Pink Dragonfruit

Useful News

2007-07-15T10:59:00.001-07:00

Summer means several things to me, sitting where I am:

Crab season in the greater Chesapeake Bay watershed

U-Pick berries, of the blue-, straw-, black-, and rasp- varieties

farmers' markets in the cities

cold drinks

leisure time to explore new restaurants, cook elaborate meals, revel in Nature, etc.

Summer news slump, while most pols & news media professionals go on full or semi-vacation, and we're left with News of the Weird and a foreboding feeling that some Serious Shit is going to hit us come late August or early September.

I hope to broach all these topics in coming posts here at Pink Dragonfruit, the Food Blog That Thinks It Can. Today, let me start with the last one.

Chinese pork buns filled with cardboard and "caustic soda"

U.S. trades nuclear technology & fuel for Indian mangoes (somewhat old news, but it's starting to bother me that no one seems to have investigated this)

Sole entrant in baking contest takes second place

Confirmed: Whole Foods CEO is a shameless dickhead. Like we didn't already know! I was onto this guy three years ago. In fact, I think I might add some kind of Whole Foods Watch component to Pink Dragonfruit. Keep your eye on the WF tag.

I don't know about you, but I'm quite concerned about this whole China food safety thing. I've lately been trying to avoid processed foods, but it's pretty difficult. I don't want to have to make my own snack food, and there are certain products, like ajvar and Tofutti, that I refuse to cross off my shopping list. So when I googled "China food safety," I was intrigued by this site, which is sponsored by the USDA and US Dept. of Commerce, in addition to the expected PRC agencies. According to domainsearch.com, the site is registered by someone at Tsinghua University in Beijing. I'm not sure what all this portends, but I know I'll be paying extra attention to the news out of China come September 12 & 13

Another Food Blog Is Born

2007-04-29T12:15:00.000-07:00

Watch this space for archives of cheese reviews, and future postings on tropical fruit. Eventually, this will be the go-to joint for all anglophone, bipedal ominivores. In the meantime, go look at some pictures of Hylocereus undatus.

Pure Luck Chevre

2006-08-11T10:51:00.000-07:00

In Austin, and going local, I found Pure Luck Chevre at the Wheatsville Co-op, and thought: hey, it's time I started investigating cheese again!

This is a very, very fresh goat cheese. After months of the decent but uninspirational cheap stuff at Trader Joe's, I'd forgotten what cheese from goats <200 miles away tasted like. I don't know if this is pasteurized or not, but there's a definite milky taste under the usual goat cheese tartness. I got the herb-encrusted kind, and Pure Luck has elected to add some red pepper flakes, along with the expected greenish melange. Because this is Texas, right? If it's not kickin' you back, you're not doing it right.

I recommend serving this on lightly toasted corn tortillas, with a bit of fresh fruit on the side. I had a baby banana (cute & delicious) and some sapote (creamy & slightly bitter) to round out my breakfast. I think melon & figs would've been a better pairing.

Queso Fresco

2005-12-08T01:06:00.000-08:00

Breaking Cheese News

Model Accused of Hiring Hit Man to Kill for Cheese

In my fantasy world, all attempted crimes would be like this.

The item in question is queso fresco. HOW DO YOU CONFUSE QUESO FRESCO WITH COCAINE????

Dairyland at a Crossroads; Cook's Thesaurus

2005-01-25T00:00:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I've had little to say lately about anything appropriate to this page. The only thing I can offer as enlightenment is this link:

The Cook's Thesaurus. This online, illustrated encyclopedia is truly great. I've found a few omissions and minor errors, but they passed my basic test of whether a food encyclopedia is worth my time: They've got an entry on Armenian cucumbers. That's it; these folks are legit.

Nutella, or Why I Must Continue Foodblogging

2004-12-14T11:24:00.000-08:00

It's when I read things like this, that my heart really sings:

"Eulogized in print, in song, and on screen, Nutella is one of those rare products that have transcended their nature as food to enter the collective consciousness."

There's a book out, "Nutella, Un Mito Italiano," that I've gotta get, if it's ever translated into English.

AssWhole Foods, Part 2

2004-12-13T13:08:00.000-08:00

I shoulda known this. I mean, it's a huge national chain, caters to the rich and gullible, is just a little *too* clean, if you know what I mean. So yeah, I opened the 1/05 issue of Vanity Fair, and read this, about Whole Foods CEO John Mackey (p. 93):

The founder of Whole Foods Market may be just the man to heal the divide between red and blue America: a Ronald Reagan-loving, Adam Smith-quoting, Wall Street Journal--op-ed-page-reading libertarian who makes his living selling shiny organic apples and allegedly tasty tofu dogs to NPR listeners in places such as Palo Alto, CA; Portland, OR; Madison, WI--and even New York City, that tough town not known for its friendliness to either conservatism or rice milk. Though he insists suppliers practice sustainable agriculture and allow livestock to "fulfill their animal potential," John Mackey otherwise runs his 163-store chain the way any hard-nosed businessman would, buying up competitors, fighting unions, pushing the company this year to the brink of the Fortune 500. But no one will deny the real key to Whole Foods' success: no more musty-yeasty-old-hippies-in-hand-knit-wool-socks-health-food-store stink. Praise the Lord and pass the Kashi!

Ugh. Just: Ugh. I know none of my consumer choices are ethically pure, hell, *I'm* not ethically pure, I know that. But Mr. Mackey and this encomiastic VF write-up happen to hit several of my sore spots: libertarianism, anti-unionism, knee-jerk anti-hippieism, red-state/blue-state stereotyping. Whole Foods is doing the world no favors. And I'm doing myself even fewer favors by dropping $20-30 a week there. No more! The problem is, my only other neighborhood option is Safeway, which is threatening to fuck over its union workers this Xmas season. Well, at least The Safe *has* unions! And hell, it even has a nice little "natural foods" ghetto in its far southeast corner. As you, dear reader, have already surmised, this is about far, far more than expensive cheese.

