Baron Bigod and the raw milk revolution

In many ways the story of Fen Farm Dairy in Suffolk is a familiar one. Third-generation dairy farmer Jonny Crickmore and his wife Dulcie became so fed up with rock bottom milk prices in the late noughties that they decided to turn their hands to cheese-making. 

They certainly aren't the first and won't be the last disillusioned milk producer to diversify, but the way they have gone about things has demonstrated an unusual amount of ambition, understanding and flair.

Appleby's Cheshire: the fall & rise of British territorials

In the early 1980s Britain's specialist cheesemakers were hanging on by their fingernails as cheap, industrially produced supermarket products ruled the shelves. It's hard to believe now, but the future of traditionally made territorials from Red Leicester to Lancashire and even farmhouse cheddar were in the balance. 

Cheshire cheese was no different. Before the second world war there were dozens of small farmhouse producers making traditional raw milk, cloth-bound Cheshire, but numbers rapidly dwindled until in the early 80s there was just one left. Appleby's had been set up by Lucy Appleby (the famous Mrs Appleby) and her husband Lance in 1952 at Hawkstone Abbey Farm in North Shropshire and the couple were determined that proper Cheshire cheese shouldn't be lost to the nation. 

Hafod: taking it slow

It only takes a few weak rays of sunshine for Brits to start flashing the flesh and breaking out the flip-flops, but that's nothing compared to the delirium of cows when spring arrives. According to Sam Holden of Holden Farm Dairy in West Wales, setting the cows loose in the fields for the first time after the winter is one of the great moments in a farmhouse cheesemaker's year.

St Jude: Britain's best raw milk cheese

Wise old curd nerds will tell you that it takes five years for a new cheese to really hit its stride. According to conventional wisdom, cheesemakers must first master seasonal changes in the milk before they can make a really good cheese.

Conventional wisdom does not seem to apply to Julie Cheyney, owner of White Wood Dairy in Hampshire, however. Her lactic cow's milk cheese St Jude has just won the James Aldridge Memorial Trophy for Britain's best raw milk cheese, despite only being launched a year ago.

The St Marcellin-style cheese has a lemony flavour and moussey texture when young, but develops into an earthy little bombshell in a basket as it matures, which belies its dainty appearance. I've been a huge fan since day one, as have Cheyney's fellow cheesemakers - the James Aldridge award is voted for by members of the Specialist Cheesemakers Association.

“What a first birthday present!” says an obviously delighted Cheyney. “ I know it's an in-house award and doesn't have a big marketing mechanism behind it, but it's the people that vote that really count. For cheesemakers, it's the one.”

Her cheese is made with raw milk supplied by Sam Martin - a dairy farmer in Hampshire. His cows are an unusual cross between Holstein, Friesian, Swedish Red and Jersey breeds. The milk they produce has its own unique character and was just what Cheyney needed to get back into cheese making.

“I've always been a cow nerd,” she says. “I always go right back to the raw ingredient - what breed the cow is, what they're fed on and how they are kept. I want to make cheese that has its own Hampshire terroir to it. I'm not a cheesemaker in kitten heels and lipstick - I can milk cows and drive tractors. I sometimes help milk the cows at the weekend just because I like doing it.” 

* To continue reading this article, a version of which first appeared in the August 2013 issue of Fine Fod Digest, click here

Mary Holbrook and the rise of British goat's cheese

Hill Farm Dairy makes Stawley
with milk from its own herd

Goat’s cheese doesn’t always get the respect it deserves in this country. That’s partly due to Britain’s climate and landscape being suited to grazing cows and making big cheeses, such as Cheddar and Lancashire. It’s also because many people have only ever tried those mass-produced logs of goat’s cheese that either taste of nothing or have such a “goaty” tang they put people off for life.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Britain now makes some acclaimed goats’ cheeses that have earned the right to strut their stuff on any cheeseboard.

British goat's cheeses, such as Tymsboro, Cardo and Stawley, are among the very best cheeses he has to offer.

Cardo and Tymsboro are produced by veteran cheesemaker Mary Holbrook using milk from her own herd at Sleight Farm near Bath, while Stawley is made in the village of the same name by newcomers Will and Caroline Atkinson.

Like many other young British cheesemakers, the Atkinsons trained at Sleight Farm before setting up their own business in 2009. Will Atkinson, who makes Stawley with his wife Caroline using raw milk from their own goats, is effusive about Holbrook's impact. “She's the godmother of British goat's cheese,” he says. “There was a dearth of artisan goat's milk cheese producers before Mary. She did it off her own back over 30 years ago.”

Holbrook modestly brushes the tribute away when I speak to her. “It's curious to be called a godmother!” she laughs. “I don't feel like that. I've just been doing it for a long while, but it's nice that my cheeses are well thought of.”

