Mongering the Cheeses
This page is not a library of the world’s cheeses. Such things already exist, and they do a thorough job. I am only inventorying those cheeses that attach to stories in my life, including ones that are unusual enough that folks might not happen across them otherwise (in case they are looking for new things to try).
Cheese has had a notable presence in my life, and I’ve even talked a couple of times about how much the family dog loved cheese; in fact, given all of the other unusual parameters of my Venn, it is sort of a surprising luxury not to be lactose intolerant.
You will not see any of the most pungent among the smelly cheeses, such as Limburger; frankly, it has taken me decades just to approach some of the French washed rind cheeses.
When it comes to animal sources, I enjoy cheese from cows, goats, sheep, and buffalo{e/s}. I have even had camel cheese (in Arabic class) that was soft and rinded. I have yet to try yak, moose, reindeer, or anything even more exotic than those (relative to my enculturation). I bring this up because it wasn’t until just a few years ago that I (a) what it takes to keep these animals lactating, (b) what happens to the offspring, and (c) so on. I shifted over to non-dairy alternatives, including cashew milk. And then just a few months ago I moved to a place where those items aren’t readily , so I’m back to .
That reflection was triggered by a Dr. Pol binge.
At first, the local grocery store had cashew milk. By the time I had bought three half gallons, they had run out. Their customer service says that they still stock it, but are just running low. That was 5 months ago.
Solutions have to take into account the fact that I am the only meal preparer for my elderly mother, and she demands (daily) the likes of full dairy ice cream, cottage cheese, sliced American cheese, yogurt, and cream. She doesn’t use milk.
Dry Monterey Jack — Regular vs Kamome
Rumiano Cheese Company (Humboldt, CA)
Although you can use Parmesan, dry Monterey jack has long been the prime cheese ingredient in our family’s traditional rice cake recipe (along with ricotta and cottage cheese and smaller amounts of experimental additions such as fontina, Asiago, and so on). My dad’s maternal grandmother was an Italian immigrant (as was his mother, for that matter), and she not only used to make her own Monterey jack, but the dry version became very popular among folks of that culture. My dad (b. 1928) grew up with it, and thoroughly enjoyed chewing on a wheel rind (which was coated with olive oil, cocoa, and black pepper) right through to the end of his life (2022). Snacking on the remaining chunks and slivers after all of the shredding was a big treat for him… he’d just light up.
It’s funny in a sort of wry manner that this used to be treated as a “poor man’s” Parmesan (the history is interesting), but now domestic Parmesan is a lot less expensive and a whole lot easier to find. I recall making a trip to a grocery store in Pleasant Hill with my mom (mid-1980s) to pick up a Vella wheel as a special order, where we had been stuck with Parmesan for a few years. In the last several years, my brother Jeff has had a Rumiano wheel shipped to each of our families, and now it looks like we’ll be switching back to Vella (when it comes back in stock).
While the above picture of the regular Rumiano is from my brother’s kitchen table, the Kamome picture is taken from the internet because Rumiano is no longer making this cheese in any version… which is a shame. I used the Kamome last time (which also has coffee in its rind). The original wheel came with a few of the American Cheese Society award stickers (which you can see on the label), and I used to affix them to odd items around home, work, and schools.
Now, getting back to regular Monterey jack cheese: I grew up in central CA, as did my parents, so this was a favorite in my childhood. There are a couple of distinct types, one of which is more crumbly, dry, and al dente (i.e., the good kind), and the other of which is creamier and sort of mungier and bitter (i.e., the bad kind), although folks who are not supertasters likely don’t tend to be put off by that mild bitterness. This latter, rubbery kind is certainly easier to find, maybe because it melts more readily so it gets used in quesadillas and so forth.
For those of you who do not check out the history, I’ll just say that the name comes from the handjack used to press out the whey.
Brie, Camembert, Brillat-Savarin, Reblochon, Époisses…
Soft French Cheeses
My relationship with French soft cheeses has been fraught, but I think that we’re in a good place now.
In 7th grade (1975), Madame Freülich brought some for the class, and (while portioning it out) told me-in-specific that Camembert should smell like stale toilet water… by which she clearly meant not eau de toilet, but rather the metallic, humid odor of an ill-ventilated public Toilette. And for well over a decade, I was on that very page.
About 10 years later, Jeff and I went with our folks to visit the family of my dad’s Aunt Laura. It was for some gathering or other, likely a winter holiday. Jeff lifted a slice of cheese from a tray and got it most of the way to his face before tracing a parabolic arc away from his personal space, telling me, “I tried to get it into my mouth, but didn’t make it past my nose.”
Then somewhere along the line, I was exposed increasingly often to the likes of baked Brie, and then to not-baked Brie, and I eventually got used to the bitterness. I am unclear on the details; however, odds are that at first, I was trying to favorably impress some woman or other. Over time, I was not only trying to keep my family’s horizons unconstrained, but we also started to live near more speciality food stores. Then I acquired a bit of discretionary budget, which was associated with being in a position to treat friends well when they came over to visit — friends who also liked trying new things — so I broadened out into other kinds.
In general, I rather like it (at about room temperature) with crackers and fruit and olives and so on (and a paired beverage).
That said, I favor those in the buttery realm with the white mold rind (Brie, Camembert) or a triple-crème (Brillat-Savarin). I have not been able to do more than walk near the ones with a washed rind (Époisses and Reblochon), although I have had Munster.
And that’s all that I know about them.
Except that I like buying the ones in the little wooden cylindrical hat box kinda thing.
And that certain rounds I need to keep under a glass cover on the cheese tray (or an airtight container in the fridge), or the room starts to smell like, yep, an old toilet. Do I have to specify unpleasantly like an old toilet?
And I suppose one more thing…
Ovalie Cendrée
Soft French Goat’s Cheese (Chèvre)
I am borrowing this image from Bert & Boni until I get one of my own.<>
I nabbed this cheese because it was in a nifty little rectangular wooden crate. It is just what the name says: an ashy oval.
It tastes sort of like mushroom, and has two textures, namely: as it continues to ripen, the center remains fairly firm while the layer under the rind softens. It slices and spreads really well.
And it is not terribly odorous
Ricotta
Soft Italian Whey Cheese
When I was a kid (late 1960s, early 70s), we lived in Stockton, CA, and my folks liked to stop by a little shop in Rio Vista and pick up a bunch of soft flour tortillas and fresh ricotta cheese (made at a fairly local Italian family dairy). My dad would drive to a nearby levee that provided a beautiful vista over the rio (Sacramento), and we would eat promptu burritos made of nothing but tortillas and cheese.
We were on a verrry tight budget; nonetheless, I suspect that such events also involved beverages.
Ricotta is made from whey (unlike cottage cheese from curds, for example), so its texture, while soft, is not entirely smooth. You are probably familiar with ricotta as an ingredient in lasagna. We use it in rice cake.
Rio Vista also happens to be the first place that I ever had a Monte Cristo sandwich.
Unfortunately, the local supermarket only sells the store brand of ricotta, which turns out is not traditional ricotta, but rather it is an entirely smooth and creamy substitute. It is what is knows as a “forced” ricotta made from milk and vinegar.
[2026-04]