Much as I enjoy reading VF, I gotta complain: only *I* am entitled to overuse hyphens like that, dammit! Just: Ugh.

AssWhole Foods

2004-11-08T19:51:00.000-08:00

Time for an update. First: I'm in DC. Second: I'm off the nachos. Second sub-A: I'm getting vegan-er by the day. Second sub-B: But as far as this blog goes, I'm back on the cheese. Third: I'm really hungry right now, so I'm gonna make this quick.

I live in an extremely "gentrified" neighborhood, which as far our story is concerned, means that the closest grocery store to me is a Whole Foods. Whole Foods is one of those gourmet, granola-for-rich-people places that evokes snide, Marxist thoughts in me, while I make my purchases alongside the very bourgeoisie and nobility that I am snidely, marxistly thinking about. This in turn produces a poisonous black hole of mixed emotions & muddy ideas from which I only escape burdened with a sackful of EdenFoods products, readymade sushi, and sundry other non-necessities. One section of WF that has not tarnished, jaded, bitten, or scared me in any way, however, is the cheese department.

How, you ask, can I be unharmed by perusing the WF cheese section? After all, it's the most extravagant & outrageously priced section in the whole g.d. store! The truth is, I am released from the afflictions and internal class warfare that lie latent in the WF cheese department by virtue of its one saving grace: the free sample platters. Oh yes.

The WF cheese samples are cut into very generous cubes, piled high, and hygenically enclosed in a clear plastic bell lid, with a little window for picking. They provide free toothpicks. Morning or evening, they never run out. It is a cheese taster's dream--with one exception. They NEVER change the cheeses being sampled. It's the same quintet, every time I go: French gouda, gruyere, goat gouda, Canadian cheddar, parrano. Every time, like stations at a science fair, only with more religious automation, I go: gouda, gruyere, goat gouda, cheddar, parrano. Of course, I destroy my cheese taster's cred by not remembering anything about these cheeses--I can't remember which one has the creamier flavor, which one's crunchier with a nutty taste--just their holy procession: gouda, gruyere, goat gouda, cheddar, parrano. A cube of each, as I make my rounds, trying to decide if I *really* need some turbinado sugar, or artisan bread, or Soy Delicious (the answer, usually, is "yes"). Don't tell any WF managers, but sometimes I take more than one cube. It's hard work being appalled at inflated prices and shelves dripping with yuppie self-righteousness, so I need the calories!

OK, so why don't the cheeses, and they're expensive and extravagant, piss me off, while the rest of the store does? I'll tell you: I'VE NEVER BOUGHT CHEESE THERE!! You see? You see the beauty of it? I've helped myself to what must be approaching a running total of 1/4 lb. or so of free cheese, and I've never bought an ounce! This probably smacks of hypocrisy, theft, and the kind of assholery I claim to despise, and that's probably accurate. Rest assured that the real winner of this game is still WF, not me, since I still spend too much there, and I haven't reconciled my conflicting philosophies in this matter--but leave me the satisfaction, false though it may be, that I'm getting something for nothing. Let me ogle the beautiful cheeses at WF, never to purchase one, somehow placated by the absurd, toothpick-strewn merry-go-round of gouda, gruyere, goat gouda, cheddar, parrano.

Guest review: pickled jalapenos

2004-07-07T19:16:00.000-07:00

You may remember this week's guest nacho reviewer from her previous opus on cotija cheese. Friends and family, I introduce to you once again Ms. Mo:

I have been wanting to contribute to the Nacho diary, but haven’t because, truth be told, I never order nachos in restaurants. There are numerous reasons for this. First, I live in Texas, where Tex-Mex rules the plate. It is true that things are big in Texas, and that adage applies heavily to Mexican restaurant servings ‘round these parts. Knowing that a five pound platter of beans, meat, cheese, and sauce are on their way to my belly, I know better than to order an appetizer on top of that, lest I leave the restaurant with a fat tummy and diarrhea an hour later. Second, when an appetizer is in order (i.e. not at fucking Chuy’s, home of the enormous plate of calorie-laden heaven), I opt for that of the deep-fried potato oeuvre. But mostly, it is because nachos, whether procured from a classic Mexican-American lard pit or your neighborhood sports bar, unfailingly feature a large quantity of those slimy, fart-flavored pickled jalapenos.

The jalapeno is a glorious pepper, not to be cheapened and tossed around like a butter pickle on a third-rate burger. Anyone who has access to these gems and who has used them to make homemade salsa knows that a fresh, hotter-than-hell jalapeno creates flavor magic that makes comida Mexicana get up and polka. The mass-produced, canned jalapeno, omnipresent on all things called “Nacho,” frankly reminds me of high school football stadiums. For one dollar, you can feed your face with salty, perhaps stale, tortilla chips (fried in one of the “evil oils” like cottonseed or palm oil), a microwaved dollop of canned “nacho cheese” (insert racist joke here) and a latex-gloved handful of those green booger-hued monsters, dripping with their own foul brine. All served gloriously in one of those paper “boats.” Oh, we’ve all seen this artery-busting monstrosity. It smells like the driver’s seat cushion of your fat uncle’s Buick, and yet you accept this as nachos! Disgusting!

Another great nacho violation is the flagrant price-gouging surrounding guacamole. Most places tack on an extra two or three bucks for the stuff, which may or may not come from real avocados. Most likely, it is frozen “Cal-Avo” green avocado whip, which is thin and filled with unholy preservatives and salt. Any moron with a DSL connection can do a Google search on “wholesale avocado prices” and know that the few tablespoons of green goo add up to nothing but a vehicle for greed and profiteering. Guacamole is not alloy wheels or an automatic sunroof: it should not be a pricey option for the nacho consumer! Guacamole should come standard and not be used as a pawn to eke a few extra bucks from your wallet.