Shaped like a pyramid with the top cut off and a pretty charcoal-dusted rind, Tymsboro was one of Holbrook's first cheeses and is similar to a classic French Valençay. It's made with raw milk and is creamy with a silky smooth texture when young, but can be aged for up to two months becoming denser and more concentrated in flavour as it matures.

Stawley: gentle, sweet & lemony

Intensity is also a characteristic of Cardo - a much larger washed rind goat's cheese that is based on the mountain 'queijos' of Portugal. Holbrook uses the dried petals and stamen of a thistle-like plant called cardoon to curdle the milk, rather than traditional rennet, before cutting the curd by dragging her bare arms through the vat.

The unusual production process leads to a cheese with a unique texture, ranging from meltingly soft to quite firm, while the flavour takes in chicory notes from the cardoon with a big meaty hit from the sticky orange rind.

It's a very different cheese to the gentle Stawley, which is sweet and milky with a pretty wrinkled rind. “Our cheese doesn't have any of those strong goaty flavours that often put people off,” says Atkinson. “We've managed to persuade some who say they don't like goat's cheese to change their minds after tasting Stawley.” 

A longer version of this article appeared in the May issue of Harrods Magazine. To read it click here

Heaven scent: Francis washed rind

The Cheesewire pages of Fine Food Digest magazine have been ripe with some rather pongy cheeses in recent months as an increasing number of British producers launch new washed rind cheeses.

Bathed in alcohol or brine as they mature, these kinds of cheeses famously develop a particularity pungent rind thanks to the growth of sticky red-coloured bacteria, which are also the cause of smelly feet. The French have been blowing our socks off for centuries with classics such as Munster and Epoisses, but now a new generation of British cheesemakers are also dipping their collective toe in the whiffy waters of rind washing.

These new products not only meet growing demand for strong British cheeses, they are also seen as a relatively easy way to expand a business. Rather than developing a completely new recipe, all the cheesemaker has to do is take an existing cheese, give it a wash in local cider or ale as it matures and, hey presto, he or she has a brand new product to sell.

It sounds simple, but the odorous arts of cheese washing are anything but, according to James McCall. He worked for the granddaddy of British washed rind cheeses - James Aldridge - for seventeen years from the late 1980s, making Tornegus and Celtic Promise, and today runs his own company specialising in these types of cheeses.

In an article in last year's FFD, he branded many new washed rind cheeses as “gimmicky” and voiced concerns about “unskilled” cheesemakers risking health and safety, which could damage the reputation of the category as a whole.

“You have to be dedicated to washed rind cheeses and take them very seriously,” he explained to me last month as we discussed his Dorset-based business James's Cheese. “They are not something to just fit in between other cheeses. They really need their own dedicated maturing room, so you don't get different bacteria jumping from cheese to cheese, and it takes time and commitment to develop a really good product.”

McCall, who has also worked at Daylesford Organic, Cranborne Chase and Chalke Valley Cheese, set up James's in a converted barn in Child Okeford in 2011. The company's main product is Francis - a pasteurised cow's milk cheese, made by washing young Stoney Cross rounds from Salisbury-based Lyburn.

Last year, the cheese, which is named after James Aldridge (his middle name was Francis), won the Best New Cheese category at the British Cheese Awards. Listings with The Fine Cheese Co and Paxton & Whitfield soon followed with the Cheese Cellar listing it this month. The wholesaler will also carry the company's other cheese Burwood Bole - a washed rind cow's milk log, which is based on a cheese made by McCall himself at Chalke Valley's production premises.

“Entering that award was the best fifteen quid I ever spent,” says McCall. “It really raised the profile of the cheese and has opened doors for me.”

As washed rind cheeses go, Francis is quite mild. The pink marbled rind has a pleasant tangy smell without the nose-wrinkling niff you get with other cheeses, while the interior has a fresh appley flavour. “I don't like it when a washed rind cheese is mega matured. I like firmer younger cheeses where the flavour from the rind is in the background,” says McCall.

* To continue reading this article, which first appeared in the March 2013 issue of FFD, click here and turn to p18

Ribblesdale Cheese: room for two

Wallace's smile wouldn't have been quite so wide if he'd known that the nice bit of Yorkshire Wensleydale brought to him by Gromit could well have been made in Shropshire, Cheshire or even (whisper it) Lancashire. 

Like many territorial cheeses, most Wensleydale is now manufactured on an industrial scale miles away from the beautiful Yorkshire valley where it was traditionally made. Most cheesemongers know there is an exception to this sad state of affairs in the form of the Wensleydale Creamery, which is based in Hawes in the North Yorkshire dales. 

