What kind of cheese do you need when you’re nursing a broken heart? Thanks to my team’s pitiful performance Sunday, I was left with a grumpy disposition and the need for comfort food. Thankfully, I had just the fix in my cheese drawer – Ascutney Mountain from Vermont’s Cobb Hill Cheese.

There must be an evolutionary imperative for craving Alpine-style cheeses this time of year. Maybe it’s because the sweet nuttiness of these firm, yellow beauties remind us that spring will come once again. And I’m glad I found solace in Ascutney Mountain, which is made by the raw Jersey cow milk by the Cobb Hill community. Led by cheesemaker Sophie Starr, the team at Cobb Hill, “an intentional cohousing community” in Hartland, Vt., has created a cheese that’s hearty in texture but delicate in flavor. It’s aged anywhere from seven to 10 months, and I definitely could tell my wedge had been made with spring milk. I really dug the fruitiness, which made the cheese so sweet it was almost candy-like. Very appropriate, since I crave sugar when stressed or depressed. One nibble turned into two, then three, then oops! my entire slice was gone.

Ascutney Mountain’s crowd-pleasing flavor marries well with most wines, ales and lagers. I enjoyed mine with many glasses of sauvignon blanc this weekend. Next time I’ll try pairing it with my favorite sweet riesling to see if sweet-meets-sweet is too much or right on target. If you’ve had the opportunity to try this fantastic cheese, which pairings did you like best?

Did you save room after yesterday’s turkey feast for cheese? We hope so, because according to the American Cheese Society, today is Blue Friday. Wrong color, you may say. Nope – the folks at ACS are getting a new tradition off the ground by encouraging cheese lovers to embrace the blues on the day after Thanksgiving.

In fact, blue cheese and the yuletide season go hand in hand across the pond, where it’s customary to serve a wheel of Stilton at holiday parties in Great Britain. But we think the quality and variety of American blues leaves you no reason to buy imported cheeses. Here are just a few of our favorites blues to consider for enjoying today and throughout the holidays. Make sure you pick up some port, too.

Midwestern Blues

I’m a lucky gal – the best blues from Minnesota, Wisconsin and Iowa are all regulars at my local cheese shops, and you really can’t go wrong with any of them. I picked up a slice of raw-milk Northern Lights Blue (above) Wednesday for a holiday cheeseboard, and my friend Katie and I couldn’t get enough tastes. Made by Joe Sherman, one of the originals behind Amablu Cheese, Minnesota-made Northern Lights Blue packs a spicy, vibrant punch with its thick blue veins and creamy, crumbly paste. It’s a show-stopper on its own or with apple slices, honey and a sweet tipple.

Colleen and I discovered Hook’s Bloomin’ Idiot almost two years ago – in Virginia, of all places – and became instant fans. (Perhaps you could say we were hooked – har, har.) It looks like brie, and the paste on its own is mild and creamy, but the rind contains mold spores that give the cheese the blue kick. Bloomin’ Idiot is not the easiest cheese to find, so snatch it up if you come across it.

If goat cheese is more your thing, seek out Billy Blue from Wisconsin’s Carr Valley Cheese. You can’t beat the combination of a fresh, snowy white chevre with the spiciness of the blue. Sheep’s-milk cheese fans will love Big Woods Blue from Shepherd’s Way Farm in Minnesota.

Pacific Northwest Blues

No list of noteworthy American blues would be complete without Rogue River Creamery’s award-winning cheeses. Rogue River Blue (above), which won Best of Show at the 2011 ACS Conference, was the inspiration behind today’s event. A leaf-wrapped, pear-brandy-washed hunk of blue lovin’, Rogue River Blue is “a testament to Oregon’s terroir,” as Colleen put it in her original review. Buttery, silky, smokey, fruity – all are apt descriptors but fail to give the complete picture. You’ll just need to buy a piece and try it for yourself.

You also can’t go wrong with sister cheese Crater Lake Blue, which, despite being made from cow’s rather than sheep’s milk, closely mimics the taste of our dear Roquefort. Rogue River also makes Smokey Blue, which gets its signature sweet and nutty flavor from the Oregon hazelnut shells over which it’s smoked.

