I went out with fellow turophile friends today for an afternoon of eating, drinking, laughing, and spending money that we shouldn't be. We headed for a foodie Disneyland destination in Chicago that is part separate eateries and part high-end Italian supermarket. I was dead set on consuming burrata along a cold Peroni and had been dreaming about it for weeks. Wanting to be considerate when spending frivolous dollars without him, I asked my husband what cheese he wanted me to bring home. "Something alpine," he said. I thought maybe it would be challenging with the Italian themed establishment, but I knew I could come up with something. I had in mind Fontina Val D'Aosta, which is considered alpine, albeit not a main player like Le Gruyere. This is not the wimpy fontina that you find melted on sandwiches that want to claim a more exotic cheese than mozzarella. The Val D'Aosta is a washed rind raw cow's milk cheese from Piedmont. The wheels are smaller than gruyere and comte (around 30 pounds as opposed to 80), and when freshly cut, Val D'Aosta is creamy, slightly tangy with assertive fruity notes and the nutty finish we all love from a true alpine.
I didn't buy val D'Aoasta. I came home with two cheeses, not alpine (oops), but both aged by well respected affineur Luigi Guffanti. The first a northern toma of raw cow's milk and the second a washed rind sheep's milk cheese called Pecorino Maremma. I saw a goat's milk robiola in the case, but had to pass it up this time as the walk back to the train was too long for a fragile bloomy rind cheese. Both cheeses were spectacular paired with Forelle pears and prosciutto and some white wine. The toma was slightly ammoniated, but after blowing off for an hour came into it's own. The Pecorino Maremma was the favorite. Velvety and decadent as most young sheep's milk cheeses are, with a distinct aftertaste of bouillon.
I didn't buy val D'Aoasta. I came home with two cheeses, not alpine (oops), but both aged by well respected affineur Luigi Guffanti. The first a northern toma of raw cow's milk and the second a washed rind sheep's milk cheese called Pecorino Maremma. I saw a goat's milk robiola in the case, but had to pass it up this time as the walk back to the train was too long for a fragile bloomy rind cheese. Both cheeses were spectacular paired with Forelle pears and prosciutto and some white wine. The toma was slightly ammoniated, but after blowing off for an hour came into it's own. The Pecorino Maremma was the favorite. Velvety and decadent as most young sheep's milk cheeses are, with a distinct aftertaste of bouillon.