What is less well known is that there is actually another cheese maker in the town making Wallace's favourite fromage. Ribblesdale Cheese was set up in 1978 by Iain Hill in the nearby village of Horton-in-Ribblesdale, but after he passed away in 2006 his niece Iona Hill took over the business and relocated it to Hawes. 

Not that the Wensleydale Creamery would have been too worried by the competition. Ribblesdale is a fraction of the size of its neighbour, as Iona Hill explains: “They employ 200 people and have a turnover of £22m. We employ two people - me and cheesemaker Stuart Gatty - and our turnover is £350,000. There's really no comparison.” 

That said, Hill is keen to play up the fact that she also makes Wensleydale in Hawes, pointing out that in the 2011 Great Taste Awards her cheese received two stars, while her larger neighbour picked up just one for its Wensleydale. “We know we can make it, it's just that we don't have the market because everyone associates Hawes with Wensleydale Dairy,” she says. “It's a shame because my big mantra is that there are two cheese makers in Hawes.”

Despite the difference in size, or perhaps because of it, relations between the two companies are good. Richard Clarke, Wensleydale Creamery's head cheesemaker uses Ribblesdale's premises once or twice a month to make an unpasteurised Wensleydale - something that would be tricky at creamery which is dedicated to pasteurised milk.“I'm happy to work with them rather than against them,” says Hill.

Ribblesdale also makes its own unpasteurised Wensleydale, using milk from a local pedigree herd, as well as a pasteurised version and a new product called Yorkshire Bowlers - red waxed balls of Wensleydale that look like cricket balls.

However, cow's milk cheese remains a small part of the business with 85% of production coming from hard goat's cheeses, including best sellers such as Original Goat and Superior Goat gouda.

To continue reading this article, which was first published in the Dec issue of Fine Food Digest, click here and turn to p21.

Cropwell Bishop Stilton: blue velvet

Mince pies and turkey are all well and good, but it's the salty tang of Stilton that is the true taste of Christmas for cheese lovers. 

Britain's most famous blue is the perfect partner for port or Christmas cake, but there's another reason why it's the cheese of choice over the festive period. Stilton is in its absolute prime in December because it has been made with rich summer milk.

Robin Skailes at Cropwell Bishop Creamery in Nottinghamshire, whose family have been making Stilton for over 60 years, explains: “The Stilton you eat at Christmas has been maturing for at least 10 weeks, so was actually made in September. That's when the cows have been feeding on the lush pastures of the Peak District all summer, so they are producing the ultimate milk for making a soft blue cheese just in time for Christmas.”

Robin and his cousin Ben Skailes are the third generation of the family to Stilton. Like their grandfather, Frank, who bought the company in 1949, they are sticklers for tradition, especially when it comes to choosing a perfect cheese for their own Christmas dinner.

“There's always a huge piece of Stilton on the table in the Skailes household at Christmas,” say Skailes. “Each year our head grader puts aside a few really good cheeses and my father makes a special visit to the dairy to personally pick the best one for the family. It's a long family tradition.”

Protected by EU laws in the same way as Parmesan or Champagne, Stilton can only be made in the three counties of Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire and Derbyshire using traditional recipes. The strict rules mean there are currently only five Stilton producers, some of which are large industrial manufacturers, but not much has changed at Cropwell Bishop since Skailes' grandfather took over.

Robin Skailes

Milk is sourced from small family farms, while almost all of the work is still done by hand from cutting the curds to filling and turning the moulds to ensure the cheeses form evenly inside - an impressive feat when you consider that 500 of the 7.5kg Stilton 'rounds' are made every day.

Strong arms are required for this weighty job, says Skailes, but a light touch is all important when the cheeses are removed from their hoops. A team of nimble-fingered ladies 'rub up' the young rounds using a knife and a flick of the wrist to smooth the sides and create an air-tight seal. 

To continue reading this article, which first appeared in the December 2012 issue of Harods Magazine, click here 

Washing cheese in a Bermondsey cave

It doesn't have quite the same romance as the caves of Roquefort, but the cool, damp climate of a railway arch on an industrial estate in South East London is proving to be the perfect place to make a new washed rind cheese called Bermondsey Spa. 

Taking its name from the local neighbourhood (it's hard to believe that this inner city area was once home to a natural spring), the cheese is the brainchild of cheesemonger and maturer Tom Harding. His company Mootown is one of a new breed of micro-businesses that have sprung up over the past five years as London's street food scene has blossomed, selling everything from cupcakes to beer at London's trendy farmers' markets and food festivals.

Bermondsey Spa is actually washed with a pale ale from a fellow urban food producer - a micro-brewery called the Kernel, which is housed in the railway arch next door. “We wanted to put our own mark on the cheeses that we sell and the Kernel's beer is so yeasty and full of character that it seemed the obvious choice for making a washed rind cheese,” says Harding.

