September 2011
Like most people, I have consumed many types and textures of cheese throughout life. Ubiquitous cheese: in spreads, dips, slices, blocks, bricks, melted, solid, soft, spreadable. Cheeses come in numerous qualities from the pseudo cheeses like Velveeta, through packaged and sliced counterparts for sandwiches, graduating and metamorphosing through several other levels all the way to specialty gourmet cheeses that come in prettier packages with stately names in French, German and Italian. Or, could be from The gourmet cheese sections of markets like Whole Foods and specialty cheese shops are chock-full of types and brands that represent centuries of refinement in the fine art of cheese making for the most discriminating of palates, cheeses made from goat milk, sheep milk, cow milk or from the milk of more exotic animals such as the yak. Relative to the mundane cheeses that end up in sandwiches in school lunchboxes, the price tags on the exotic gourmet cheeses can curdle your gastric juices.
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My parents loved the exotic cheeses. I have an early childhood memory of what I hear people refer to as “stinky cheese”, an olfactory memory originating in our refrigerator where trouble was brewing after somebody had inadvertently left a package of cheese to “ripen” beyond most people’s definition of ripe. What lay in store for me as a surprise for my sense of smell one day when I opened the refrigerator door disturbed the integrity of my respect for gourmet cheeses for years to come. Decades would pass before I would consider trying anything stronger than Cheez Whiz.
One day on an along-the-country-roads drive to San Francisco through the hillocks and valleys of Western Marin County I stopped at a cheese factory I had passed numerous times known as Marin French Cheese, an out-of-the-way place that has the distinction of being America’s oldest cheese factory and an international gold medal winner in competitions held in Europe (“The gold medal was one of 13 awards the company won last year at the World Cheese Awards held in the United Kingdom.”-from Petaluma
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| The tranquil lake at Marin French Cheese a few miles outside Petaluma in Hicks Valley |
I tasted the first gourmet cheese there that melted in my mouth, a safe, subtly unobtrusive triple-cream Brie, a taste that diminished my phobic childhood memory of excessive pungency. On my first cheese factory tour, there in Marin, I was olfactorily thrown back to my family’s refrigerator catastrophe as we passed the hanging Camembert cheeses and the cheese molds.
It was a relief to discover that the poignant cheese truth floating in the air at Marin French Cheese was not a harbinger of a taste bud train wreck. On the contrary: after spreading a little soft Brie onto a slice of the local sourdough French bread, I turned a corner and abandoned my fear of aged cheeses.
I was not on any mission or passionate pursuit of haut couture through the palate; I had simply been “opened” by my experience in Marin and no longer said “No, thank you” when offered stinky cheese. One morning I took my family to breakfast at Willow Wood Market Café, very high on my list of favorite Sonoma County
Wow! What an eye-opener that was. A combination of two cheese types, both of which are delicious: “The cheese's name appears to be a portmanteau of Camembert and Gorgonzola, given that its flavor profile combines the moist, rich creaminess of Camembert with the sharpness of blue Gorgonzola.” (Wikipedia) Soon I was spreading Cambazola on my own toast at home, wondering if there was another realm of cheese love or if I had actually found the upper limit of cheese heaven.
One day I was looking over the Cambazola selection at Oliver’s Market in Cotati, a very highly regarded local institution consisting of three markets with specialists in each of their departments who can answer questions about fine wines, fine cheeses, bakery goods, health and beauty products, and so on, stores that appeal to today’s Whole Foods kind of shopper. I don’t like to be asked if I am finding everything OK or if I need help, have questions and so forth. I know when I wonder something and know when I want to ask for assistance. The lady in charge of the cheese section that day asked me if I needed help finding something in such a kind way that I asked her if there was a next step beyond Cambazola I should know about.
She grinned when I asked her, a grin that I could not interpret. What she told me was that she had been on a voyage of discovery wondering that very thing when she found a specialty cheese from France St. Agur is, at least for now, my absolute favorite cheese. That kind woman in the cheese department of Oliver’s Market sanctified herself in my mind after opening the door to Saint Agur blue.
I became so enamored of this fine cheese that I wondered about its origins, its namesake, and imagined a story of some famous saint, so noble, that my favorite cheese was named after him deep in the heart of French history. It was a surprise to discover that no such saint has ever set foot upon our planet and that, compared to well established cheese making institutions, St. Agur is a relative newcomer on the scene.
“Saint Agur Blue Cheese was introduced in 1988 by the French Cheese Company Bongrain. When I first saw the name I assumed the cheese was named after some famous Saint in ancient history. I thought it would be interesting to find out who Saint Agur was and what notable accomplishment he must have achieved to have such a lovely cheese named in his honor.
“The fact is, there is no Saint Agur and there never was. There isn’t even a town in France
“The cows milk for Saint Agur comes from the village of Beauzac in central France
What they have created is a sensational blue cheese that spreads easily, tastes amazing, and has a much lower salt content which makes me want to give it an extra gold star. Yum. This is in a league of its own.
Learn more about this cheese if you like at the web site:
