Cutting the Cheese: Getting to Know Your Cheese Knives + Giveaway

-Cutting the cheese has never been easier.-

I enjoy good cheese knives, they add style to any cheese plate and give your a guests a chance to use an intriguing and often endearingly new kitchen tool. Still, knowing what knife does what is key to figuring out what you plan to serve and how to best assist your guests in consuming the spoiled milky goodness served before them.


Soft Cheese Knife
The name of this cheese knife can be a bit misleading as it works wonderfully on soft, semi-soft, and some semi-hard cheeses as well. The design of the knife is created for maximum efficiency and little stress. The blade is extremely thin and often cut with wide holes to prevent the cheese from sticking. This allows the knife to easily slice through tacky and sticky soft cheeses like Camambert, Brie, almost all blue cheeses, and slightly firmer cheeses like Appenzeller. In a pinch it also does a fine job of cutting the rinds off of firm and hard cheeses. The tines at the end allow you to skewer and serve slices of cheese with deft precision.


Hard Cheese Knife
Stout and heavy for its size this knife is also known as a Parmesan knife. It's designed not for clean slices but cutting through the cracks and crystals of hard cheeses to wedge off snackable chunks. The knife has a reliable heft to it and encourages a bit of roughness when breaking apart a good wedge of Piave or Sea Hive.

Cheese Spreader

Overlooked and under-appreciated the cheese spreader is one I love for its simplicity in design and use. Those super runny cheeses like Epoisses, Robiola, and soft cheeses like Brillat-Savarin require a good cheese spreading knife. It easily controls and spreads softer cheeses across bread and crackers where other cheese knives would fail miserably. A butter knife is essentially the same thing, so if you have one you're good to go.


Cheese Plane
The most unique of the cheese knives, the cheese plane is great for creating thin, delicate slices of hard cheeses for cheese plates, sandwiches, and snacks. Whereas a hard cheese knife cuts off good snacking chunks, the plane creates perfect thin slices using a lowered micro-serrated blade. Look for one with a handle that won't slip out of your hand and a good thick blade that's well sharpened; be warned that a cheap one will go dull quickly. Perfect for Parmesan and Cheddars.

There are also cheese slicers which do a fine job of cutting apart cheese as well, but I find it's best to have one of those if you're only planning to serve lots of cheese a lot of the time. I consume a lot, but I have yet to find a real need for one (though sometimes I can see slicing clean wedges of Pecorino Romano much easier with it).

Of course, cheese knives aren't necessary or mandatory. They're tools that simply make cheese service easier for yourself and your guests, add aesthetic value, and are more fun to use than a regular knife. If you serve and eat a lot of cheese then it might give your cheese plates a little extra flair and set you apart as a dedicated student to the art of cheese.

Knowing the fun of having a wicked cheese knife I can't not give the rest of you the opportunity to have a great knife of your own. I'm offering one of Crate and Barrel's soft cheese knives to a lucky reader. It's a sharp blade with a stylish design and the one I use most often. To win, simply leave a comment about what cheese you would serve with it. Please, only one comment per person. No shipping outside of the United States. Contest ends on May 4th and the winner will be announced on May 5th.

Too Much. No More.

-Even so, I'll never toss this cookbook. Too many good memories.-

"Oooh, wow. Amaretto. I cannot do this stuff anymore. The day I turned 21 ruined it forever for me." The Bev-Mo employee bagged the bottle and turned her face away. The offending liquor obviously brought her back to unpleasant memories that involved almond-flavored vomit and a friend holding her hair back in the kind of dive bar bathroom we all celebrated a 21st birthday in.

"That's how I feel about Midori. Ugh," I said. The thought of drinking the Dayglow drink, on it's own or in a cocktail, revolted me. I swear, I gagged a little in the store.

"Oh see," chimed in roommate, "that's Jack Daniel's to me." His normally composed close-shave complexion soured before a small shiver shot through him and caused his teeth to clench.

I think everyone has one of those liquors that they just can't do anymore. Some booze-trauma inflicted due to one of your top three hangovers ever, or simply from just drinking way too much of it over the years.

For me, that drink is Midori. However, mine doesn't stem from retching. I've always had a hardy, alcohol tolerant liver. I consider it my superpower. (That and my uncanny ability to attract stupid people and rabid preying mantises.) In fact, I have never had a hangover in my entire life. That super tolerance, however, is what led to the problem.

When I discovered Midori I loved the neon flavor, the radiator coolant color that made drinks glow, and that tangy melon taste that gave it any cocktail a radical zing. It became my best friend and Midori focused cocktails became common in my apartment. Green Dragons, Jade Slippers, or simple Midori Sours were flung in frosted glasses to guests. My drinking two or seven of these in a single night wasn't exactly uncommon.

Then one day I just stopped drinking it. Midori began to repulse me. "No more!" my brain and stomach cried. They were full and had tasted it too much. To this day, eight years later, I still won't drink Midori. I just can do it anymore. I've tasted it in every way possible yet it no longer surprises or entices. Rather, it's like rebound lover, wonderful at first but then you realize you're bored and tired of it. You need something a bit more serious.

