presence on my distributer lists like a wine geek watches for the latest unfiltered, amphora-aged wine release from Slovenia. While writing my "It's Not You, It's Brie" book, I had a chance to visit the Twig Farm family in Vermont about ten miles from Middleton, in West Cornwall. Much like cheesemaker Michael Lee himself whose focus is intently on his goats and wheels since the responsibility for his ladies, farm, and making and aging the cheese falls solely on his and an assistant's shoulders, the farm is busy yet quiet. It's surrounded by a forest of tall, slim birch-like trees and oaks that shed acorns for goat snacks.

About nine miles away from Twig Farm is the Crawford Family, the makers of Vermont Ayr. When the Crawford's Ayrshires are out grazing the field, Twig buys some of their rich milk and mixes it with about twenty percent of their own goat's milk. Four to six month's later (hence winter cheese releases after being aged), viola, Mixed Drum!

Mixed Drum is a wonderful collaboration between the two farms. Many of the flavors shout Crawford, and the shape, natural rind, and the splash of goat's milk are all Twig.

The rich, earthy, melted butter, and lightly peanut notes of the cheese are reminiscent of those found in the Crawford's Vermont Ayr. As is the silky texture provided by the high-butterfat content of their cows. The little lively punch? That's the goat's milk- keeping it real, keeping it fresh. The natural rind and squishy shape? That's cheesemaker's Micheal Lee's touch- he keeps it real and fresh too. If the cheese wants to look like a Flintsone car wheel, so be it. It's cute and delicious.

I loved this beauty with a light, un-oaked malolactic white like a white wine from the Savoie region, a Muscadet from the Loire, or a lightly oaked Marsanne or Roussanne. Wasn't a big fan of the citrusy Sauv Blancs with this one.

If I were in an area that wasn't experiencing record highs in January and wanted to try this cheese in another way besides au naturel, I'd take this, some semi-soft Alpine-type cheese, and melt them raclette style, on ham and potatoes. Or anything I could think of.

Happy Winter.

Dorset: funky, sweet, and finally on the West Coast.

  Before you think I'm shirking my food writer duties by not writing about the glories of springtime produce or dairy, I'll have a post for you next week on that topic. With a recipe. In the meantime, let's talk Dorset.

I'm not sure if it's the storm brewing outside (thank you, water, for occasionally falling on California) that makes me want to write about heartier fare, or if it's just that I long to tell you more about my favorite cheese styles, but today, I'm going to talk about a new washed rind to the west coast. It's funky, soft, and a newbie for us desolate Californians.

Dorset is new to the west coast as in, all you lucky east coasters have had it available to you forever, but we just got it. For some delicious reason, there is a plethora of gooey washed rinds congregating on the east coast that we can only droll over from a distance because of distribution. Here's looking at you, Keely's Across the Pond. If I sound jealous, it's because I might be. A little. Very.

Then there are some that are just recently hitting our shores, like Hudson Red, Hooligan, and Dorset.

Made by Consider Bardwell Farms in Vermont (or New York-depends which side of the farm you're strolling on), Dorset is a raw milk cow's milk cheese. As you can see above, Consider Bardwell has goats. They're actually a goat's milk creamery, but in the interest of supplying dairy lovers with more variety and supporting local farms nearby, they buy Jersey cow's milk from their neighbors and make cow's milk cheeses too. Points for everyone.

The creamery is a project launched by food literary agent Angela Miller and her husband Russel Glover, who started making cheese on the farm in 2003. The farm had been a creamery in its past life, and the two revamped it. They hired cheese consultant extraordinaire, Peter Dixon, and their wonderful cheesemaker of today, Chris Gray, to work their magic. The result is a creamery and small cafe that are open to visitors, a gorgeous site (Glover is an architect, and the swans floating on the property's pond don't hurt the ambiance either), and cheese that is the envy of…  west coasters. I visited the farm while doing research for my book and fell in love with its idyllic nature and frisky, friendly goats (they say it's the breed).

Lucky for us, Cowgirl Creamery just started distributing Dorset in the Bay Area. Go, Cowgirl!

Dorset is a washed rind. As it ages, the cheesemaker "washes," or pats down, the rind with a brine solution of water and salt. This encourages the growth of the b.linens bacteria, and the delicious, delicious, sweet funk flavor. B.linens create the strongest smells in the dairy counter, but often the sweetest flavors. Which is the case with Dorset.

Creamy, in that cream-off-the-top-of-the-glass-milk-bottle type of way, Dorset is pretty lovable. If you're sensitive to scent, I have no doubt that a taste versus a whiff of Dorset will get you over this. It's just as sweet as the cream that tops the milk bottle. I swear. It can be a little floral too.

And it's lively. Despite its mouth-coating richness, it has a tang that keeps it all bright. Maybe because it's just made seasonally with the milk of cows grazing local pastures. You can taste the Vermont grass. And I can tell you from a visit to the farm, wow, that's some green grass.