Bermondsey Spa starts out life as a Welsh cheese called Golden Cenarth, which is made by Carwyn Adams of Carmarthanshire-based Caws Cenarth. Mootown has long sold this organic washed rind cow's milk cheese on its stalls at Herne Hill market and North Cross Road market in East Dulwich, but by washing it even more with pale ale over two to three weeks it turns into a very different product altogether with a darker, stickier rind and a stronger fruity flavour.

L to R: Golden Cenarth and Bermondsey Spa

“One of our customers said in a nice way that is smells like death. It has got a very big meaty smell, but actually the flavour when you eat it is much more mild and creamy,” says Harding. “We took advice from Carwyn about washing the cheese and the environment we should keep it in. We don't claim it's perfect, but we're quite happy with it.”

Tom Harding

To continue reading this article, which was published in the October issue of Fine Food Digest, click here and turn to p30. 

James Aldridge: the Godfather of British cheese

If you love British cheese, then you should read up on a chap called James Aldridge who died in 2001. He was a key figure in the resurrection of farmhouse cheesemaking in Britain in the 1980s and 90s, and his influence can still be felt today.

A former mechanic and scaffolder, Aldridge was a skilful maturer of cheeses (or affineur, if you prefer the French term), taking other people's cheeses and making them all his own by ageing and washing them in the cheese equivalent of alchemy.

His most famous creation was Tornegus (pictured above), which was made by washing Caerphilly in wine, but he also developed an amazing number of other cheeses that are still regarded as British classics today. Working at his dairy, the Eastside Cheese Company in Surrey, with his partner Pat Robinson, he invented cheeses such as Lord of the Hundreds, Flower Marie and Celtic Promise, among many others, sharing his recipes with fellow cheesemakers, who continue to make them today.

The end of his life was marred by an e-coli poisoning health scare, which brought him to the brink of financial ruin after officials ordered him to destroy £50,000-worth of perfectly good cheese without any compensation. The then public health minister, Tessa Jowell, acted in a pretty shameful way during the incident. There's more about it and Aldridge's life in these excellent articles in The Telegraph and by cheesemonger Carl Bennett.

Even though it's eleven years since he died, Aldridge's influence can still be seen in new cheeses being launched today, such as Francis (left), which has just won best new cheese at the British Cheese Awards. Made by James McCall of James' Cheese, who worked with Aldridge for 17 years, the washed rind cow's milk cheese is named after his former mentor (Aldridge's Christian name was actually Francis), while Martin Gott at Holker Farm in Cumbria also paid homage to Aldridge (who he met while a young boy) by calling his washed rind ewe's milk cheese St James.

Charlie Westhead of Neal's Yard Creamery
with his James Aldridge Memorial Trophy

The Specialist Cheesemakers' Association also organises an award called the James Aldridge Memorial Trophy to recognise the best raw milk cheese each year. Last year's winner was Berwick Edge and this year the accolade went to the ever excellent goat's cheese Ragstone, made by Charlie Westhead (pictured right with his SCA trophy) and Haydn Roberts at Neal's Yard Creamery.

Westhead was lucky enough to meet Aldridge on several occasions. “He was a great guy. He was extremely blunt and didn't put up with any rubbish. If he thought something was shit, he would tell you,” he recalls. “But he had a huge love of cheese and cheesemaking and was one of the first people to really get into the science side of things rather than doing things by feel. He would visit dairies free of charge and was happy to pass on advice.”

* I never met James Aldridge, so I would love to hear from cheesemakers and mongers who knew him and how he influenced the cheeses they makes and sell. Leave a comment below or drop me a line at patrick.mcguigan (at) yahoo.co.uk

Stichelton: raw passion

L to R: Joe Schneider and Randolph Hodgson

Like most good ideas, Stichelton was conceived over several pints in a pub. The pub in question was the Wheatsheaf at Borough Market and the inspired drinkers were Randolph Hodgson of Neal's Yard Dairy and American cheesemaker Joe Schneider. As one ale led to another, the pair hatched a plan to create a raw milk version of the King of English cheeses - Stilton.

While most booze-fuelled brainwaves evaporate in the cold light of morning, this one continued to gnaw away at both Hodgson and Schneider to such an extent that in 2006 they opened a new dairy in conjunction with the Welbeck Estate in Nottinghamshire.

The only problem was that despite making blue cheese to a Stilton recipe in the heart of Stilton country, they weren't allowed to use the name. Under EU rules, Stilton must be made with pasteurised milk, so they were forced to call it something different. They ended up with the cheekily similar Stichelton - the earliest-recorded name of the village of Stilton.