Of course, this doesn't just apply to alcohol. I feel the same way about potatoes.

I can hear the collective gasp. Potatoes, that ever perfect food? Could someone really shun them?

Shunning them would be a bit harsh. I still eat them when served and I enjoy fries and gnocchi, but you will rarely ever see a potato in my home. Yet, you will notice a cookbook on my shelf dedicated solely to the myriad number of ways to prepare potatoes. It is stained, dog eared, torn and beaten, which only demonstrates the love and trials it's seen in the kitchen. This was my tome and without it I would have been relegated to more ramen than any human should have to consume.

Why this book? Potatoes are cheap. When you're in college, potatoes are a fiscal boon. Scalloped potatoes, mashed potatoes, potato leek soup, homemade fries with bacon; it's all good and easily affordable. But after four years of potatoes you just hit a point where you no longer get excited for them. If they're served to me I'll eat them and every so often I'll suddenly crave a good baked potato, but they're no longer a staple of my usual diet and I can't say I miss them all that much.

Of course, this sort of thing could be said of any food or drink. Too much of a good thing can be bad. A special food in too much quantity stops being special and it loses that luster that once made it so appealing. Eventually, you just don't want it anymore. The food becomes too familiar; how can a food surprise you when you know it's intricacies so well?

The best resolution is a good long break. Maybe not years like it has been for me with Midori, but a few months need to go by before you dip your toe in the water. Someday I'll be ready for a Midori Sour once more. Till then it's Aviations, bourbon, and good tequila all the way.

Cheese Profile: Mimolette

-This cheese takes names and shows you what she's made of.-

Mimolette will never be queen of the prom. It is content to be a runner-up to the ever more loved Parmesan who, you just know, will win the popular vote. Still, it takes pride in the honor of being nominated. It shows that sweet Mimolette did something right to get there.

The thing is you can't compare Mimolette to Parmesan as so many are wont to do. Often people pass it off as an cadmium-colored copy that looks more like a stunted cantaloupe than a good cheese. I can't lie to you, when you compare it to Parmesan it's no match in the creamy and nutty departments. No contest.

But that's the thing; Mimiolette isn't Parmesan. It's Mimolette, a traditional French cheese that most often originates from the city of Lille. You have to judge it on its own merits.

The bright orange color comes from the addition of annatto giving the cheese spicy notes reminiscent of nutmeg and pepper. The flavor becomes bolder and evolves with age by sweetly adopting hazelnut flavors. Oily, strong, and salty it gains respect for what is it. A cheese with flash and bang. Who cares if Mimolette isn't prom queen on prom night? She leaves the room standing tall, and as time goes by she garners admiration by her own merits.

The moonscape rind, one of its most distinguishing and charming features, is actually caused by cheese mites. Intentionally added as they aerate the cheese and help it develop it's robust savory flavor. How many cheeses can boast that?

Mimolette is a strong-arm flavor that can make any mac-n-cheese dish become a savory bomb to unsuspecting diners. Furthermore, it's a cheese that has the ability to match up perfectly with hoppy, amber colored beers.

So give Mimolette a hand, take her for a twirl, you may just end up voting for the underdog in this race.

-Cheese mite nibbled for your enjoyment.-

Two Stories About Melomakarona

-It looks like this.-

-Story One-

"So, yeah, I don't think I did this right. I've Googled the image results on these and they're very different from what I'm looking at. Night and day over here."

This is the first time I would have killed for a picture along with the original recipe. I was making melomakarona, a Greek pastry that's supposedly much easier to make than it is to pronounce. I realized that something wasn't right when the cookies, though tasting amazing having been loaded with orange juice and cognac, didn't look right. They were like little shortbread coins, buttery and dense, but it seemed they wouldn't be able to hold much of the honey syrup they were to be soaked with without collapsing into mush.

The recipe came from a co-worker of mine, a Greek woman whose husband is a Greek chef (the god of barbecuing, in the Greek Pantheon). The recipe had been scribbled down for me, translated from Greek into English. It had never occurred to me that things could have been lost in translation. It was blind faith in the kitchen.

"It sounds like you overworked the dough. It should be really shaggy and kinda sticky," she said matteroffactly.

"Oookay. Yeah. I have a solid uniform ball of dough." The directions did not mention anything about overworking. Just that the flour should be slowly sifted in. "Alright, well, then they came out as little shortbread-like coins."

"Coins? That's way too small. They should be kinda cakey and maybe half the size of a twinkie."

I looked at the picture she had drawn me to illustrate the shape of the melomakarona. The were the length of my thumb and were to have ridges after being pressed against the side of a cheese grater. "Cake like? The size of twinkie? I went by your picture."

"The picture is the shape and look, not the size or texture," she replied.

"When are cookies cake-like?" I rebuffed.

"Madeleines. And melomakarona."

I sighed internally. God damn it. The instructions, once again, didn't make any note of this. "Ah well, they taste great this way. They're my fauxmelomakarona."

"That is a mouthful," she laughed.

"Yeah. Mouth full of cookies."

