They’re stinkers. There’s no other way to describe washed-rind cheeses as a category. Since so many artisan cheesemakers in the United States are exploring this style – from Doe Run Dairy’s new Bathed in Victory (PA) to Canal Junction’s Charloe (OH) – I thought I’d offer a few pointers about identifying and tasting this full-bodied favorite.
May 31st kicks off 2013 Philly Beer Week, and boy are we excited! We have lots of events in store showcasing some of the best of our cheese selections to pair with craft and local beers. We’ve partnered with restaurants, breweries and food writers to offer a wide variety of events – from educational clases, to sampling events to thoughtful paired dinners and even an exclusive After Hours event at 9th Street on June 6th!
Peek behind Philadelphia’s largest and oldest cheese counter for a lively guide to pairing cheese with everything from beer and cocktails to olives and charcuterie. Madame Fromage brings to life 170 of the world’s greatest artisanal cheeses, drawing on stories and knowledge from our third-generation owners, cheesemongers and friends.
Kimchi and cheese? Take that puzzled look off your face! It’s not any more bizarre than drizzling balsamic vinegar on a wedge of Parm. Or tipping back a fermented beverage, like beer or wine, with pizza. Or, at least that was our premise when Amanda Feifer and I presented KIMCHEESE! for the Philadelphia Science Festival. Sixty […]
A couple recipes from the evening will be in your hands soon – the Di Bruno Bros. House of Cheese book comes out in just three weeks! Until then, you’ll have to wing it as you crack open your first Hopfish, your first Exit 16 (made with wild rice, and just glorious!). As I read through my hasty tasting notes, a few favorites jumped out. I am writing them here for you – but also to commit them to memory myself, as a summer mantra.
This spring, I’ve had a love affair with brainy goat cheeses. They appear this time of year – wrinkly, rumpled, as if they’ve just rolled out of bed – which may explain why I adore them for breakfast. Put on a pot of tea, grab the honey, pop in some toast, and prepare to be awakened with a rise-and-shiny little cheese.
“Puits d’Astier,” Rocco whispered. It sounded like a new frangrance. Pwee d’awz-tee-eh. And it might as well be. Since Saturday, I’ve been patting Puits d’Astier on the insides of my wrists, and wherever I go in the world I leave the aroma of sweet sheep’s milk and hazelnuts. It’s true. Riders of SEPTA, Philadelphia’s public transit system, know me and thank me. Expect men who peddle scented oils from duffle bags to pursue you with bottles of faux Puits d’Astier soon.