So until sw can find me a plate of nachos made with the freshest chips, the most flavorful real jalapenos, and heaping spoonfuls of real, chunky guacamole, I am afraid I will have to play Waldorf and/or Statler to the very idea of nacho consumption. I feel that nachos can be done better at home, with a bag of Tostitos Gold, some real ingredients, and the absence of tacky faux-Latin knickknacks and/or beer-swilling sports fans looking for pussy. Just sayin’.

Editorial disclaimer: The above opinions regarding jalapenos do not reflect the beliefs of the creator of this website. I'm with her on the guacamole price-gouging, however.

How Not to Celebrate Bloomsday: Big Time Brewery, Deluxe Nachos

2004-07-05T14:07:00.000-07:00

June 16, 2004: The hundredth anniversary of the day Mr. Leopold Bloom fictionally walked around Dublin, thinking about his unfaithful wife, occasionally crossing paths with young Stephen Dedalus, all the while carrying a bar of lemon soap in his pocket. Every year since god-knows-when, James Joyce aficionados have enthusiastically celebrated this day with re-enactments, public readings of Ulysses, or just trips to the bar for pints of Guinness. For the big 100, my father and I thought we ought to at least do that last one, since we both had to work, and we really aren’t quite nerdy enough for dressing up as Leo and Molly, or Buck Mulligan and Mrs. Grogan, so Dad suggested we meet up at the Big Time Brewery at 5pm, the hour of the Cyclops episode. Unfortunately, he hadn’t done his homework, and it turns out the Big Time, far from being an Irish-style pub, is in fact an independent microbrewery, exclusively serving its own ales, porters, and lagers. We had the option of going uphill a block, to Finn MacCool’s, the local “Irish” pub (note the quote marks), but we simply could not face trying to read Ulysses amongst rowdy frat boys and other genera of doofuses. So we made do with our ersatz Harp’s and our ersatz Guinness, and since there were no kidneys or mutton joints or plums, and the whole Bloomsday celebration was ruined anyway, we ordered nachos.

I can endorse the Big Time’s beers, if you’re visiting Seattle and want to sample the local brews, as many tourists are wont to do. The porter is nice and malty without being too sweet, the ale properly dry and hoppy. But, friends, do not order nachos here. First: the chips were stale and too salty. Second: the cheese, that suspicious colby/jack blend one finds cheap at supermarkets, was insufficiently melted, and rather rubbery. Third: way too many jalapenos. Fourth and finally: the salsa was of a particular type that I have only encountered here in Seattle. I cannot identify it for certain, but it had the overly cilantro-y, stewed tomato-y, hippie-grub reek akin to the San Juan or Essential Foods brands that infect the local health food co-ops. It is the sort of salsa one might find in a Deadhead mess hall caravan, alongside whole wheat seitan pita pockets and hemp-carob spelt bars. It is so far removed from Mexican culinary discourse as to be frankly insulting, even to this Northern, pasty gringa reviewer.

If you find yourself in the University District of Seattle, WA, and are in need of a hot, tasty plate of nachos, do yourself a favor and pass by the Big Time. Wander, instead, toward the HUB, or just keep moving.

This review is dedicated to Monique, who has the cultural experience and vocabulary to have done a better job than I have in describing just how awful these nachos were.

Guest review: Trudy's

2004-05-25T16:05:00.000-07:00

Only three nacho reviews, and already the guest reviewers are clamoring with their $0.02 on the subject! I am powerless to stem this tide, so put your hands together for my homegirl Nina!

Trudy's (Austin, TX)

The food at Trudy's, as you may know, is almost unfailingly good, but something terrible happened when they got to the nachos. A five dollar plate of nachos consists of eight large tortilla chips arranged artfully on the plate. Each has a tiny bit of cheese, a glop of Trudy's disturbingly lard-flavored refried beans, some gloomy canned jalapenos, and a ring or two of olive. They had to be salted, and then the chips were soggy under the pressing weight of the lard beans, and while some people may like sour cream, I felt that two round blobs of it in the middle of the plate in no way compensated for the absence of guacamole, especially on such a dismal dish. However I wouldn't wish to give the impression that you shouldn't go to Trudy's because they have very good, very volatile margaritas (I indulged, myself, in the house limit of two Mexican Martinis recently--for only seventy five cents each you can get them top shelf, and I recommend this, because today I don't have a hangover). And everything but the nachos is well worth getting. But the nachos are appalling.

Editor's postscript: I tried to find some online evidence of Trudy's, but all I found were general directories, listing at least 4 Trudy's restaurants in Austin. In any case, this review is hardly an endorsement, though those martinis sound awfully alluring.

¡ARRIBA!

2004-05-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

¡ARRIBA! at the HUB

First let's get the weak points out of the way: The chips are way too salty, and it's that thick, gritty, yellow corn style that one encounters in non-Mexican chain restaurants. The sour cream is of the liquidy, as opposed to the firm and chilled, variety. The beans are a bit too watery, which soaks the chips.

OK, enough of that. These, dear readers, are the best goddamn nachos in Seattle. The beans, while aforementionedly watery, are actually cooked in a delicious broth, which undoubtedly involves a secret spice formula jealously guarded by the UW illuminati, lest every teriyaki joint on the Ave. steal it and convert their underground single-kitchen, teriyaki-pipeline network into a nachos factory, and violent revolution is loosed upon the Ave Rats, international students, and homeless itinerant cranks. Seriously, these are the most flavorful beans not labelled "chilli" I've ever had.

