After describing a cheese plate he'd served to friends who'd come over for dinner, my co-worker B. surprised me the following day with samples of two of the more interesting varieties he'd included:
Morbier and
Sage Derby (pronounced "dar-bee").
I ended up eating them for lunch a few days later.
The first cheese I tried was the
Sage Derby, mainly because it looked intimidating and I was scared it might taste like Blue cheese (which I find incredibly nasty). The cheese has a bright green waxy rind, that reminded me of the peel of a Granny Smith apple). It also features green marbling, which made me think of Blue cheese but this cheese wasn't as strong-smelling. In fact the flavour was totally different: herby (from the sage) with an almost minty aftertaste. With a texture similar to Gouda, it wasn't very salty, nor too creamy; "aromatic but not overwhelming" is how one online cheese broker describes it . It definitely
looks bolder than it tastes!
Upon conducting a bit o' research (naturally), I learned this English cheese has its origins in the 17th century. The green colour comes from the addition of sage (an herb valued at the time for its supposed medicinal value), or from green corn "juice". Traditionally, Sage Derby was only made for special occasions like Christmas
I tried the
Morbier (aka, "Cheese with a Dash of Ash") next. When B. had first given it to me and explained that the black line was "edible ash," I wanted to know how the ash was made. While Wikipedia didn't have the answer, the good folks at
Hormel did:
The edible ash coatings are made by burning the wood of junipers, white pines, or grape vines, or the remains of vegetables such as bell peppers and eggplants to create a compound for the coating. The ash is then processed further by mashing or pounding it into a fine-textured powder that is dispersed over the area of cheese to be coated.
When I poked around a bit more, I learned
the reason for the ash: traditionally, the cheese is made from the curds produced from two separate milkings, the morning milking and the afternoon/evening milking, and the line of ash separated the two. These days, the mass production of Morbier happens in factories that don't always adhere to that tradition so in those cases the ash is therefore purely decorative (though there are
people who still make it the old way, which even the
New York Times has written about).
When I finally got around to tasting the Morbier, I found it had a strong cheesy smell (un peu piquant peut-etre?) and was softer than the Derby (which had a texture/consistency similar to Gouda). It also had a more-overwhelming "
umami": I thought it tasted more aged, saltier, and creamier than the Derby. I found the ash to be flavourless unless you can isolate it from the cheese (I was able to scrape some off with my fingernail) and then it's sort of peppery (like black pepper). The way it looked actually reminded me of photocopier toner (when it smears on a piece of white paper onto which you've just copied something).
BONUS: Think you know everything about Morbier (and can speak French), follow
this link and try the "quizz"!
If A. and I ever start a farm on the outskirts of Ottawa (as conceptualized while driving around Nova Scotia a few weeks ago), I told her that I want to have goats, in part because I would like to learn to make goat cheese. Over the course of this year, I have found it to be reliably good as you may have gathered by reading the many posts I've made about the stuff (particularly during my summer salad days).
