Cheese Club V - The Cheeses and Dairy Chain*

Cheese Club is back, this time with a hardcore experience for the strong of heart, steady of resolve and supple of liver. There were moments of calm and light, but most of all it was full-on, full-tilt, three-chord screaming and messing with your head. We were joined by Miranda, James and Felix, the Hyphen-Warlocks, and some continent-spanning wines, from the lovely Vasse Felix Shiraz in the west to the perky Brokenwood Cricket Pitch in the east. And so, down to business...

Le Chevrot. Yeah, ok....

Le Chevrot - you know the biggest problem with Cheese Club, apart from the cholesterol? Expectations are raised; raised some more; and, just when you think there's no cheese ceiling left to shatter, you're brought crashing down to Earth covered in feathers and goo. And that's what le Chevrot was to me - a nice enough surface ripened goat's milk cheese, but that's all. A gentle goaty tang; some almost interesting (but calming) white mould and a mostly uniform texture. With a ruffled skin it was largely homogenous, and most unlike some of the other more interesting surface-ripened goat cheeses we've tried (say, the Buche Chevre de Poitou). Like Richard Dawkins, it's enjoyable without recourse to magic.

Making moonlight music; mighty nice**

Fin Briard aux Truffe -This is basically just a brie with a layer in the middle infested with truffles. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So it's a surface-ripened cow's milk cheese with some black bits in the middle. But... But.... What are those black bits again?

This is wonderful stuff. The texture is just like a lovely brie - creamy with a moment of chalk in the middle and a soft and fuzzy rind, but the flavour is deep, sweet and richly earthy. Most of the flavour is in your nose, and it's a warm, infused flavour that comes from underground. If chocolate, compost, damp gardens, beef stock and a touch of Vegemite could combine into something grand, it would be this. We didn't taste much but the memory remains...

Miranda told me the next day she dreamed of this

St Felicien - This made me feel like a cat in heaven, but only because it's like drinking cream from a saucer. I could nod politely; I could roll this around in my mouth while making "hmmmmm..." noises; I could "ummm" and "ahhhh...", but this is like nothing we've had in Cheese Club to date, and by criminy, it's amazing....

It comes in its own terracotta landing pod and with its wrinkled skin looks like a Dr Who brain-villain lurking in the bottom of a gravel quarry. To quote Felicity; "it tastes like it's alive!" But then when you stick a knife in it, it dies quickly and liquifies. This isn't eating cheese; it's drinking cheese. A mild, gentle flavour and texture like thin pouring cream, like a cheese-stick drinking yoghurt... A Lady Gaga cheese - sexy, but thin and a little bit disturbing.

Polish your shoes, guvvna?

Pave de L'Ayeron - Oh no... I'm getting the fear.... This is seriously weird stuff, man... Dennis-Hopper-in-a-tweed-jacket-and-tutu weird... This is a sheep's milk washed-rind cheese; a cheese that looks runny and gooey with a crust of soft, warm colour that speaks of a luscious mouth-feel and a gentle but assertive washed-rind flavour. And it is those things, but it's got something else that takes it beyond the creamy towards a perverse, glue-sniffing experience. It has undertones of industrial solvent and, to quote Emily, the scent of shoe polish. This cheese is beyond good and evil and anything we don't eat will need to be disposed of in a concrete and lead-lined pit. I will eat some more, but mostly out of morbid curiosity.

Careful with that axe, Eugene.

Lindenhoff Aged Boerenkaas - This is the cheese equivalent of an aging hippie turned into a knife-wielding lunatic. In theory it's a Gouda, so it's a cooked curd cheese made of cow's milk, but the Dutch have been keeping this one in their stash for the last four years, next to the golden hash from Morocco and the hydroponic skunk weed. It looks nothing like those soft, doughy balls of flab that I usually associate with Gouda, but instead crumbles like a hard cheese, while the intensity of the flavour is like being stabbed in the head with a windmill full of clogs. Crumbly, crunchy moments (of calcium crystals, apparently) in a rich, stewed, deep flavour with a vicious edge. I'll be cooking with the rest of this - it's far too intense to expose to the naked human taste bud, but should be fantastic in a sauce with broccoli...

A little bit sexy, but only a little bit

Bonta Della Bontazola - This is a creamy blue cow's milk cheese that is near the bottom rung in the intensity hierarchy of Gorgonzolas. At the sharp, pointed peak sits the Gorgonzola piccante, a very blue cheese with a strong tang against a creamy base. In the middle is the Gorgonzola Dolce, just as creamy but with a milder blue mould tang. Almost at the bottom, just above cream, is this Bontazola - a rich, creamy and smooth cheese with just a hint of blue. This is very much the dessert cheese. Cheerful without being assertive, like that nice councillor you know, only a little more blue and without the sandals.