Beyond the just the beans, though, Arriba's nachos win all prizes hands-down. The cheese--100% cheddar, perfectly microwaved to order. The salsa--generous & garlicky, and there's a salsa bar if you need more. The sour cream, while too soft, is liberally provided, along with tons of guacamole, which is surprising for a $3.95 nachos plate. The guac is not the best I've tasted--it wouldn't stand alone well--but it complements the rest of the ensemble harmoniously, and did I mention there's tons of it?

I have been working in the same building as this otherwise unassuming college dining services Mexican food counter, and only discovered this culinary treasure two weeks ago. I have now had the nachos three times. The other offerings on the menu do not compare, even the ones that involve the same ingredients. I don't know how this is possible, especially since the chips, by themselves, would suck. One of those convergence mysteries, I guess.

Ten stars. No, make that twelve.

Next up, a guest review from one of our Austin correspondents!!

Nachos-a-go-go

2004-05-17T16:35:00.000-07:00

NACHOS-A-GO-GO!

Time passes, the winds of fate change course, and my Dairyland Cheese Journal sheds its crusty carapace and metamorphoses. Yesterday, I was a Cheese Reviewer. Today, I am a Nachos Reviewer, and am as proud of my maturation as a bar mitzvah boy proclaiming his manhood from behind the bina. No more will you see me struggle with adjectives to properly evaluate cheap cheddars and bries! Now, with so many more ingredients under scrutiny, I can review splendidly, even exuberantly, a far more interesting product! OK, let me get right to it:

Linda's Tavern

Linda's serves a decent-sized plate, guaranteed to satisfy two happy barflies, with quality chips and perfectly serviceable pico de gallo salsa. The toppings, while flavorful--cumin lurks heavily among the whole pinto beans--have a kind of sad, dumped-from-a-can look and texture, which aren't adequately hidden by the cheese and sour cream. Memory fails me as to whether these nachos came with guacamole; obviously, this tells you something about the guac situation here.

Rendezvous

When you've already knocked back two Makers on ice and are on your third, smoked your taste buds into hibernation, and perhaps found yourself in a yuppier part of town than you're accustomed to, why not pop into Rendezvous and order an appetizer? Sure, you could go all fancy and order "Yam Chips," but fuck that, man, get the nachos! The Rendezvous' nachos are truly wonderous--at least to my soused senses. No guacamole, but this deficiency is generously made up for by two pillowy scoops of sour cream and a light sprinkling of green onion, jalapeno, black beans, and black olives. With salsa on the side and a non-greasy cheese, the chips stayed crisp through the whole ordeal. The true miracle of it all, though, is that I did not get a single speck on my white shirt, despite my altered state. My only criticism of these nachos is that the cheese was still in discernable grated flakes in some places, and close to room temp at serving. 'Nother words, it could have used another 15 seconds or so in the microwave. Also: having these with another glass of Makers was not a great idea. Nachos should always be enjoyed with a pale, dry, Mexican beer. Don't forget that, people.

Stay tuned for more nacho reviews!

Another Guest Columnist: Queso Cojita

2004-03-03T21:32:00.000-08:00

Inspired by last episode's guest column, my dear friend Mo D. submitted the following review, replete with typical Mo-esque pizazz, and more than a touch of political punditry. Take it away, Mo!

I have recently sampled a new cheese.

QUESO COTIJA is the hard, white Mexican cheese that often appears atop tostadas, enchiladas, and beans at California-style Mexican establishments such as San Diego monster chain Roberto's. I recently purchased some at my local hippie food co-op to play a supporting role in a batch of enchiladas suizas, where organic lowfat Monterey Jack was dominating the dairy factor. Much like John Kerry's unabashed dominance over the race for the Democratic candidacy, the two cups of jack that I added made for a solid roadblock of cheese that dared to be the tortillas and beans' equal.

But sitting atop the hot, fresh-from-the-oven enchiladas, was a handful of grated cojita. The salty, tangy flavor added a harder, noticeably forceful element, much like Howard Dean's rise and fall. But the cojita can never be used like Monterey jack. Surely the hard, somewhat rubbery texture (much like what I imagine John Kerry’s face to feel like) would overpower the other flavors, leading to resentment and buyer’s remorse. Sometimes, good things should be used sparingly, and cojita is a prime example. An exclusively cojita batch of enchiladas would mirror the presidency of Bill Clinton: too salty for most, just right for a few, leading to a push for more conservative use in future batches. I found myself savoring the bites that included cojita much longer than the cojita-free bites. Cojita also does well on its own, served atop crackers or tortillas.

Thanks again, Mo! Stay tuned for some original material, which is assuredly, imminently forthcoming. I swear.

Special Guest Columnist: Grafton Village Cheddar

2004-03-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

Today Dairyland presents an entry by special guest reviewer Charles M., a dear college chum of mine and fellow tyrophile. He's also, as will be obvious in this review, a gourmet beer guzzler. Take it away, Chuck!

I went to a Vermont cheese and beer tasting last night [Feb. 18--Ed.] at the Blind Tiger in the West Village, and sampled what might have been the best cheddar cheese I've ever eaten. Grafton Village 4-star Cheddar (aged 4 years). Slightly crumbly and dry, almost like parmigianno reggiano, with a complex, salty sharpness. They also featured a Grafton Maple-Smoked Cheddar, which was smoked with maple wood and tasted slightly sweet and almost bacony. Those two were the big winners. They also had a Crowley Colby and a couple of raw milk farmhouse cheeses from Orb Weaver Farm, as well as a Vermont Sherphed raw milk sheep cheese from Major Farm - all of which were quite tasty but a bit mild for my tastes. Matched all these with a Magic Hat Ravell (vanilla-bean-flavored porter) and a McNeill's Old Ringworm (supposedly a barleywine but not as sweet as a normal one, and very malty). I could have perhaps chosen something with more bite like an IPA, but they were both delicious brews anyway.