I like the Dorset solo on a cheese plate, with orange blossom honey, or with apricot conserves. Or, melted in a grilled cheese sandwich. Serve with a Alsatian white, sweet Riesling, lush Pinot Noir, or ale with a hit of sweetness.

Cobb Hill: Four Corners & East Coast Privileges

What are some of the privileges of living on the east coast? Oh, Vermont. Being able to use "summer" as a verb without being looked at like you're a creep. Cobb Hill's Four Corners.

We don't get much Cobb Hill out here in Cali. If we're lucky, if we've been good boys and girls and the distributers we buy from are feeling giving and have CH when the stars are in the proper alignment, we might be able to pick up some Ascutney Mountain, but most sells out in Vermont. Most of what doesn't sell out in Vermont goes to NYC (another place were they actively use "summering" as a verb). And Four Corners, well, let's just say that it makes it to the bay area almost as rarely as George Bush Jr.

So you could imagine how happy I was when I got my hands on some Four Corners while touring Vermont in the beginning of August. Even better- I snacked on Four Corners and Ascutney Mountain in the Cobb Hill kitchen. In truth, it was a little difficult to eat the cheese in front of the cheesemaker while trying to appear semi-professional (I had to sit on my hands between bites to avoid from clapping them).

Four Corners, the focus on today's post, is Cobb Hill's version of Caerphilly. Caerphilly is a cheese that was created near Somerset, England, for miners. The women wiping up batches in their home kitchens made it so the cheese had a thick rind and firm enough texture that their miner men could pick Caerphilly up by the rind on their lunch breaks without worrying about getting the paste dirty or the slice falling apart. All hail the worker cheese.

Just like Caerphilly, Four Corners has a thick, dusty colored rind that gives when touched. I love the rind. If you press just hard enough on it, it will show a slight finger indentation, announcing your presence. I'm wondering if CSI script writers know about this- there might be room in the show for some awesome cheese finger print episodes.

Beneath the rind is a layered cheese. Directly under the thick exterior is a semi-soft, velvety layer the texture of a young provolone that is smooth and buttery. Underneath this is a slightly tangier layer that crumbles easily and, honest to god, tastes exactly how mac n' cheese should- creamy, buttery, a little earthy, and with just the right amount of tangy acidity so it feels like you could eat way more than you actually should (and of course, you do).

Dispersed through this post are photos I snapped when visiting Cobb Hill. Cobb Hill is a group living establishment that, frankly, I want to join. It's acres and acres of fun. Plow horses, tiny houses for kids to play in, lakes to swim in and ponds to skate on in winter. And of course, they offer their members great deals on cheese. I'm considering asking where their sign up sheet is.

Can you get many Cobb Hill cheeses where you live? Turns out they're going to start selling their wheels via the web soon, so if you're wanting like I am, we may be able to fulfill our Cobb Hill needs soon enough. Fingers crossed.

Vermont, Ground Cherries & Cheese Con.

There are prolific writers, like Jeanne of Cheese Underground or Tenaya of Madame Fromage, who write as many great cheese blog posts as Prince produces albums. They write them while working their normal job(s), maybe while raising a child or two, and traveling. They even write two or more posts during the crazy busy American Cheese Society Conference (I'm pretty sure I saw Jeanne write one during ACS while explaining the merits of Canadian poutine to me, slicing cheese with one hand, and shaking the hand of a cheesemaker with the other). I'm a little jealous.

Me, eh, I'm a slow writer. My blog gets a little upset with me when it hears that I'm going to be traveling. It knows that I'll forget to call it or text it every night to tell it how much I adore it, and the posts will slow down to one a week, or less. We've agreed that this is a issue we need to work on in counseling, but in the meantime, "It's Not You, it's Brie" readers, I'd like to share a little of my trip that was keeping me from you.

I spent the last weeks of July and the first two weeks of August traveling around Vermont and Montreal. Vermont, to interview cheesemakers for my book, and Montreal, to eat massive amounts of foie gras and cheese, and you know, maybe hit up the ACS conference while I was in town. I had a blast. I met some new people, went on play dates with some old ones, and went to one ACS session where I tasted six different cheeses made by nuns or monks. And then I got tired.

I wanted to share a few photos from some of my favorite places and people I visited in Vermont and Montreal. Much more to come.

Kathleen Cotter of The Bloomy Rind and I visited four cheesemakers, one of them was Michael Lee at Twig Farm, in an area of Vermont that Lee called "almost Appalachian." We followed Lee and the goats around and tried to understand what Lee was saying while he was moving a mile a minute and we kept tripping over tree roots.

The next day we headed to Doug and Deb Erb's place, where we were introduced to some of the friendliest, forward Holstein's I've ever met.

The backyard of the Lake View Inn, where we stayed while visiting Jasper Hill Cellars's cheesemakers.

Of course, while in Montreal, we had to hit up the markets. Montreal has some of the biggest open air markets outside Europe. And just like in Europe, you'll also be spoken to in a foreign language (Canadien français!). The stands and the offerings were unbelievable. Turkish candies, French pastries, cheese, organic blueberries, ground cherries, spring rolls, pineapple mint popsicles....