New England Blues

Ah, memories – our very first cheese post three years ago happened to be an American blue. Bayley Hazen (above), from C+C favorite Jasper Hill Farm, will always have a soft spot in our hearts, and a place in our cheese drawers. How can we resist its creamy, salty, raw-milk-tastic bite?

Hubbardston Blue goat cheese (right) is an unusual blue I discovered this summer when I was getting my anniversary cheese deliveries from Cowgirl Creamery. A surface-ripened cheese from Westfield Farm in Massachusetts, this goat cheese gets its blue inoculation while it’s still in the milk phase rather than as a chevre. After aging 30 days, it develops a dusty gray rind and a mushroomy taste.

New England is also home to one of our noted cheese innovators, Laini Fondiller of Vermont’s Lazy Lady Farm. Though we’ve only written about Fondiller’s Barick Obama on C+C, she also makes Lady in Blue, a raw-milk, soft-ripened blue that’s currently in season. Unfortunately, I’ve never seen it in Minnesota, so perhaps one of our New England readers can give us the scoop.

Southern Blues

If your cheese-lovin’ heart belongs to Dixie, look no further than Georgia’s Sweet Grass Dairy, which makes an excellent raw-milk blue called Asher Blue (above). When I’m not obsessing over Sweet Grass Dairy’s Green Hill, I enjoy this assertive, creamy cheese. You can taste the love Jeremy and Jessica Little put into each wheel, which is pierced 50 times by hand to develop the blue veins that run thickly through the paste.

Deep in the heart of Texas, the Mozzarella Company turns out mini loaves of Deep Ellum Blue. Called “a blue cheese for people who don’t like blue cheese,” this cow’s-milk cheese is aged six weeks to develop a moldy blue exterior. Its name derives from the Dallas neighborhood where the cheese factory is located – ironically, an area where blues singers used to perform.

Which American blues will you be purchasing today? Share your finds with us!

Our group enjoyed our visit to Uplands Cheese Company so much that we were running late for our last cheesemaker stop of the day, Bleu Mont Dairy in Blue Mounds, Wis. So our time with Willi Lehner, affectionately known as the “mad scientist” of cheese in these parts for his constant tinkering of traditional recipes, was short but sweet. Especially sweet, I may add, because we got to see Lehner’s celebrated and sophisticated bandaged cheddar in its natural environment – the 1,600-sq.-ft. cave that Lehner dug out of a hillside on his farm.

No matter how blasé about cheese you may be, you have to admit that carving your own cheese cave out of the side of a hill is pretty bad-ass. It signifies not only a commitment to making cheese, but a dedication to making mind-blowing, truly artisanal cheese. A second-generation cheesemaker, Lehner credits his teenage trip to his father’s native Switzerland as the “a-ha” moment that led him to devote his life to cheese.

“That’s where I made the connection between what cows ate and the cheese that resulted [from their milk].” — Cheesemaker Willi Lehner

You may think that someone who builds his own cave leads a solitary, caveman-like existence, but Lehner’s cheese exemplifies the cooperative spirit shared among Wisconsin cheesemakers. He buys milk from his pal Andy Hatch’s pasture-grazed cows at Uplands and rents space at Cedar Grove Cheese Factory (or, depending on availability, another local cheesemaker’s facility) to craft his cheddars, goudas, havartis and Alpine-style cheeses from the spring through the fall. Lehner then brings his baby cheeses back to the cave, a capsule-shaped cocoon with a 12-ft.-high ceiling and two rooms with varying degrees of moisture. Though temperatures in southern Wisconsin can reach well below zero in the winter and close to 100º in the summer, Lehner’s cave design allows the interior temperature to fluctuate only within a 10-degree range throughout the year. The cave usually hits a low temperature of 48º in March and peaks at 58º in September.

Lehner’s signature cheese – bandaged cheddar – dominated the shelves of his cave when we visited. He wraps the heavy rounds in muslin bandages and smears the exterior with lard to keep the bandages from drying out too fast. The lard never penetrates the rind to mingle with the cheese paste, however – the mold that grows on the rinds in the cave consumes it within six months. Lehner chooses heavy muslin to prevent cheese mites (yes, they do exist!) from burrowing through the rind during the cheeses’ years in the yeasty-smelling cave. He sells the bandaged cheddar between the ages of 2 and 3, and the cliché is true – the best cheeses come to those who wait.