Over and out,

Charles

Bavarian Champignon Cream Brie + garlic = Heaven

2004-02-08T13:16:00.000-08:00

Bavarian Champignon Cream Brie

After three weeks of fitful attempts to get my act together with regard to various matters, a week and a half of stumbling across the east coast, and half a week of fighting off and eventually giving in to a nasty headcold, I’ve decided it’s finally time to write about the delicious brie concoction my roommate made for me awhile back, before 2004 started knocking me around.

In the latest fashion of sampling multinational cheeses (see previous 2 entries), M. and I bought a “Bavarian Champignon” brie at Trader Joe’s. It was your basic creamy brie with dried mushrooms mixed into the pate. M. took this Kraut-Frog monster and concecrated it in the most holy fashion: by adding crushed garlic. As everyone on the planet knows, garlic makes everything better, from salad dressing to heartbreak, and M. is not in the dark on this matter. She put the brie in a small baking dish, lathered the top crust with crushed garlic, and baked it at 350º until the garlic was browned and the cheese—bavarian mushrooms and all—was melty, then served it with crackers. We ate it in reverent silence. I love TJ’s, and I love my roommate’s cooking, but never had a confection so glorious and fulfilling as this ever before come forth from either source. TJ’s, I thank you. M., I thank you too. I have never seen the face of God, but I can truly say that I have tasted a Revelation. Amen!

Canadian Brie

2004-01-03T21:11:00.000-08:00

Breakfast started today with Canadian brie. Brie is an agreeable, if bland cheese. I like the bitter chalkiness of the washed rind. The Canadian version--another cheapie from Trader Joe's--is a bit on the salty side, with a pate (that's the middle part) lacking the classic brie creaminess, but possessing a delightful, light moldy taste.

One of my problems with brie is the name. I had a friend named Brita when I was little, whom everyone called Brie. She was (and is; I went to her wedding last year) blonde and lovely. I was actually closer to her redhead sister, but I spent enough time with Brie to have that word forever associated with her, not a runny french cheese. Therefore, I propose a name change. How about Herbert? It sounds french, and I don't know anyone with that name. Allright, settled. Now excuse me, I hear TJ's has a sale on Herbert cru aux champignons.

Celtic Cheddar (!?!!?)

2003-12-09T13:29:00.000-08:00

"Trader O'Joe's Celtic Cheddar"

I first encountered this species of cheese at Trader Joe’s, but I have seen variations—“Irish Cheddar,” “Dubliner Cheddar”—around town, so I am, in fact, documenting a trend here. This cheese is cheddar-flavored, but more like soft romano in texture. When grated, it melts like regular cheddar, however. Eaten cold, Celtic Cheddar has a satisfying, salty crunch, like myzithra, with the classic cheddar zippiness. Superb on toast.

That said, I'd like to know who thought up this marketing gimmick, for that is what "Irish Cheddar" is. A google search proved nothing but the cheese's popularity, so I'm left to do some deconstruction on my own:

"Cheddar" is an English cheese, from the English town of Cheddar. Ireland is the second largest island of the British Isles, and has been under the imperialist thumb of England for centuries. I am not Irish, nay, even Irish-American, so I don't know the exact political implications of a food commodity called "Irish Cheddar," but frankly, it strikes me as wrong. I mean, with all the Irish pride out there (and I've lived in Boston and New York, so I know from Irish pride), can't they come up with their own cheeses to market to American yuppies? I know there are indigenous Irish cheeses out there--Dunbarra springs to mind--so why must the Irish co-opt the name "Cheddar" from their oppressors?

Maybe I shouldn't be too harsh. Perhaps "Irish Cheddar" is just another example of globalization and multiculturalism, like Earl Grey tea or Japanese Christmas. Maybe, in a plan to make the quintessential cheese of the European Union, the Irish Cheddar makers got an early jump on the trend. But I'm still not sure. The green, celtic knotwork on the Trader Joe's label seems like it's trying too hard to convince me of something I don't want to believe. Also, a study of the official Cheddar cheese website convinces me that the product I am nibbling on may or may not be Irish, but is indisputably not "cheddar."

Drosophila

2003-07-26T09:34:00.000-07:00

Ohmygosh, I think the Cheese Diary has to have a comeback. My household has been on an insane brie binge for the past couple of months, and this historic era must be properly documented.

Anyone know how to get rid of fruit flies? Suggestions of "clean your fucking kitchen" will be resented and unheeded.

History written in trees, the weather written in toast

2001-12-10T13:02:00.000-08:00

If you, like me, spent your entire Sunday yesterday reading the New York Times and its accompanying Magazine, you probably stumbled on at least two disturbing feature pieces. One was in the Magazine, and it was concerning a new toaster invented in England that, while toasting your bread, connects to the internet to find the day's weather prediction for your area, then selects the appropriate heated stencil, and brands your toast with the appropriate weather icon (sun, cloud, snowflake, etc.), so that you can get the day's weather prediction by reading your breakfast. ...Okay, maybe that bit was more funny than disturbing, but it got my attention.

The other item of note was about the city's plans to remove some dying Norwegian maples in the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens that were planted there as World War I memorials, and replace them with scarlet oaks, a longer-living species, as memorials for the victims of September 11. The Armistice memorial will be remembered with a plaque. This disturbed me not because I'm related to a WWI veteran, nor 'cause I like maples better than oaks, but because I get kind of itchy whenever I sense history is being rewritten. "But it's not!" you tell me, "There's going to be a plaque! And the Great War is still in history books, remembered by most conventional historians as the real beginning of the 20th century. Where's this rewriting you imagine?" I'll tell you where: It's in the trees.