 It's a much-told story in cheese circles, but what's not so well known is that Stichelton has written to Defra to try to get Stilton's Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) amended to include unpasteurised milk. So far, Defra have yet to make a decision on the matter. “I could make Stilton with bananas, but a raw milk version isn't allowed. That's obviously perverse,” says Schneider. “The PDO should never exclude a cheese like ours. It's the only PDO in the whole of Europe that stipulates a cheese should be made with pasteurised milk. All the others stipulate the exact opposite.”

Stichelton consulted with the Specialist Cheesemakers' Association (SCA) when it was setting up and relations between the two groups remain cordial, if a little strained. The SCA included pasteurisation in the terms of the PDO in 1996 and the organisation has been known to send stiff letters to people if they refer to Stichelton as Stilton in print.

“I understand their point of view. They really don't want some yahoo farmhouse cheesemaker making a Stilton that's not safe and have an incident that might besmirch their brand, which they've worked really hard at building,” says Schneider. “But our argument is that the PDO isn't there for that reason. The PDO doesn't address issues of branding or hygiene. It's simply there to protect regional traditional foods.”

* To continue reading this article, which was first published in the September issue of Fine Food Digest, click here and turn to p27.

Martin Gott: a bit of a cheese fascist

I first spoke to Martin Gott last year about his new Brother David washed rind cow's milk cheese. It ended up being less a new product story and more a discourse on how retailers treat washed rind cheeses as the 'joke' of the cheese counter.

The outspoken Cumbrian cheese maker and monger doesn't disappoint second time round, airing opinions on everything from why local cheeses are often “crap” to how being “a bit of a fascist” is a good thing in the cheese shop. “I enjoy turning people's perceptions on their head and stirring things up a bit,” he admits.

It might sound like youthful bravado (he has only just turned 30), but Gott has more experience in artisan food than most people 10 years older. The son of well-known Cumbrian pig farmer and retailer Peter Gott, he worked with his dad from the age of 14 selling cheese and meat at country fairs and Borough Market. He left school at 17 to go full-time with his father, before striking out on his own as a cheesemaker, learning his trade with Graham Kirkham at Mrs Kirkham's and Mary Holbrook at Sleight Farm in Somerset, where he also kept his own sheep and started to make his own cheese.

Gott and his partner Nicola Robinson moved back to Cumbria in 2006, taking a 20-acre holding on the Holker Estate near Cartmel and setting up their own business, Holker Farm Dairy. In 2007 they went through the traumatic experience of having to cull their entire flock because of disease, but today have just under 100 Lacaune sheep and seven Shorthorn cows. They produce two unpasteurised seasonal ewe's milk cheeses (St James and Swallet) and the raw cow's milk Brother David.

St James was named in honour of legendary cheese maker and maturer James Aldridge and, in a nice turn of fate, won the James Aldridge Award for 'Best Unpasteurised Cheese of the Year' in 2005. Washed in brine, the ewe's milk cheese has an intense smoky, meaty flavour with a texture that can range from crumbly to creamy.

The company produces around 10 tonnes of cheese a year, the majority of which is sold to Neal's Yard in London and through its own shop, Cartmel Cheeses. This was set up with Nicola's father Ian Robinson in 2010 and has just been expanded by buying the bakery next door.

Gott says he set up the shop because he has always loved the interaction that comes with retail - “I don't do well put in a room on my own for seven hours making cheese” - but he was also “frustrated as hell” by local delis and farm shops. “They couldn't handle a specialist cheese like ours. They just wanted something with a local stamp on regardless of what it tasted like. I spent increasing amounts of time ranting at deli owners about how they should sell cheese and eventually realised I was wasting my time. I thought, 'I'll show them.'”

The shop sells around 50 mainly British cheeses, including well known names such as Innes, Stichelton and Tunworth, and follows a strict policy of only stocking products that are 'on form'.

“It can be a soul-searching question. Do you stock stuff because customers keep asking for it or do you stock it because you think it's a really good cheese. If we put a pile of Baby Belles on the counter, people would buy them, but that doesn't mean we should be selling them. You've got to be a bit of a fascist at the end of the day,” he says.  

* To continue reading this article, which was first published in the June issue of Fine Food Digest, click here and turn to p17.

Gorwydd Caerphilly: true to its roots

It all started with a caravan and a field full of llamas. That was back in 1995 when fresh faced archaeology graduate Todd Trethowan first learned how to make Caerphilly during an apprenticeship with the late Chris Duckett in Somerset.

As well as being a third generation cheesemaker and one of the last farmhouse Caerphilly makers in the country, Duckett was was also a keen llama enthusiast with a field full of the beasts, which is where the young Trethowan ended up staying.