*I can't take the credit for this. It belongs to Alex James, Blur's bass player and cheesemaker.
** with apologies to Dr Seuss.

Cheese Club IV - Death to the Lactose Intolerant

Cheese Club has returned for the first time in a while but was well worth the wait. Joined again by the Urbane Parents and Penny and Kent, we glided our way through six wonderful cheeses and some wonderful wines (a 2007 Clockwork Cab Sauv (Margaret River); a 2000 Elizabeth Semillon (Hunter Valley) and a 2007 Scotchmans Hill Pinot Noir (Bellarine Peninsular)). So without further faffing about...

Cheese! In a box!

Holy Goat Eclipse - Kicking off with a surface ripened, fresh goats cheese, this was a sweet and ugly pyramid of joy. From central Victoria, this was a perfect balance of sweet and sour; lightness and depth. It had a consistent texture of tight, fresh curd (unlike the chalky centre and runny edges of, say, the Chabichou du Poitou), and the flavour was fresh and exciting. Very much a Quasimodo cheese - a little terrifying to look at with its curled, dark rind but sweet and gentle to know.

Holy Goat, Batman! It's as ugly as something really, really ugly!

That's Amore Smoked Baby Scamorza - The other Victorian cheese, this is a smoked and stretched curd cheese, bundled in to a little ball of mozzarella-like cuteness and burnished with a bronze sheen. The curd wasn't as stretched as mozzarella though, and although it had a bit of bounce it was softer than it looked. It had a salami-like, smoked smell, but the richness of the cheese is not overwhelmed by the burny stuff. Very popular on the night, and the best smoked cheese I've ever tasted (out of a small pool, to be fair...).

No ashtray necessary

Edel de Cleron - a washed rind cheese for those who don't necessarily believe that "washed rind" is the same as "biological warfare". This is a cow's milk, surface ripened and washed rind cheese that has all of the rich, gooeyness of a white mould cheese and the flavours of something heaven sent. The washed rind aspect was powerful but not overpowering and the texture varied from the ripe, gooey centre to the resisting rind. It had many layers of scent tussled together into a luscious whole. I think we'll leave the remaining half of this for a week to complete ripening - everything was so wonderfully complicated about this that a bit of time might produce something even more amazing.

Hmmmm.... Just you wait, my pretty...

Fougerous Rouzaire - a Brie, a lot like the Brie de Nangus - strong, earthy flavours; more salt than most local white-mould cheeses but not quite as salty as the Nangus. Popular with the white-moulders. Me? Yeah, as good as any, but I'm not really in a white mould mood. This wasn't on RHCL's recommended list but was an addition to satisfy those pesky white-moulders. Let 'em have their cheese I say. More of the others for me.

Quite nice, but you're going to have to get up earlier in the morning to impress me.

Casa Madaio Acacio de Bufala is made from Buffalo's milk and is a hard, cooked curd cheese from Eboli, Italy. This was definitely the most unusual cheese of the six. Penny described it as being "like a Manchego without the sheep's milk taste", which was a good call. It's texture was unexpected - while it looks like a hard granular cheese, it has a hint of resistance almost like a stretched curd cheese.

The flavour is big and round - the tasting notes talk about a "rich apricot fruity flavour". It certainly has a lovely acid balance and a bit of salt . I'm not quite sure what to make of this; I liked it, but ate it frowning in concentration. Not necessarily one I'd buy again, but only because there are so many other cheeses to try.

Things that make you "Hmmm?"

The last cheese of the evening was Onetik Bluette, a blue mould goat's milk cheese from the Pyrenees-Atlantiques, France. Quite frankly, this knocked everyone's socks off without the sense (or smell) that somebody had just taken their socks off, and was a perfect cheese to finish with. The texture was a blend of softly buttery paste and the slight grain of the mighty mould veins. A blue that everyone could enjoy, without it being bland - not so much sharp as tingly. This could easily become a new favourite and is on the "keeper" list and the "buying again" list and the "yes please" list.

Things that make you go "yummmmm..."

We also took delivery of some Aphrodite Haloumi, from Cyprus. I'll grill that and report back later. All in all an excellent haul.

Thy Thy 1

Despite rumours to the contrary, we have NOT been banned from restaurants in the northern parts of Melbourne; we just haven't been out much. That fabricated tissue of farragoes you may have heard about me losing my temper with a waiter because of a live lobster, the widow at the next table, dirty wine glasses and a rolled-up copy of Guns 'N' Ammo is almost certainly untrue. Nor do I have anything to apologise to Nicole Kidman for. My statement stands, and that's all I'm saying on the matter.