Trees are about the most impressive memorial structure one could assemble--Not only do they stand up on their own, are tall, and do not require electricity or gas for eternal flames, or even day-to-day maintenance, but by golly, they're ALIVE, they're LIVING reminders of people who were once also LIVING but are now DEAD. And when there's a great mass of them, an arbor or a forest, then the loss of human life being memorialized becomes all the more poignant to the observer. The drawback, as the Brooklyn landscapers are aware, is that memorial trees, unlike granite, are not immortal. They, like the people they represent, eventually die. If you want an eternal tree memorial, you have to keep replacing the trees. Prior to 9/11, the Brooklyn Botanic folks were planning to replace the trees without ceremony, just re-naming the arbor "The Armistice Oaks," acknowledging that the WWI memorial, if not the specific trees, is eternal. But then history rolled along.

I guess what irks me about this whole affair is that the Brooklyn Botanic landscapers, the whole city, and indeed the whole country, is publicly and overtly ranking tragedy. 9/11/01 trumps 11/11/18 because it was sudden, it was not defined within the Western construct of "War," and most significantly I think, it is more recent. It's natural, I'm sure, to consider tragedies in living memory more meaningful than those in less-living or written memory, but to truly "learn from history," that great ideal we've been promised all throughout our educations and admonished to us in the editorial pages of our newspapers, we have to remember history, and not lose our grip on its significances, regardless of whether our grandfathers fought in Flanders or what-have-you in the way of personal connection. If the memory of World War I and America's involvement in it (yes, I know the U.S. was not nearly so involved in the First WW as it was in the Second) can be devalued by so many uprooted maples, then so can the record of 3,000-some killed by terrorists in airliners 70 years from now when some old withered scarlet oaks are pulled from Brooklyn's sand.

We can't keep doing this, people. Either we keep building new memorials in new locations until every acre of land is covered or until world peace reigns and natural disasters cease, or we re-evaluate our conventional methods of memorial. Lost in the rubble at Ground Zero, by the way, is a memorial sculpture remembering the handful of people killed in the 1993 WTC bombing. If memorials of disasters can be obscured by further disasters, then we have a problem.

I say: replace the maples as scheduled and as necessary due to the species' lifespan. But don't rededicate them. The folks who planted those trees in 1918 has all the weight of global tragedy on their minds and hope for a peaceful future in their hearts, and all that went into the saplings. And as for a 9/11 memorial monument of some sort, I'm all for it, but I really don't think it has to be monumental. Maybe a small sculpture, thousands of copies of which would be made, and distributed throughout the nation. Each tiny village will have one in its town hall or fire station. Every military base, every public park, every city hall, every visitor center in every national recreation area, all identical and equally meaningful. (I've no ideas about what this should look like--that's where the pro architects, artists, and visionaries come in.) That way, if one gets buried by human or natural activity, the spirit lives on in another memorial sculpture 5 miles away. Spread it out. Size doesn't matter, but mass certainly does. Remember "Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes"? How big was each crane? Yet how awesome was the idea of 1000 of them, in the mind of each seven-year-old who read that story?

I just don't want people to forget, that's all.

N.Y. State Cheddar

2001-12-01T20:51:00.000-08:00

ack to my old habits, as the title of this entry suggests. I have prepared Baked Macaroni and Cheese as directed by "The Joy of Cooking," using a caseus substance labelled, "N.Y. State Cheddar." Note that "State" is spelled out. In case you thought there might be dairy farms in the City. Hey, it's possible--I've never seen Flushing Meadows or Forest Park myself, for all I know they could be infested with cows.

The mac and cheese is a bit too eggy--the flavors are actually quite reminiscent of my mother's fritatas. The cheese is excellent--flavorful and far removed from the low quality generic brands, yet not quite as sharp as its Wisconsin cousins. This was cheap stuff, I'll have you know.

I purchased the New York (for that is what I presume the initials to represent) State Cheddar at the fabulous Sahadi's, where another domestic tyroform is available: Charlie Cheese. This is a white-and-yellow cheddar marbled into a happy face, millifiore style. Slice it, and get a hundred smiling Charlies. I imagine it makes incredibly cute open-faced toasted cheese sandwiches, but what I really want to know is whether the technology that made Charlie Cheese possible could be used to make other 2-color images: flowers, island scenes, hearts, Jerry Garcia's face. Phooey on Fimo, let's hear it for folk-art cheese!

Fresh Mozzarella, part skim, unsalted

2001-10-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

On Self-Indulgent Prose, Caputo's, and 9/11/2001

I haven't updated this page in over a month. Hello again to my three or four readers! I'm back, and I just might say something about cheese today.

After the plane attacks, after the High Holy Days, during which I cried a lot, not only for the massive sadness and grief in my new home town but also for my own little self-pityings, after I sat down and had a little chat with myself, I decided rather definitely that I would lay off the internet for awhile. I don't mean any sort of Luddite self-denial; I just mean I resolved to find better things to do with my time than wanky diary posting and chatting and searching Google with the terms "Pastitzo recipe Greek cuisine" (or worse, "Waterston Shepard NBC 2001 movie schedule"). But life wore on, and since I was glued to the computer looking fruitlessly for employment, it soon became clear that I needed to let off steam.

I do want to be good this year. I want to remember the year 5762 as the one wherein I volunteered in adult literacy programs, learned to ride a bike, found a pleasant boyfriend, baked cookies for my local firemen, and learned all about the Truman Doctrine and how the world is still feeling the repercussions of that fateful Administration. I want to help create a new, Thinking Left, which come to think of it isn't much of a new idea, but it's needed right now, and badly. I had a very productive discussion with two good friends (one old, one new--and I suppose one borrowed, one blue) about the Situation In Afghanistan, and what we, huddled laypersons, thought should be "done" about "it." And that was great. But I want to actually, golly, *do* something.