“I worked for him for six months, living in my caravan surrounded my llamas. I didn't have a car so every time I had to go to the dairy I had to take my chances,” laughs Trethowan. “I used to come back from the pub at night and they certainly weren't the friendliest. They are pretty aggressive animals!”

Trethowan was hardly a cheese novice when he arrived at Duckett's. Before going to univeristy, he had worked for Neal's Yard in London and had paid his way through college by working for cheesemakers such as Dougal Campbell at Tyn Grug and Charlie Westhead at Neal's Yard Creamy. But it was his time with Duckett that really laid the foundations for Trethowan to set up his own dairy at the family farm in Ceredigion, West Wales, which is where he still makes his unpasteurised Gorwydd Caerphilly today. Duckett sadly passed away in 2009, but his cheese is still made at Westcombe Dairy.

“I learned absolutely everything from Chris. Every night I would come back to my caravan with a big list of all the things I'd learned that day. I really made the most of my time there and I've tried to be faithful to what he taught me.”

Todd Trethowan: 'People told us not to make Caerphilly'

Sixteen years later and Trethowan says he is still learning, which is partly why the company continues to only make Gorwydd Caerphilly. “I don't feel like we'll ever have it beaten. If we made loads of cheeses we might take our finger off the pulse and the cheese might go off the boil. We've always been a very consistent cheese and I think we're getting better.”

Run by Trethowan and his wife Jess in partnership with his brother Maugan and his wife Kim (who used to work for Neal's Yard Dairy), Trethowan's Dairy makes around forty of the four kilo cheeses each day. These are dry salted in their moulds and then brined, before being matured for around two months.

The final cheese has a velvety grey rind and two-tone interior, comprising a creamy outer layer called 'the breakdown' and a firm but moist centre layer. Each element adds a different flavour with lemony notes from the central stripe, creamy mushroomy flavours from the breakdown and an earthiness from the rind itself.

Gorwydd follows in the tradition on the original farmhouse cheeses that were popular with Welsh miners, who legend has it ate the cheese to replace the salt they had lost through sweating. It's a million miles away from the crumbly block Caerphilly on supermarket shelves that is almost indistinguishable from factory-made Cheshire and Lancashire.

“There's no comparison between a block Caerphilly and us, but it was something to overcome when we first started,” says Trethowan. “People told us not to make a Caerphilly and to do something more exotic. When we were at markets people would say, 'Oh, we don't like Caerphilly'. You'd give them a bit and they'd take a taste. Because the flavour doesn't hit you straight away, they'd be walking away and then peel round in a U-shape and come back to you, saying, “What was that again?' We have to do far less convincing these days. People have been won over.”

The company still has market stalls at Borough and St Nicholas in Bristol, where it serves 'the ultimate cheese toastie', made with Keen's cheddar, and raclette using Montgomery's Ogleshield (right). It also attends festivals, including last year's Glastonbury, and runs regular cheese tastings and talks with food and drink writer (and fellow cheese blogger) Fiona Beckett as part of The CheeseSchool. The company's main business, however, is selling through delis, farm shops and cheesemongers, plus Waitrose, as well as at its own own store in Bristol, which opened four years ago.

“We wanted to be one of our biggest customers, but we also have a range of around 15 other cheeses from people we've worked with over the years. It means we can talk about them with some authority because we know how the cheeses are made and how they should taste. Having a small range of cheeses mean we can also sell them in really good nick. As a cheesemaker myself, I feel honour-bound to sell someone else's cheese in brilliant condition. I'd be mortified if I didn't.”

www.trethowansdairy.co.uk

* This article first appeared in the May 2012 issue of Fine Food Digest

Mr Moyden: 'My life has been taken over by cheese'

Martin Moyden started out life as a Shropshire dairy farmer, but a sideline in cheesemaking soon became a full-blown obsession to the extent that he and his wife Beth gave up farming altogether to focus solely on cheese.

“Cheese-making has taken over my life and I felt I was stretching myself too far between the farm and the cheese-making,” Martin told me last year, adding that it was a “heart-wrenching decision” to leave farming.

It’s a good job for cheese lovers that he did make the move because Mr Moyden’s Handmade Cheese is now able to produce much greater quantities and is starting to gain recognition beyond the wild West Midlands.

Based at an enterprise centre in Shropshire, the company sources unpasteurised cows’ milk from local farms and makes four main cheeses all named after local places: Blue Wrekin, White Wrekin, Newport and smoked Newport 1665.

The company is experimenting with a brie and a washed rind cheese, and has just launched a new Caerphilly-style cheese called Caer Caradoc after a nearby hill, where the cows that provide the milk graze (above). Admittedly it’s not a match for the mighty Gorwydd Caerphilly at this early stage, but it has a pleasant crumbly texture and lemony tang.

