Inner-City Cheese

As if Portland weren’t already a hipster haven, the city upped its cool quotient with the opening of Ancient Heritage Dairy early this year. The petite urban creamery—a transplant from central Oregon—now creates its cheeses in a light-filled corner building in southeast Portland, in an area with so many food-focused entrepreneurs that it’s dubbed the Artisan Corridor. Big plate-glass windows invite pedestrians to pause and watch as milk is transformed into curd, and they can purchase the results at a retail counter next door.

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Wisconsin Newbie Worth the Splurge

In my dreams, the U.S. will someday produce aged sheep’s milk cheeses that rival the finest from Europe—the Basque cheeses from the Pyrenees; the pecorinos from Tuscany, Sicily and Sardinia; the Manchego, Roncal and Zamorano from Spain. We are getting close on quality, but I’m not sure we’ll ever compete on price. Europe’s cheesemakers typically have lower land and labor costs and fewer costly regulations. In some cases, they benefit from government-funded marketing support and operate at a volume that makes for efficiencies.

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Rosy Future for this Blue

Celtic Blue Reserve, a blue cheese from Ontario, took Best of Show at last week's American Cheese Society competition in Providence. Topping 1,779 entries, the cow's-milk wheel gave Canada its first win in the contest's 30-year history. Margaret Peters Morris, whose Glengarry Fine Cheese company produced the roughly six-pound wheel, is a respected consultant who has mentored many U.S. cheese makers.

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Second Act

Doug and Debbie Erb are second-generation dairy farmers in New Hampshire. Doug’s father, a veterinarian, combined several small farms to create the property and had his clinic in the building where the creamery is today. The younger Erbs began cheesemaking in 2008 to try to make the farm more viable and have since won acclaim for Landaff, their Caerphilly-inspired cow’s milk cheese.

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It Stinks So Good

One sign of a true cheese enthusiast is a refrigerator full of little wrapped nubbins, pieces too big to throw away but too pitiful-looking to serve to a guest. Recently, my husband and I had an entire cheese course of nubbins—probably 10 different two-ounce remnants making their last stand. The one I kept coming back to was Cabra Raiano, a semisoft Portuguese goat’s milk cheese. I nibbled at some of the others, but this one I polished off. Even as a days-old leftover, it was sublime.

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