Story by Cody Newton
Photos by Matt Phillips
Imagine the dairy aisle at Safeway. A dozen cheeses sit in neat, clean rows, each strangled by a tight plastic wrapper and specialized logo. Lucerne, Frigo, Philadelphia—all illuminated by vicious fluorescent lights reflected off a cold, pale floor. The chill in the air forces a quick decision on which package to pick. Kraft, Precious, Tillamook: 23.5 cents per ounce, 15.6 cents with a Club Card.
This is cheese for most Americans. White light and plastic more suited for a hospital than a home has been the standard since the push to industrialize food started after World War II. But past the supermarket aisle, in the far corners of the culinary world, there’s a small group of cheese lovers who view making cheese as an art and whose popularity is growing like the mold around a fine Brie.
Typically artisan cheese refers to cheese made with “old world” techniques that use fewer ingredients and more work done by hand. Like all cheese, artisan varieties use three main ingredients: salt, milk, and a coagulant. A natural coagulant such as rennet is a complex set of enzymes that separates milk into solids and liquid, better known as Little Miss Muffet’s famous curds and whey. Unlike artisan cheeses, commercial blends often use chemicals.
Four times a year, local cheesemaker Keith Ellis hosts an artisan cheese workshop at Cook’s Pots & Table Tops in Eugene, Oregon. The class highlights the differences between artisan and commercial cheeses, which include shelf life.
“The basic process is the same,” he says, “but [corporations] have to ship the cheese across the country and make it last all the way to people’s fridges.” The longevity needed for cross-country shipping is achieved by adding large amounts of preservatives that, Ellis says, you would never find in an artisan variety.
 
Interest in artisan cheese began growing in the late 1970s and early 1980s, but the skills used to make the food date back hundreds of years. Steve Jones, the owner of Cheese Bar in Portland, Oregon, finds it ironic that artisan cheese has become so prestigious of late. “It’s funny because it was basically just peasant food,” Jones says as his eyes dart from
behind brown tortoise shell glasses—employee to customer, customer to bar, bar to employee. His awareness resembles an attentive father watching his children roughhouse in a ball pit.
Jones says cheese was originally created simply to preserve milk longer. Instead of letting it spoil, farmers would use excess milk to make a food that lasted. By the time spring rolled around, the stored cheese would be one of the few items farmers had left to sustain them. “I think there’s a lot about cheese that’s embedded in the human psyche,” Jones says. “It’s this kind of cool baseline survival medium.”
Cheese went from being a simple, practical food to a mass produced item in the mid-twentieth century when the industrialization of food occurred almost simultaneously with the rise of supermarkets. “That’s when cheese became dumbed down into the Kraft Singles culture,” Jones says.
Today, commercial cheese still dominates the market, but the artisan cheese movement that began 40 years ago has ripened over the past decade alongside a growing national interest in finer foods. “It’s growing by leaps and bounds,” says Ellis, although he admits commercial cheeses still vastly outnumber artisan ones.
According to Jones, 15 years ago there were fewer than 20 artisan cheesemakers in the United States. “Now,” he says, “every state in the nation has at least one creamery. Many have dozens.” Oregon alone has 17 creameries certified by the US Department of Food Safety, making it one of America’s cheesiest states.
Along with California, Wisconsin, and Vermont, Oregon is ahead of the cheesemaking curve for several reasons. All four states foster a cheese-friendly environment, Ellis says, because of university support like the Food Science and Technology program offered at Oregon State University (OSU). Courses like those at OSU help, Ellis says, “by making it possible for people to learn the art and the craft.”
Another thing that separates Oregon from the rest is the state’s Cheese Guild—a network of local cheesemakers that started in 2006. Patricia Morford is the founder and owner of Rivers Edge Chèvre in Newport, Oregon, one of the 17 creameries that belong to the Oregon Cheese Guild. Morford says being a guild member places her among a collective of artisan professionals who discuss their work at gatherings such as the annual Oregon Cheese Festival held in March.
But festivals aren’t the only place where cheesemakers mingle. The growing popularity of artisan cheese has spawned a relatively new aspect to cheese culture: competitions. One of the biggest is the United States Championship Cheese Contest held in Madison, Wisconsin.
The contest hosts judges from all over the world, including Vermont’s own Craig Gile. Last year, Gile and his fellow judges spent three days grading hundreds of different cheeses. Half the entries were sampled the first day, half the second. On the final day the points were tallied and 70 winners—one for each category—were named. From there, the top 70 were tasted again and narrowed down to 18, then, after another round of tasting, down to three. The top picks received either a gold, silver, or bronze medal for the world’s best cheeses. Last year’s medalists all hailed from Wisconsin.
Even when he’s not judging contests, Gile eats plenty of cheese as a professional cheese grader for the Cabot Creamery, a farmer-owned cooperative in Vermont. In the quest to ensure the award-winning standards of Cabot’s cheddar, Gile eats between 150 and 200 pieces of cheese a day, six days a week.
Everything about a cheese is taken into consideration when sampling it, Gile says, including its appearance, smell, and, of course, taste. “I love the combination of art, science, and regional flavor cheese offers,” he says. “Each piece is always a new adventure.”
Not all competitions evaluate the cheese alone, however; some test an individual’s personal knowledge about the food. Using his expertise of the more than 200 types of cheese offered at Cheese Bar, Jones placed first at last year’s Second Annual Cheesemonger Invitational hosted in Long Island City, New York.
Relying on skills used in his day-to-day trade, Jones competed against more than 40 other contestants through four rounds of elimination, including a timed taste test of six different types of cheese. For each entry, Jones had five minutes to answer six questions about the sample including its age and the type of milk used. Other rounds of competition included cutting and wrapping from a cheese wheel and creating a delectable cheese plate showcasing unique pairings. As the 2011 winner, Jones earned $1,000 in cash, a prize package for Cheese Bar, and, of course, the glory of being the biggest cheese of them all.
Competitions like the Cheesemonger Invitational have led to a greater interest in unique pairings, which have evolved from the traditional match-up with wine to the arguably better-suited coupling with beer. “More people are becoming aware of beer and cheese as a pairing combination,” Ellis says. “Many cheeses actually pair better with beer than they do with wine.”
Most of the time beer works better because it’s made from grains similar to those milk-producing animals eat. “Beer is far superior than wine in pairing,” Jones says. “That cow isn’t eating grapes. Ever.”
It’s hard to say why artisan cheese is just now growing in popularity. Ellis thinks that America’s increasing health consciousness has something to do with it. Others in the industry say the world of artisan food attracts consumers looking to support sustainable small businesses. Or perhaps artisan cheeses are popular simply because they’re just so damn good.
Whatever the reason, the culinary world will continue to be populated by people who view cheese as something more than just a spread on crackers. “I eat cheese every single day,” Jones says. “For me it’s essential. I can’t live without it.”
 

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