Lehner offered us samples of his 2-and-a-half-year-old “reserve” bandaged cheddar and Alpine Renegade, a nutty, creamy cheese that coated the mouth with its subtle flavor. The real stand-out, though, was the cheddar. Full of caramel notes and crunchy crystals, the cheddar leaves no doubts that it deserves its best-seller status. As I noted two years ago when I first tasted the cheddar, its sweetness is almost candy-like, making it a cheese to savor over a glass of wine rather than melting into a mac and cheese. Lehner sells it, along with his other cheeses and curds, at the Dane County Farmers Market, where I picked up his very potent garlic cheddar and a creamy havarti.

The cave is home to more than Lehner’s creations; he also ages cheeses for renowned Wisconsin cheesemakers such as Tom Torkelson and Katie Hedrich. And though it was only briefly home to our group’s curious minds, Lehner’s cave – as well as his cheeses – will be hard to forget.

Disclosure: The Wisconsin Milk Marketing Board paid for our travel and expenses during the cheese tour. As always, all opinions, words and commentary are our own.

Happy birthday to me! My present to myself this year is this pungent slice of Vermont. In my house, age 33 is the Dorset year.

When you think about it, Dorset is a good caseic equivalent to one’s 33rd birthday. The Consider Bardwell website describes this washed-rind, raw-milk cow’s cheese as “a soft-ripening cheese with a rich, buttery texture and seasonally influenced pungency.” While I’m no longer as young as a fresh chevre or handmade ball of mozzarella, I haven’t yet achieved the crustiness of a toothbreaker cheese like Parmigiano – I’m merely ripened (and soft, thanks to two children and a high rate of cheese consumption). While not rich in the financial sense, I am wealthy in life experiences, both good and bad. And I suppose you could say I’ve developed a pungent wit over the years. Not as pungent as Dorset’s aroma, but sharp enough to hold my own against snark and sarcasm.

Gentler than Grayson’s funk but considerably more potent than its goat’s-milk sister Manchester, Dorset’s paste is relatively tame. It’s that pinkish rind that makes the cheese zap your tastebuds and olfactory. Like the trickery that Hook’s Bloomin’ Idiot plays on the senses, Dorset would taste like an entirely different cheese if you chose to forgo the rind (please don’t). Instead, take the bull by the horns and savor the entire wedge with a glass of fruity white wine or ale. As with most birthdays, it’s better to embrace it wholeheartedly than timidly tread into new territory.

A year or so ago, when Colleen and I were still making our way through the Wine Spectator list, I tasted Grayson, a washed-rind cheese from Virginia’s Meadow Creek Dairy. When I mentioned to C that I really enjoyed it, she said that if she expanded the 100 great cheeses list to 110, Grayson would have made the cut. So it’s a little odd that we haven’t posted about this Taleggio doppelganger yet, but hey, better late than never.

Colleen posted about Grayson’s sister cheese, Applachian, earlier this year, and while this is also a raw cow’s-milk cheese, Grayson has a flavor profile all its own. Its yeasty orange rind encases a smooth, thick paste that offers aromas of beef and bacon. If you like Cowgirl Creamery’s Red Hawk or Jasper Hill Farm’s Harbison, chances are you’ll be a Grayson fan, too. But it doesn’t have the creaminess of a triple-cream like Red Hawk or the spoonability of Harbison – the texture is firmer and fudgier, making it a filling cheese that could be part of a traditional ploughman’s lunch as well as part of an elegant cheeseboard.

Grayson is a powerful cheese that dominates the palate, so you’ll want to keep the accompaniments simple and hearty.  Its consistency is perfect for schmearing on a hunk of rustic bread and pairing with a beer. Pastoral recommends a PranQster Belgian-Style Golden Ale from North Coast Brewing Company, while Culture is partial to Allagash Tripel Reserve. If you prefer wine, like I do, Meadow Creek recommends a full-bodied white or medium red.

Of the many, many cheeses that I’ve tasted since Colleen and I started this blog, I don’t think I’ve had a cheese from Connecticut before. Truth be told, I don’t consider Connecticut to be a particularly cheesy state, but perhaps that’s based more out of ignorance than fact. Because now that I’ve tasted Bridgid’s Abbey, a raw-milk, washed-rind cheese from the Nutmeg State’s Cato Corner Farm, I don’t think I’ll make that mistake again.

