Clark Wolf's Rants, Raves, Diatribes...and a few other Thoughts

American cheese expert holds book signing

 

The United States has not been noted as a foremost producer of quality and diverse cheeses in the past. Clark Wolf says that has changed.

Following a lifelong love affair with cheese, Wolf has written his first book, “American Cheeses: The Best Regional, Artisan, and Farmhouse Cheeses, Who Makes Them, and Where to Find Them.”

Wolf’s love affair with cheese began 30 years ago when he managed a cheese shop in San Francisco.

“In those days there basically was just industrial-type cheese, like cheddar, and that was about it,” said Wolf. “But over the years we began to make many other cheeses after 200 years of settlers bringing cheeses from their countries here. We now have come into our own in cheese.”

A decade ago, Wolf began visiting cheesemakers around the country and collecting recipes at every stop. The recipes appear by region in the back of his book.

“There is a macaroni and cheese recipe from every region,” said Wolf proudly.

Full article here

Plum Toots and Peach Burps and Strawberry Queasy

Urp. 'Tis the season to go all Grandpa, as I'd call it.

I had a wonderful, charming and charismatic grandfather who could grow anything: Grapes in a vineyard behind the house in La Crescenta, stone fruit on the hillside above the pink adobe in the Hollywood Hills, tomatoes along side that strange cement mansion once owned by a sea captain with too many wives.

I have vivid memories of fruit hanging heavy on the limb, melons on the window sill and lemons. Lots of meyer lemons.

So this is a particularly visceral and sweet time of the year for me. It's the two weeks when Santa Rosa plums are in baskets on tables in Farmers Markets all over Sonoma County. If you've never had one, you're missing one of the great taste treats and memory markers of American soil.

It's also a white peach moment - one that can rumble through a collection of varieties that can take me through until something like late September. But it's those first, shockingly sweet and juicy slightly fuzzy orbs that really get me going.

Then there's the sunshine caught in sugar called strawberries. It's been a bit of a cool, slow season this year until just recently but - at last - heaven with a little stem, from Nancy Skall of Middelton Gardens is hitting peak and driving me nuts. I tend to scarf a basket full between the Market and the car. Of course, I have help. I tend to offer them up to strangers and friends as I go along. "Taste this!" or "this is Summer - have some".

So it was with mild trepidation that I landed Tuesday in what was a shockingly sweet and dreamy mid July night in New York. No more perfect stone fruit and Skall berries for a bit. Too soon for really good tomatoes. What's a fella to do?

Jersey blueberries, as it happens. Right outside my door and down to the corner - at the Friday Farmers Market on Broadway and City Hall Park. Little pillows the size of a nickel plumped up like an inner tube, but delicious! Sweet and tart (and not floating down the Deleware River...). I'm in heaven, and slightly stained blue. And the local peaches are about to start popping too. 

The world is a crazy place and the humidity of the urban East is back at my neck but the bounty and very real pleasures of the season are more than a balm. They're a treasure not to be missed.