Their best cheese (in the Cheese Chap’s humble opinion) is Wrekin Blue. It’s quite spicy with mineral notes, but it’s all wrapped up in a big blanket of creaminess.

Mr Moyden is definitely a name to look out for in the future.

Where to buy:

Anderson & Hill
Green Fields Farm Shop
Ludlow Food Centre

Quickes cheddar: the art of seduction

Mary Quicke: a way with words

There's no denying that Mary Quicke has a way with words. The transcript of my interview with the award-winning cheddar maker is punctuated with lovely turns of phrase as she goes into detail about the farm and her cheese.

Take this line about how eating good cheese focuses the mind on the here and now: “It's an education in being present. It's about the moment, which is where real happiness lies.”

Then there is a mention of Tess of the d'Urbervilles as she explains women's role in cheesemaking, followed by a story about Slow Food, where a French acquaintance described her cheese as having a 'palier' (grand staircase) of flavours.

The poetic language is not surprising when you discover that Quicke once studied for a PhD in English literature. That was while she was living in London, but her heart was always back on the family farm in Devon to where she returned in 1984, working alongside her parents Prue and Sir John Quicke and eventually taking over the business.

The Quicke family has farmed near the village of Newton St. Cyres for 450 years, but the dairy was only built in 1973. By this stage Quicke's father was deep into agri-politics (for which he was knighted), so it was her mother that was actually the driving force behind the business, while somehow managing to raise six children at the same time.

Today the 1,500 acre farm has a 500 strong herd of cows and produces around 300 tonnes of cheese each year, the vast majority of which is cloth-bound cheddar, both pasteurised and unpasteurised.

The fact that Quickes has been run by women for over 30 years has had a major impact on the cheese itself, says Quicke, who was awarded an MBE in 2005. “There is something distinctive about cheddar made by female cheese makers. It's said that women's palates are more sensitive. Of course some men's palates are wonderfully sensitive, but there can be a boy thing of wanting flavour that hits you between the eyes. As a business we've always prized complexity, subtlety, balance and length of flavour. Is that because it's a female thing? We want to be seduced and allured on our way to pleasure; not beaten up!”

A mature Quickes cheddar has a creamy front, followed by some acidity, rich savoury flavours and caramel notes at the finish, she says. Achieving these layers of flavour depends on several factors. On the farm, Quickes rears cross-bred cows (Kiwi Friesian, Swedish Red and Montbeliarde) to get the required balance between fats and proteins in the milk. The cattle also graze on green Devon grass for around 10 months of the year, much longer than most dairy cows, which means the milk is rich in nutrients and complex flavours pretty much all year round.  

The cheese-making process is also obviously key to achieving complexity. Quickes cooks (scalds) the curds at a slightly higher temperature than most to achieve a creamy flavour and, like other farmhouse cheesemakers, uses a complicated blend of different cultures. Known as 'starters', these are added to the milk at the beginning of the cheese making process. The cultures feed on lactose, creating lactic acid, which helps curdle the milk and flavour the resulting cheese.

Most industrial cheesemakers use simple single strain starters, which are far easier and more reliable to use but lack subtlety, says Quicke. “They have started using a type of single-strain starter called Helveticus, which is common in Swiss cheese. It typically gives very sweet flavours and covers up a multitude sins. The supermarkets have told their cheesemakers that they have to use it and so cheddar has started to become this sweet thing that is accessible and easy.”

Despite these concerns, Quickes does actually supply the supermarkets, including Waitrose, Tesco, Sainsbury's and Morrisons. Around 20% of sales are to the multiples, with independents making up 54% and exports 26% of the business.

It seems a risky strategy that could alienate independents, but Quicke is keen to explain her reasoning. “The supermarkets select a more forward flavour, which is less complex and balanced than the cheeses that go to the independents. It's good for us to be able to take them out of the way of the independents. The next step is to distinguish the different types. We need to label it up differently.”

Labelling will also have to change if Quickes ever becomes part of the EU's Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) scheme protecting West Country Farmhouse Cheddar. The company contributed its views when the PDO was set up in 1996, but eventually decided not to take part.

Quicke has recently enquired about joining, but her cheese is made in a slightly different way to the rules of the PDO. It means the regulations would have to be amended, something that is under discussion at the moment. There's no way Quicke would change her recipe to meet the PDO. That might compromise the 'grand staircase' of flavours she has worked so hard for in her cheddar.

www.quickes.co.uk

* A version of this was first published in the Cheeswire section of Fine Food Digest March 2012 

Montgomery's Cheddar: stuff of legend

The Cheese Chap discusses hair nets with Jamie Montgomery

Montgomery’s cheddar is not short of admirers. Food writer Charles Campion describes it as a “world beater”, while Tom Parker-Bowles rates it as “the stuff of legend”. Then there’s the public, who eagerly snaffle the 500 truckles made each month at the family business’s 1,200-acre farm near Yeovil in Somerset.