Now we've cleared up that little mess, we've decided to make a bit more of an effort and let other people cook. Today was a test run in order to limber up the blogging muscles, stretch the jaw tendons and give the taste buds a slight sanding and a freshen up. So where better than old favourite (and nowhere near High Street), Thy Thy 1 on Victoria Street in Richmond, in Melbourne's Vietnamese centre.

Reasons to love Victoria Street #7: Vegetables on the street

Thy Thy 1 is about as casual as you can get and although it's always busy, there's never any problem getting a table, although you might be kissing a stranger's elbow (no, that rumour's not true either). You ascend the pink staircase from the street to be greeted by laminex tables, gaudy painting and glowing paper lamps as colourful as a box of crayons after a mouthful of disco biscuits.

The magical staircase is all you can see from the street

Jars of chili, bottles of sauces and vinegars sit in a plastic peg bucket on each table. All very casual and very, very welcoming. Tea comes out and gay, chipper menus are distributed and orders are taken quickly. Food generally arrives within 10 minutes, today even faster.

Chili, sauces etc in a bucket

Although Spring rolls are an easy-cop-out cliche in many South East Asian restaurants, here they are beautiful, petit and come with a table salad to wrap them in. Lettuce, bean shoots and Vietnamese mint, and a nuoc mam cham dipping sauce. Crunchy, light and fragrant... Because we arrived late in the lunch session, we were the last to leave, and got to watch them being rolled at the next table.


We followed this up with fried egg noodles with seafood, which was pretty good, and a curry made with sliced barbecue pork and curry powder, cheered up with fresh herbs.


Neither were fantastic dishes, but they were good and very comforting. Thy Thy 1 is not fine dining, nor is it elegant, neuvo anything. Minimalist decor has been ignored for hallucinogenic colour and easy-to-clean surfaces. If it's a bit hip (and how the fuck would I know?), then it's because it's not trying to be. You get what you expect, as long as you were expecting cheap and cheerful food stripped of all pretension and stuck at the top of a magical staircase in Richmond. There's one or two decent bottle shops within a hundred metres or so, so you can get a bottle of wine at the last moment should you want.

Of course, you also get a walk along Victoria Street. Priceless.

The second rule of Cheese Club is don't talk about Cheese Club

It was a truly great day. Cheese Club day always is. This time we were joined by the Urbane parents and the wines of the Rhone - a bottle of rounded red and a Muscat de Beaumes de Venise. The Richmond Hill blurb for the selection emphasised fondue, Switzerland and winter, and while it was cold and wet outside, inside it was warm and cheesy. The cheeses were either Swiss or from Alpine France, but there was nothing neutral or appeasing about them.

Fromeger des Clarines - Louche, lush, luscious, moannnnn... This is a surface ripened, white mould cheese that makes your average Camembert look as attractive as a lump of ripened soap. The emphasis here is on "creamy", and the lesson is "fat is your friend". The rind/mould has just the right amount of texture to stop the cheese from falling apart; the flavour is gentle and earthy but the texture of the middle is a thing that makes you go "mmmmmmmmm"... somewhere between a fully ripe Brie and creme fraiche...


La Graine des Vosges - Well, roll me over, call me slave and make me beg for mercy - this is a petite smack in the face with a slice of lemon wrapped around a gold brick, to paraphrase Douglas Adams. It's cute and smaller than you expect (insert Kylie Minogue reference here), and while a washed rind, it's not in the cat's tray league - the orange mould is a subtle, yeasty tang (note "orange mould" and "subtle" aren't mutually exclusive) and the overall effect is rich, salty, creamy and vegemitey. Spruced up with a sprig of spruce, this Kylie, this looks pretty and has a particular nasal twang. Mmmm.....

Le Caviste de Scey - the first of the obviously mountainous cheeses, this is a cooked smoother than smooth thing that's been given a light sanding in preparation for a quick coat of varnish and a French polish. It has an intensity, but apart from the smoothy smoother smoothster texture, mark this one down as Captain Pleasant.


Cave Ripened Emmentaler - Heidi as slut. Unpasteurised, dirty and sexy, this is sweeter than the Caviste de Scey and dribbles a bit - the eyes are moist with a sweetened whey and the cheese itself has a slight but perfect grain. Nutty and verging on nuttiest, as though it's going to key your car and write a nasty farewell on your windscreen with lipstick. The whole wheels of cheese apparently weigh more than a Range Rover but look fetching in a pair of silk stockings. Switzerland, eh? Who would have thought...