-Syrup or not, correct or not, these are super tasty.-

-Story Two-

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit! I was barely over the speed limit!

I was losing it. Passing police officers on the road when I've done nothing wrong puts me into a full blown panic attack; post-traumatic stress due to overeager cops looking for speeders in Kern County, California. ("Over 200,000 speeding tickets cited last year!" says a billboard along the freeway. These cops have nothing else to do in the middle of nowhere.) Being pulled over nearly causes me to stroke-out and throw-up when I see those epileptic lights flash behind my car.

I rolled down my window and met the officer's face. He was wearing shades like Eric Estrada did back in the show CHiPs, and had a moustache like Tom Selleck. If I weren't terrified and pulled along the side of the road I would have assumed he was going to bust out a boom box and rip his shirt off.

Instead, I got, "License and registration?" I handed them over meekly, far too scared to speak. "Did you know you were speeding?"

I forced my voice to rise, "No. I mean, maybe? I don't think so."

"You were going 45 in a 40," he said. I could see my license reflected in his shades. I probably looked much better in that photo than I did at that moment, and that's saying something.

"Isn't that, kinda, the safe buffer-zone?"

The city is beginning to crack down on that he explained, and that the limit is technically the limit. Stupid economy encouraging cops to ticket more for breaking the speeding buffer zone.

He poked his head down. "What's that over on the other seat?" I looked over to my right where a plate of freshly made baklava and the plate of fauxmelomakarona sat.

"Oh these? They're desserts for a potluck." I looked at him and paused. It was a pause where every possible consequence and scenario that could ever happen played out in my head. "Greek baklava and melomakarona; cookies with cognac and orange."

"Never heard of them," he said.

I looked at my reflection in his shdaes and tried to see past them to meet his eyes with mine. "They're quite good." Another pause.

"Are they?"

Another pause.

"Yes. Would you like to try one?"

At this point it was a risky game. Two conversations. The one we were having about cookies, and the one we weren't having about me giving him cookies and not getting a ticket. Or, I hoped this was the case, and that I wasn't about to go to jail for bribing an officer of the law.

"Sure." I unwrapped the plate and handed him one. I thought of giving him two, but it felt too eager. He bit into it. I couldn't see his eyes and he didn't smile. His look, circa 1980, was impossible to read.

"Look," he said handing me my identification, "I'll give you a warning this time. You were only a few miles over and most people assume that's okay because for a long time it was. Don't go over anymore because the next guy won't give you a warning."

"Yes officer," I smiled.

And so I got out of a ticket with baked goods.

Pomegranate Caramels with Toasted Almonds and Kosher Salt

-This demure bowl of candy contains striking, super sour caramel that'll make anyone swoon. Photo by Elise Bauer.-

Do you ever come across a recipe that, once you see it, you realize that you immediately have to make it right then and there. That's generally how I feel about most of Matt's recipes. Of course, it's not just the recipes themselves, but the striking photographs - portals to his kitchen studio - and his writing that, if you met Matt, can immediately recognize as his voice and personality in print.

Now, given, most of the times I don't make the recipes I fawn over. Either it's a matter of time, ingredients, cost, or sloth; but this time the stars were all aligned. Assuming that one of those stars is a bottle of pomegranate molasses. The recipe in question was for fruit flavored caramels. The fruit called for were blood oranges. Lots of them. Blood oranges I did not have.

But blood oranges are kind of like pomegranates. Sorta. Kinda. Think about it. The taste is fruity and vibrant, as scarlet as their juice. Both are bold flavors reminiscent of berries. So, yeah, they can be interchangeable. In a pinch. When you need them to be.

In this case I did. And it worked out wonderfully. The caramels are surprisingly sour. Each bite causes you to suck on your teeth both from the tartness and from the candy sticking to the roof of your mouth and between your teeth. The salt sweeps your off your feet and makes the sour more sour, the sweet more sweet. The toasted almonds give a crunchy contrast, a warm nuttiness that balances out the sweetnsour(nsalty).

Pomegranate Caramels with Toasted Almonds and Kosher Salt

1/4 cup of pomegranate molasses
1 cup of granulated sugar
1 cup of packed light brown sugar
1 stick of unsalted butter, room temperature
1/3 cup of heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup of almonds
2 teaspoons of kosher salt

Preheat oven to 350F. Place almonds on a baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Place in a bowl to cool.

Line the bottom of an 8-inch square baking dish with parchment paper. Butter parchment paper and set aside.

Place pomegranate molasses in a 3-quart heavy saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat.

Remove from heat and stir in sugars, butter, and cream. Return to high heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Turn heat to medium and let boil until a candy thermometer reads 248 F. This only took me about 5 minutes, but my electric burner is possessed.

Remove from heat and stir in vanilla.

Scatter almonds on bottom of parchment paper. Pour caramel over almonds. Let sit until cool and firm, about 2 hours. Remove from baking dish and sprinkle salt flakes over top. Cut into 1-inch pieces. Wrap in squares of wax paper or candy wrappers.

-A good sharp knife to cut the chewy goodness.-