The company’s success can be put down to owner Jamie Montgomery’s determination to remain faithful to the traditional cheesemaking practices of his grandfather, Sir John Langman, who took over the business in 1911. “My life is dedicated to making cheddar as my grandfather did, or at least as close as possible,” he says. “That might sound boring, but sticking to these principles can be incredibly challenging.”

Working with raw milk is a good example. Most cheesemakers pasteurise milk to eliminate any chance of disease - a ‘belt and braces’ approach to food safety that has more to do with the rise of supermarkets and huge dairies than making good cheese.

The problem with pasteurising is that it kills off ‘good’ bacteria that add complexity and depth of flavour.

Montgomery's is made with milk from the farm's own herd

Montgomery’s can vouch for the safety of its milk because it comes directly from the farm’s 170-strong herd of Friesians. Cheese is made daily to ensure the milk is absolutely fresh, but stringent health and safety laws still make life difficult - something that rarely affected Montgomery’s grandfather.

The biggest difficulty is the unreliable testing procedure for bovine TB - a disease that can spread through unpasteurised milk. “The tests are often inconclusive or throw up false positive results, which mean we have to slaughter,” explains Montgomery. “We test every six months and usually at least one cow has to be slaughtered. Yet in all the autopsies we’ve done, we’ve never actually found a case of TB.”

Beyond raw milk, Montgomery’s stands out from the cheddar crowd because it uses liquid starter cultures, which support a diverse range of bacteria and therefore create complex flavours in the final cheese. Most cheesemakers use freeze-dried cultures, which have a long shelf-life and are convenient to use. “But freeze drying is a heavy duty process and only some bacteria can take it,” says Montgomery. Cheese company Barber’s makes the starters using bacteria first collected from local farms in the 1950s.

Each batch of Montgomery’s cheddar produces around 18 of 23kg cheeses, depending on milk yields. A pint of starter is added to a churn of milk the day before processing to allow the bacteria to develop. This is then emptied into a vat of raw milk the next day and bacteria begin fermenting the sugar in the milk to make lactic acid. Calf’s rennet, which contains a catalyst enzyme, is then added to help coagulation.

Most cheddars use man-made vegetarian rennet to curdle the milk, but Montgomery argues that traditional calf’s rennet makes for a better end flavour. “I’ve tried the same cheese made with both and the difference in flavour is extraordinary.”

The cheese is matured for atr least 11 months

The curd is left to set before being cut to release the whey. The mixture is then mixed while warming to 41oC, a temperature that causes the bacteria to slow the creation of lactic acid. “Most will die off, but some will remain and keep adding flavour - it’s a fine balancing act,” says Montgomery.

The curds and whey are eventually channelled into a second vat, where much of the whey is drained off. The next stage in the process, known as cheddaring, is crucial to the final texture of the cheese and requires an expert touch. The cheesemakers run their hands through the rubbery chunks of curd to release more whey and slowly build up two sausage-shaped piles. 

These are then cut into blocks, which are turned and stacked on top of each other repeatedly. This process helps drain off more of the whey, increases acidity and develops cheddar’s famous smooth texture. “We don’t want it to be amorphous like a block of soap; we want some fissuring,” says Montgomery.

The final slabs of curd are shredded in a peg mill and salted. “I think we’re one of only two producers in Britain still using a peg mill. Everyone else has chip mills, which slice the curds into smooth discs. But we like the brittle texture the peg mill produces.”

As output has slowly grown, Montgomery has been tempted to invest in a more efficient chip mill, but instead redesigned his old peg mill to run more quickly. “My grandfather would have appreciated that - he loved engineering and tinkering with machines.”

After milling, the curds are mechanically pressed in stainless steel moulds for three days. During this time the cheeses are also dipped in hot water to create a rind. The final stage of production sees the cheeses rubbed with lard and wrapped in muslin to prevent cracking and add support. They are then stacked in the maturing room where mould feeds on the lard and lets the cheese breathe.

The cheeses are matured for at least 11 months, with some aged for longer. Neal’s Yard takes a handful of two-year-old truckles each year. Interest in these strong, extra mature cheeses prompted a Times journalist to describe them as the ‘vindaloo’ of cheddar in a recent article.

“After the story appeared we had lots of enquiries from shallow people asking about our ‘cheddar with curry’, which was a nuisance,” says Montgomery. “The two year-old cheeses are almost a bit of fun. Generally, our cheese is at its peak a little earlier.”

For a man that takes his cheese seriously, the light-hearted media attention was obviously not appreciated by Montgomery. You can’t help but think his grandfather would have approved.

First published in the January issue of Artisan magazine