Bresse Blue - F remembers this as having been mentioned in the "cheeseshop" sketch, proving only that she's as much a sketch comedy gunzel as I am. It's soft and has white mould, blue mould and a partridge in a mould tree mould. It's a mild and creamy blue, rich and not too tart. Like Joe Hockey, it's plump and mostly inoffensive, has a friendly appeal that doesn't particularly stick in the mind.

The first rule of Cheese Club is don't talk about Cheese Club (Part Two)

The second part of our fromage a trois. I've been looking forward to this all day.

First, the Barossa Valley Cheese Company's Washington. F sniffed deeply, reeled back in horror and described it as "like nail polish remover... an ancient cats' tray...", and yes, the first impression is of an ammonia factory being dropped on a dead cat. But underneath the violent crust is a creamy, mild ooze that is gentle enough to forgive you for the look of disgust on your face.


I will never really feel comfortable with the term "smear ripened". An old mate played drums for a Melbourne punk band (Depression) in the 1980's, and the band's leader and guitarist's name was Smear, but that's not what puts me off. Smear was a lovely guy, and despite his strident vegetarianism and hatred of tobacco we agreed on the importance of one herb, at least. "Smear ripened" suggests a process best not delved into, especially in food production. Cursed with a visual imagination, I would rather think of mould.

The notes from Richmond Hill describe the cheese as "gentile". Well, so am I, I guess. Which reminds me of one of my work mates, who sent me an email saying how glad she was to be Jewish in this time of swine flu...

I think I'll probably be eating most of this myself.


The little chubster above is a Normandy Camembert, bearing the butch and manly name of that famous cheese terrorist, Will Studd. Ummmm... As you can see from the photo, it's on the firm side. It was a lovely, if mild, Camembert, but to be honest I think we're a week too soon. I might come back when it's excrementally runny. Report to follow in some time.

Last, the extreme, big natured, punch in the face that makes you think, "what the fuck was THAT!?!" and then humiliates you by making you beg for more. The High Alpage Gruyere from Fribourg in Switzerland is a traditional hard(ish) cooked curd cheese with a madly concentrated nutty flavour.

While the Richmond Hill notes describe it as "intense Herbaceous buttery creamy" (sic), this has none of the gentle, relaxed communing-with-nature that "herbaceous" suggests. In fact, at my first taste I thought of Heidi on a Harley. "Ja mein lieber, wir gehen auf meinem motorrad." Peter the goatherd is riding pillion, wearing aviator sunglasses and a leather jacket. Great times; great times...

The first rule of Cheese Club is don't talk about Cheese Club (Part One)

Not a High Street, Northcote reference, but a richly pleasured Bridge Road, Richmond story with added dairy goodness and a joyfully cultured experience. More to follow in coming days.

Woo hoo! Sunday I got a voicemail message from the Richmond Hill cheese folks telling me Cheese Club had my stuff. I'd tell you more, but the first rule of Cheese Club is "don't talk about Cheese Club".

A scant handful of hours more than a day later and I can cheerfully report on three of said lumpettes of milk's leap towards immortality.

The first was Buche Chevre de Poitou (above), a white mould, surface ripened (ie Camembert ripened-style) French goat's milk cheese. Being a chunky slice off a largish piece, you can see the dramatic range of textures in the photo. The inside was crumbly, slightly buttery but balanced with a fruit tartness, while the outside was more liquid and pungent. Lovely, slight outer crusting.
The second was a local Victorian goat milk cheese (above), but this time a blue moulder - Red Hill Dairy Mountain Goat Blue. Tart, earthy but with a clear, honest, goaty flavour. More crumbly than buttery, it's on the vaguely harder side of a blue cheese. Lovely, but definitely a piccolo cheese rather than a lardy-arse basso profundo.

Tonight's last cheese (below) starts with a totally different epistemology, so it's unfair to compare it to the others. But as cheeses go, WHOA!!!! It's Cambray Sheep Cheese Farmhouse Gold from Nannup (that can't be a real name...) in WA, and is a cooked curd cheese. It's pretty intense and mostly hard cheese with a bit of age, and which your better class of conmen could do a quick thimble-and-pea trick with an older gruyere. It's not obviously a sheep milk cheese but is more obviously a bloody marvelous after dinner keeper. The four year old tried some and his eyes opened wide - it's going to be hard to get him to accept a cheese slice tomorow.


In the next few days, I'll post about the other three cheeses. Oh yeah.... That'll be so hard...