Instead I made a cheese sandwich. My roommate and I regularly patronise Caputo's, an Italian gourmet deli down our street. This week I bought coffee (Vienna roast) and fresh mozzarella--one of the three species of fromagerie that my roommate will tolerate. Fresh mozzarella is so basic--it's cheese that actually tastes like the stuff it's made from, milk. Astounding. I like it when things have identifiable origins.

I don't think I've cleared any moral high ground for myself in this diary entry. All I really wanted to do right now is say hello. And let you know that I have a lot on my mind.

Bucheron, Savarin

2001-08-23T11:14:00.000-07:00

Bucheron is too strong. Savarin is too creamy. I am recognizing my boundaries now. This cheese adventure may be drawing to a close.

In other news, I'm moving next week! Maybe the fromageries of Brooklyn will respark my interest in caseous comestibles. Maybe I'll find a new hobby, and sw's Cheese Diary will become, say, "sw's Antique Ironwork Diary" or "sw's Street Vendor Coffee Reviews." Alors.

Holy Shit!

2001-08-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

From the Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed.:

Tyromancy:

[ad. F. tyromantie (Rabelais), f. Gr. turos, cheese: see -MANCY.]

Divination by means of cheese.

1652 GAULE Magastrom. xix. 166 Tyromancy [mispr. Typomancy], [divining] by the coagulation of cheese. 1656 BLOUNT

Glossogr., Tiromantie. a1693 Urquhart's Rabelais III. xxv, To have the truth..more fully..disclosed..by Tyromancy, whereof we make some Proof in a great Brehemont Cheese.

Quotidian Cheeses

2001-08-09T11:04:00.000-07:00

Enough of this frou-frou Frenchy stuff. Ladies and gentlemen (if there be any such things amongst my vast audience), I give you my everyday encounters with caseous comestibles:

Asiago cheese bagel--I had 1/4 of one of these at work yesterday, with a schmeer of salmon cream cheese (another prosaic cheese!), and oh lordy, was that good. Asiago, as presented on a bagel--and can I just say, hooray for the goyim, for giving us such wild variations on the Jewish round bread that would make my ancestors moan with agony, but make me moan with joy? Thanks.--is a complex cheese, presenting foretastes as well as aftertastes. I love a toasted cheese; there's something in the melting process that fundamentally changes it. That crisp burnt taste, mixed with the oils that have risen to the congealed crust of the cheesy bits. Oh yes!

Feta--What may have once been a ghettoized cheese, confined to cuisines of the eastern Mediterranean and occasionally haute cuisine francais, is now, I like to think, a red-blooded American cheese. At least you can reasonably presume that the average Joe or Josephine on the street knows what feta is, and has a fair idea of what to do with it. I like feta. Not all fetas--I deplore that creamy, not-briny-enough sheep's feta from France. It's just too rich. Give me the hard stuff, the kind you can use as a flavorful salt substitute on your salads. Finally, let me just proudly boast: With the assistance of the fabulously talented and truly echt AT, I have successfully made spanikopita and tyropita, and my co-cook can vouch for its excellence. Thank you.

Cheddar--Wanna know something funny? When I was a kid, probably until I was 15 or 16, the only kind of cheese I liked was cheddar. And it had to be orange cheddar, none of that fancy white cheddar. In fact, I distrusted all white cheeses, except of course cream cheese, which, c'mon everyone, isn't really a cheese, it's a *spread*! Like, duh! So anyway, it was only yellow cheese for me (sorry if I alternate yellow with orange; I still can't decide what color cheddar is). And it had to be sliced thinly. If my mom gave me ungainly hunks of cheddar for an afternoon snack, forget it! Fortunately we had one of those hand-held cheese slicers with the wire running across it. You could cut paper-thin slices of cheddar with that thing, which you had to eat quickly before the humid air made the edges curl and the cold cheese--for it had to be straight from the fridge, the chillier the better--attracted condensation. I liked melted cheddar too, but it had to be melted all the way--there was nothing more disgusting than that chunk of warmed, but still solid, cheddar in the middle of a soggy open-faced melted cheese sandwich. Ugh, I feel sick thinking about it now.

Needless to say, my tastes have changed, but because of my earlier preferences, I still tend to think of Cheddar as the Ur-Cheese, the Platonic ideal of the cheeseness of cheese, from which I instinctively compare all other caseiforms.

I should continue this, with a discussion of Mozzarella and maybe Parmesan, but various un-cheese-related tasks call me.

Mothais

2001-07-27T21:38:00.000-07:00

Dusty. I said I'd get all adjectival, and there it is. This is a dusty cheese. Semisoft, with a pleasant washed rind, and a sharp, dusty taste. This is not real dust, like when you lick an old pillow (I'm not the only person who's accidentally done this, am I? C'mon, make me feel better: go lick a dusty pillow now. Done? Thanks.), but cheese-taste-dusty. It can't be explained. Dusty, plus the expected sharp tang of a good, unpasteurized French cheese. I believe this is cow's milk. I believe it is from Provence, but I may be wrong. This is hard to find, as I had to get it at the Formaggio Kitchen in Cambridge, not my usual spot--the Wine & Cheese Cask in Somerville.

I passed up an opportunity to try out a couple of cheeses from Corsica yesterday. Sorry.

Cabecou

2001-07-27T21:29:00.000-07:00

*Mothais coming soon!*

Cabecou

WHOA! Who'd've thought an innocent little soft (no rind) goat cheese could pack such a...a...bang! zest! Zoom!

