I’ve been enchanted by this dramatic spring appetizer forever, since first encountering it at a Persian restaurant in Berkeley. The restaurant closed eons ago but the memory lingers. A platter of sabzi khordan --which translates to “herbs for eating”—is omnipresent at Persian meals, I have learned, and it’s more about the herbs than the feta. But this is Planet Cheese, so there’s feta at the center of my sabzi khordan. A block of feta would be more traditional, but whipped feta spreads better. And that’s the idea: You take a piece of flatbread, slather it with feta, tuck in something crunchy like toasted walnuts and then a soft handful of mixed herbs. It’s magical.

I’ll be planting potatoes on St. Patrick’s Day and probably wearing something green. Alas, no Irish cheese board for dinner. My favorite Irish wheels—Gubbeen, Durrus, Coolea—are too hard to find these days. Their high prices make them slow movers at American cheese counters. But green cheese? I can do that. I adore this creamy feta dip, green from pistachios, cilantro and dill. You’ve seen it here before but I’m reprising it as a nod to the holiday and the imminent arrival of spring. I’ve heard raves from readers who’ve made it and hope you’ll soon join that club.

On my short list of favorite cheese names, I would surely include Ewe Calf to be Kidding (a three-milk blue cheese from Hook’s in Wisconsin); Triple Play Extra Innings (another ménage à trois from Hooks, with extended aging); Bleu 1924 (a good back story); Moser Screamer (because it’s worth shouting about); and Mary dans les Étoiles (a loving tribute to a departed colleague). Wordplay aside, they’re all superb cheeses. So is the wedge pictured above, which I might have purchased for its name alone, but a sample in the shop sealed the deal.

I hope I live long enough to see American-made water buffalo cheese at every cheese counter, but it’s not looking good. One step forward, two steps back. Someone starts a water buffalo dairy, another fails. I dream of homegrown mozzarella di bufala, of course. But Italian cheesemakers do so much more with this super-rich milk. The gorgeous, slumpy cheese pictured above demonstrates what water buffalo milk can do in skilled hands. Will we ever get there?

By a wide margin, guests in a recent class of mine voted the cheese pictured above as their favorite. It bested a luscious goat cheese from one of Italy’s acclaimed affineurs, a tasty farmhouse Cheddar from the UK, the pimiento-dusted Alisios from Spain and several others. Wow—such an impressive showing for a largely self-taught cheesemaker from rural Iowa.

For someone who doesn’t typically want stuff in or on my cheese, I sure do love this herb- and spice-rubbed beauty. In fact, I can’t think of too many goat cheeses I enjoy more than this aromatic gem from France, which I wouldn’t hesitate to serve to goat cheese avoiders. People who think goat cheese is always tart and chalky are amazed when they encounter a chèvre as sweet, nutty and creamy as this one. So whether you’re a goat cheese enthusiast or on the never-chèvre side, prepare to be amazed.

Ever since a recipe for baked feta went viral on TikTok, social media won’t leave feta alone. TikTokkers seem to think they invented the idea of warm feta but tell that to a Greek. Flaky feta pies are ancient; what Greek grandma doesn’t make tiropita?

If I took my own advice, I probably wouldn’t have bought this cheese. Only after I brought it home and tried it did I notice a key piece of information on the store label. The packed-on date—when the wedge was cut and plastic-wrapped—was more than two weeks earlier. No wonder it tasted stale. Only when I scraped the cut sides did I find the nutty, roasted-onion aroma I was hoping for. Underneath that oxidized exterior was a glorious cheese, but I wouldn’t have found it without deeply shaving the surface.

Well, cheese fans, the year is off to a great start. A beloved French cheese—one of my favorites—has returned to the U.S. after a five-year absence. To be honest, I had given up hope of ever putting it on a cheese board again, but I hadn’t realized its very survival was in doubt. Now, thanks to some out-of-the-box thinking, this magnificent sheep cheese is on more secure footing and has a future.

We’re having fondue on New Year’s Eve and—hooray!—someone else is making it. I’m interested to see what cheeses they use. A couple of years ago, I interviewed Joe Salonia, a past winner of FonDuel, a zany annual competition among cheese professionals. (Get tickets for the 2024 contest here.) Salonia shared his recipe and winning techniques, and I thought you might appreciate a refresher. Any year that ends with melted cheese is ending on a high note.

The question at our house last week was how to revive our flagging interest in cauliflower. I’ve been gardening forever, but I still haven’t learned that when you plant a dozen cauliflower seedlings at once, they all mature at once. I wasn’t sure I could get another cauliflower risotto past my husband unless I changed it up. So I did. With a little digging online, I turned up a new method that produced the creamiest risotto I’ve ever made. The truffled pecorino I had in the fridge put it over the top. I knew I’d nailed it when my husband amped up his usual praise—from “this is good, hon” to “this is really good, hon.” I couldn’t agree more.

It’s such a bummer when a great creamery shuts its doors, and this fall brought a double whammy. First, we lost a fine American cheesemaker to vascular disease in mid-September, and his family has decided not to soldier on. Now we learn that one of the most admired British cheesemakers—producer of a superb award-winning sheep cheese—is tossing in the towel. What makes this news even more troubling is that both cheesemakers were farmstead producers working with raw milk from grass-fed herds—a small niche that seems to grow smaller every year.

If you are looking for an exceptional American cheese for your Thanksgiving festivities, or for a host gift, you won’t be disappointed by this beauty. It’s a recent release with a long origin story and absolutely worth the wait. A collaboration between the Maryland creamery that produced it and the New York affinage team that nurtured it from infancy to its prime, this aromatic goat cheese seduced me at the first sniff. I’m hoping that affinage—expert cheese aging—will become more of a thing in this country, as it is in Europe, and that success stories like this one will pave the way.

Sometimes it seems like my brain is at capacity. If a new cheese name goes in, another one gets pushed out. In last week’s post about great French Basque cheeses, I inadvertently omitted the newcomer that got me thinking about Pyrenees cheese in the first place. Former cheesemonger Steve Jones alerted me to Tomme per Diou, and there aren’t many cheese people I trust more. I can’t wait to share this raw-milk wheel in my classes (which reminds me: the 2024 World Cheese Tour class schedule is online) and to see more retailers stocking it.

If you were limited to eating cheese from only one region (perish the thought), where would you choose? I’m going with the Pyrenees, preferably the French side. The cheeses we get from the Basque Country and neighboring Béarn are so consistently appealing that I don’t even think I would feel that deprived. Two new imports from the region make the choice even easier.

Losing a great American cheese is a bummer—especially a cheese that so many loved—but a new arrival can soften the blow. So while I’m still in mourning for Ewereka, a blue-ribbon sheep Cheddar that Central Coast Creamery has discontinued, I’m enthused about its just-released replacement. Unforeseen hurdles compelled the Paso Robles, California, creamery to ditch Ewereka, but just wait until you taste the newcomer (above). Cheesemaker Reggie Jones has the American palate and purse dialed in, and I’d bet a bundle that this value-priced newbie will fly out of cheese shops.