Fresh off my Cremont/Kunik bender from the week before, I was ready for something a little different when I stopped by the cheese shop last week. Something meatier, something funkier. Bridgid’s Abbey certainly delivers in both of those categories. This Trappist-style farmstead cheese is made by Mark Gillman, who co-owns Cato Corner Farm with his mother, Elizabeth MacAlister, and it definitely resembles a cheese you’d expect to come from a medieval monastery. The aroma of earth and bacon wafts from the cheese as you bring it to your lips, but the texture is surprisingly tender and creamy, without the tell-tale grit that can mar the flavor of many washed-rind cheeses. The smell isn’t so powerful that it causes husbands to retreat to the basement (ahem, Epoisses), but it gives off enough of a punch that you feel like you’re eating something hearty and sustaining.

Bridgid’s Abbey begs for a piece of thick rye or whole-wheat bread and a pour of Belgian ale. The In Search of Beer blog recommends Gran Met, while Chicago’s Pastoral Artisan Cheese suggests Hop Ruiter. Or, if you’re not a beer drinker, try a dry red European wine or a dry, full-bodied white.

As Colleen posited in our toast to the women of cheese earlier this month, our gender is a force to be reckoned with in the cheese industry. Further proof came two days after that post, when Katie Hedrich, a 25-year-old cheesemaker from Chilton, Wis., won the 2011 U.S. Championship Cheese Contest. Hedrich, who uses milk from her family’s LaClare Farms to produce the cheese at Saxon Homestead Creamery, wowed the judging panel with her aged goat’s-milk cheese called Evalon, scoring 99.06 points out of a possible 100 and garnering acclaim from cheese lovers nationwide.

Having never tasted this award-winning cheese before (yes, shocking, I know), I grabbed a wedge last week and found the cheese to be quite tasty and intriguing. Described as a Gouda-style cheese with shades of Asiago, Evalon has a light, almost honey-like flavor that is rare among goat’s-milk cheeses. In fact, with its lack of goatiness, I may even be able to get my goat-fearing husband to enjoy it. The cheese’s firm, crystal-less paste gives it a smooth finish, and its sweetness remains on your tongue long after each bite. Evalon expertly balances the line between being accessible for masses and sophisticated enough for the cheese elite. That’s a tremendous accomplishment, especially for such a young cheesemaker like Katie.

Evalon’s delicate flavor matches best with light, fruity white wines or bubblies, or even some sparkling cider. In a recent Heavy Table interview, Katie suggested using Evalon in place of parmesan, and it would also melt nicely into spring vegetable gratins.

We love it when cheese bloggers collaborate. After all, who else would get ridiculously excited about the intricacies of cheeses besides our fellow fromage fans? That’s why we were thrilled when our friend Madame Fromage (aka Tenaya Darlington) announced the Blue Cheese Invitational on her blog for the month of March. She invited her readers to submit their blue cheese favorites and fresh finds to share with the online cheese-loving community, and we were happy to participate. So hop on over to her blog to read my take on PastureLand’s Farmdog Blue, and be sure to check out the rest of the site, too.

If you’ve been following Cheese + Champagne for the past two years, you’ve read our musings on cheeses from all over Europe – France, Spain, Italy, Great Britain, the Netherlands, Switzerland, Ireland, Greece and Portugal. And while there are many, many European cheeses that Colleen and I love and enjoy on a regular basis, we’ve taken special notice of the newer artisanal cheeses that are made right here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. Many are so new that they didn’t make the Wine Spectator 100 Great Cheeses list that sparked this blog, and now through we’re practically done with the list, we decided it was time to turn our focus exclusively on America. We won’t give up eating our beloved Chaources, Roqueforts and Manchegos, of course, but you’ll be reading more about the exciting newcomers and rediscovered favorites from our own shores.

I can’t think of a better cheese to start with than one hailing from my home state of Wisconsin. Uplands Cheese Company of Dodgeville is making it a very merry holiday for all of us cheese fanatics with the release of its first batch of Rush Creek Reserve. Inspired by the Swiss Vacherin d’Or, which isn’t available in the United States due to FDA regulations on imported raw-milk cheeses, this dreamy, drippy cheese is carefully made with autumnal raw cow’s milk and aged for just 60 days. Each 12-oz. wheel is bound with spruce bark and washed with various bacteria that give the rind its orange color. You’ll want to avoid tasting that rind, though – its grittiness mars the creamy goodness that lies underneath. Rather than cutting wedges from the side, run your knife along the cheese’s circumference on top, peel off the rind and dig in with a spoon.