First of all, it's wrapped in a chesnut leaf, and it's about 1 1/2 inch in diameter, so...cute! Next, it's dusted with cracked peppercorn and some other unidentifiable herbs. but then you bite into it, and your tongue and related sensory organs are greeted with something approaching, if you believe it, a fruity white wine. Yes, fruity. I realize that this diary should be very adjective-laden, so here's this entry's adjective: FRUITY.

Tits!

2001-07-22T20:29:00.000-07:00

Teton de Santa Ana

It looks like a tit. Teton means tit. Does it taste like tits? I can't be sure, but it certainly tastes like a damn fine goat cheese. Salty, but not overpowering. I suspect pasteurization, if only because it tastes far milder than the Mothais (see next entry), which is definitely au lait cru.

The tit is slightly aged--dry rind, but no serious mold, and the inside is semihardened--and I think dusted with herbs. I get a little bite of oregano or some such thing every few nibbles. Whoo!

Nice tits, Saint Anne.

The Book of Cheese

2001-07-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

A Financial Quandry

I checked out a book about cheese from the library. A very useful book--the one I've been referring to in these pages, in fact. Well, that damned book was due back to the library two days ago, and I logged on to the library's web page to view my account, and next to this book it said "NOT RENEWABLE." Crap! And here I was, planning to take this marvelous volume with me to Seattle for a week. Now: public library fines here are pretty steep--I think something like $0.50 a day. And that book is pretty useful; I was going to rope my dad into my cheese exploration project, but I needed the book, so I could point theatrically at a page and say something like, "Look, Dad, we MUST to get this boursin!!" and he would say, "But of course, ma cherie!", and off we would rush in our silver Volvo sedan to the nearest fromagerie, book still in hand so we could compare the actual product with the closeup photos, puzzling over how aged the pate looks, or how off-color the rind, preferably doing all of the above loudly in thick French accents.

Well, I'm still going to do all that. The question is, should I hang on to the library book and accumulate fines, or should I return it posthaste and buy a copy? Which is more cost-effective? Or better yet, shall make Daddy Dearest buy it? Yes, that, friends, is the Answer.

The reblochon and morbier went over quite well at my book group last night.

One of these days I'm going to review

Soya Kaas or some other vegan "cheese," but not today.

Reblochon

2001-07-17T21:23:00.000-07:00

The Reblochon is disappointingly brie-like. I say this because when I started out on this little cheese adventure, I promised myself: "Only obscurish French cheeses! No cheddar, swiss, brie, feta, or anything else you can get at Shaw's. I'm gonna be a snob, big-time, when I'm through with this, goddammit!" So you see, when I come across a creamy, soft cheese with a light flavor and a soft rind, and no "bite" to speak of, I get disappointed. Yeah, this is a raw milk cheese, but how far can that little gimmick go? I was elated when I first discovered that non-pasteurization was the road to success, but now the charm is worn out. I hope this reblochon isn't a foreshadowing of my disenchantment to come. Suppose I wake up tomorrow and say, "To hell with cheese! I'm going non-dairy because my Ashkenazic lactose intolerant genes are shouting at me to stop, and all those damned coagulated, aged milk solids are starting to taste the same."? Well, shucks, I guess then I'll just move on to another hobby, like reading and reviewing back issues of Granta. But y'all wouldn't like that, would y'all?

Good thing I'm hosting my book group tomorrow night. I think some of them like brie.

Tomme de Savoie

2001-07-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

Tomme de Savoie

Raw cow's milk, semihard, from the Rhone-Alpes region. This cheese sports a very thick, crusty, rind of greyish mold. I tried eating a little of the rind, and while the mold taste wasn't overwhelming, I found its texture unappealing. I'm still a little squeamish about moldy cheeses, please forgive me.

The cheese itself is nicely salty--that and its firmness actually reminds me a lot of cheddar. This tomme, like most of its ilk, has little holes in it, which make the cheese less dense.

I don't really know what to do with salty cheeses except put them in salads, but somehow I was inspired to drop a few cubes of the tomme into my Progresso french onion soup, in lieu, I suppose, of the traditionally called-for french bread and gruyere. Well, that turned out to be a bad idea, because, as I've said, this is a salty cheese, and french onion soup from a can is already salty. Failure! But I saved most of the tomme and enjoyed it as it should be enjoyed--completely on its own.

Rating: Assez bien.

Morbier

2001-07-12T22:49:00.000-07:00

This is a semisoft, raw (as opposed to pasteurized) cow's milk cheese. It comes, according to my cheese book*, from the Franche-Comte region in Eastern France. Let's start with the rind.

The rind is a lovely pale terra-cotta color, and is medium-hard and thin. It has that peculiar tang that white-mold, raw milk, French cheeses all seem to have, at least in my limited experience. It reminds you that you aren't gnawing on some plasticky, processed supermarket purchase. On to the pate.

The pate (the stuff in the middle) is soft, tangy but mild, and melts beautifully. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to have a croque-monsieur with this stuff. In the middle of the pate is a thin line of vegetable ash, which at first glance looks like blue mold. It seems to add a little bite to it, but that may be my imagination. It definitely adds color to the cheese's whole presentation; you look at it and immediately know, with a certain pride, "I am about to eat a fine French cheese."

My only complaint with this cheese is its name. I haven't bothered to look it up (stay tuned, I'll probably get around to it), but any word that starts with "morb-", you look at it, and expect it to end with "-id", "-idity", or "-ibound". Not something I wish to evoke in my cheese exploration project here.

To end on a positive note, let me sum up: Bien! I haven't devised a rating system, so you'll have to settle for an unweighted French adjective for now.

*Please note that I am not endorsing the services of Amazon.com. That link is just for your reference, and I encourage you to try smaller, independent online retailers, such as alibris.com. It's just that Amazon's pages are pretty stable, and I am, certainly, endorsing this particular book.