I first heard about Rush Creek Reserve this spring, when Uplands cheesemaker Andy Hatch visited the Cheese Shop at France 44 with a huge wheel of his award-winning Pleasant Ridge Reserve. After swooning over the Pleasant Ridge Reserve for several minutes (and scoring a complimentary wedge in the process), I asked Andy if he was working on anything new, and he said, “Yeah, I’ve got this new cheese that I think will be ready in November. It’s like Vacherin d’Or.” I was immediately intrigued and asked Andy if I could come down to Dodgeville to watch the cheesemaking process, and he said he’d be happy to welcome me. Unfortunately, the demands of a new baby and a new job didn’t allow me to visit this year, but I don’t think I’ll let another year pass before knocking on Uplands’ door…

Anyway, back to the cheese! Saying it’s good is an understatement. Saying it’s great is an understatement. This is a world-class cheese that can go against Epoisses, Langres or any other washed-rind cheese that France has to offer. The paste is so sumptuous, so sublime, that it’s a dessert, not an appetizer. Not as stinky as Epoisses, Rush Creek Reserve still has the barnyardy aroma that a cheese lover associates with spectacular cheeses, as well as a meaty, slightly smoky flavor that is easy to savor. You can protest all you want that washed-rind cheeses are too strong or stinky – I challenge you to have one spoonful of Rush Creek Reserve and not be an immediate convert to the washed-rind cause. This is a truly special cheese and the perfect gift for the caseophile in your life.

Alas, it’s not easy to find. Its seasonal nature only allows Uplands to release Rush Creek over a few short months, and not all cheese shops have received shipments yet. I was lucky to snag one at France 44 (thanks, Benjamin, for putting me on “the list”), but Colleen hasn’t been able to buy one in Northern Virginia so far this winter. If your local cheese shop hasn’t had it in stock yet, be sure to ask your cheesemonger if he or she has put in an order. This is one cheese you won’t want to miss, and it’s worth every penny (I paid $24 for my wheel). And when you do get your hands on it, pair it with a Riesling, Gewürztraminer or a malty beer, per Andy’s suggestions in his interview with The House Mouse last month.

Psst…are you on Facebook? Who isn’t (besides my parents)? Be sure to “like” us on Facebook to keep up to date on all things C+C!

Jill's dad at La Fromagerie

When my parents told me they were going to Paris, I did two things. First, I pitched a small fit that they weren’t taking me along. And then I asked them to bring me back cheese.

As I’ve mentioned on the blog before, my parents are not cheese people. Sure, they love pizza and even sprinkle a little feta on their salads, but they totally don’t get my cheese obsession. My mom just read the blog for the first time two days ago – and Colleen and I have been writing for two years. I was sure my parents would tell me to forget about it, but they surprised me by saying, “What do you want?” I said, “Something soft and gooey that you can’t find in the United States.” This was my politically correct way of saying, “Bring me some of that good, illegal, raw-milk stuff!”

I held my breath that Customs wouldn’t confiscate the cheese upon my dad’s return to the States, but somehow, even though he got pulled for extra screening, the cheese arrived back to my parents’ house in Seattle unscathed. And when I went to visit two weeks later, I got to claim it! I brought it back to Minnesota and waited for the perfect moment to cut myself a wedge and savor its creamy tang.

Oh. My. G-d. It was THAT good. The cheese was Boursault, and it had to be made with raw milk because I’ve never tasted such a rich cheese before. It had the consistency of a triple-cream cheese with the zestiness of a fresh chevre, even though it’s a cow’s-milk cheese (the picture of the goat on the label made me think it was goat’s milk), and is perfect for spreading on a water cracker. One taste of this cheese and pure bliss washes over you. You forget your work troubles, your dirty house, your extreme sleep deprivation. It’s the best thing to ever come from France, and that includes french fries.

I didn’t enjoy my cheese with any drinks – juggling two kids makes it hard to get to the wine shop – but I imagine it would pair beautifully with champagne (the real stuff). I have one tiny piece left, and then my cheesy goodness will be gone. Maybe Mom and Dad would like to Paris again…