The Cheesemonger's Tales

by Arthur Cunynghame

  This time the target was Chris Duckett, who makes Wedmore cheese in Somerset, and one of his customers, James Aldridge. Officials linked the boy’s illness to Chris Duckett’s cheese and the then Minister for Public Health signed the first ever ‘Emergency Control Order’, the effect of which was to ban the sale of any cheese made by Chris Duckett. As if that was not bad enough, an emergency control order does not allow anyone to challenge whether or not the cheese is, in fact, unfit for consumption.

  Yet this was precisely what James and Chris wanted to do, because their microbiological tests showed nothing wrong with the cheese. Officials were unimpressed, saying that just because no contamination had been found, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t there – just that it hadn’t been found.

  James Aldridge, who matured Chris’s cheeses, had about £40,000 worth of stock and found himself faced with the prospect of destroying it without compensation, which would have bankrupted his business. The only way James could proceed was to apply for a judicial review of the minister’s action. This he did and it was found that the minister had exceeded her powers and that less draconian measures would have sufficed.

  The Department of Health appealed, signalling to me that they wanted to have the right to condemn out of hand any food they suspected of being unfit, without the need to pay compensation if they were wrong.

  To me this was a denial of natural justice. Surely anyone accused of something should have the right to defend themselves and to compensation if the officials are found to be wrong.

  The Appeal Court backed the Minister.

  The whole episode had exhausted James. He gave up the fight, accepted the Department of Health’s offer of an ex-gratia payment, and died on 5th February 2002. Many people believe that he died of a broken heart.

  The Emergency Control Order has not been used since, but it remains on the statute book and hangs like a sword of Damocles over all food businesses.

  Since the creation of the Food Standards Agency there have been no more court cases involving specialist cheesemakers, and the relationship between officials and cheesemakers has improved, although it sometimes remains an uneasy one.

  I find it hard to have confidence in food safety officials when their actions have been so comprehensively called into question by these two court cases. Further scepticism is warranted by an EU committee’s disclosure, in 1999, that microbiological criteria relating to cheese were not established on the basis of a formal risk assessment and that many of the criteria did not appear to be meaningful in terms of consumer health protection.

  The concept of zero risk and focussing so intently on food safety seems to have taken hold to such an extent that food’s nutritional value and gastronomic qualities are often overlooked or ignored. We need to regain a sense of proportion. As The Times reported on 26th April 1999, in one year, 34 people died from food poisoning compared with 83 who died falling out of bed.

  A MODERN CHAMPION

  Berkswell: The Fletchers

  Stephen Fletcher has a quiet, deliberate way about him; seemingly a man who likes to try and foresee the outcome before he makes a decision, he claims to have been totally unprepared for the challenges he would face in cheesemaking and certainly he could not have foreseen the success he would have with his ‘new’ cheese when he started making Berkswell in 1989.

  Now deservedly ranked by many as the finest ewes’ milk cheese made in England, when I first met Stephen, the cheese was nothing special. On my first visit I was unimpressed by either the cheese or the dairy and left the farm thinking what a nice idea they had, but that there needed to be some big improvements if they were to make a go of it. And improve they did! The cheese is now one of my firm favourites; one I know I will always enjoy and one I am delighted to find on a restaurant cheeseboard.

  Stephen describes two defining moments as being the 1992 Specialist Cheesemakers’ conference in Harrogate and the encouragement he felt at the praise he received from other cheesemakers and retailers who tasted his cheese for the first time. This, coupled in the previous year, with the thrill of walking into the room after the judging at the Bakewell Show, to see the rosette indicating he had won first prize.

  So what makes the cheese so great? Ask Stephen and he’ll say he doesn’t know. Ask Linda, his cheesemaker, and she’ll say she doesn’t know. Pressed, Stephen says they must be doing something right but he doesn’t know what. Slowly though he lets out that he considers animal husbandry and feed to be important. Without good milk you can’t even hope for good cheese. Stephen looks after the sheep and responds to their needs. He says Friesland sheep have a low health threshold, easily picking up pneumonia and mastitis; they are high-maintenance but are phenomenal when it comes to their milking ability and temperament. Although the tensions, which exist in a herd of cows, are almost absent with sheep, they have a habit of taking on the world, and sometimes coming off second best. They complain at the slightest opportunity; they want to be in a different field from the one they’re in; they’re choosy about what they eat. But at Ram Hall they’re lucky in their diet. The farm may be tucked between Birmingham and Coventry but, although this may sound unromantic, the area is surprisingly, charmingly rural and the grassland here, some of which Stephen reckons has been planted for over 200 years, provides ideal grazing for the ewes.

  The palatability of the grass changes seasonally, and even daily, so Stephen needs to keep on top of this and ensure his ewes are happy with their food. The ph of the soil must be right; the length of the grass must be right – Stephen says the ideal length is the height it grows overnight. To help, Stephen also feeds the sheep with a special compound to balance out the grazing, and feeds a mix of grass and maize silage from December to mid April. This must be finely chopped so that the sheep can’t be selective and only eat the bits they like. He says that it is like looking after 400 fussy, spoilt children!

  Milking the sheep is another major operation, taking as much as seven hours a day; but at least they get some respite in October and November when the sheep are dry.

  To a farming family like the Fletchers, who have been at Ram Hall since 1886 and who have recently received an ‘Excellence in Practical Farming’ award, the animal bit might be considered the easy bit. Making cheese requires different skills. Once the decision was made to use their sheep’s milk for cheese rather than simply sell it as liquid, Stephen’s mother, Sheila, went off to Otley College in Suffolk to learn to make cheese.

  Soon after they started, Sheila was joined by Linda Dutch, who now does most of the cheesemaking; and an excellent job she makes of it. Using the milk fresh from the sheep and unpasteurised, undoubtedly contributes to the quality of the cheese but Linda’s skill is critical. Linda explained that, surprisingly for a hard cheese, she does not cut the curd finely but simply into squares and then stirs the curds and whey by hand, before scooping the curd into regular plastic kitchen colanders. She pushes the curd into these colanders by hand in order to expel as much whey as possible and then they are left to drain, being turned regularly and dry salted on each side. The cheeses firm up quite a lot during the first seven days and take on the distinctive pattern created by the holes in the colanders. Further maturing takes a minimum of 3 months but the cheese is really at its best after 6 months. Stephen thinks his finest cheeses are made in February, when the sheep are eating the best silage, and in June when the grazing is at its optimum and with the solids in the milk at their peak.

  When they first started they were only just had enough sales to justify making cheese 2 or 3 times a week. Despite a number of knock-backs over the years, now they make two vats a day 5 or 6 days a week for much of the season and each vat produces about 25 three-kilo cheeses.

  The finished cheese has a very attractive and interesting, rustic, light amber coloured rind. The interior paste is almost translucent ivory. The texture is firm and, with age, slightly crystalline; the flavour is breathtaking: full, rich, nutty, sweet, caramel-like, fruity and savoury all at the same
time, with hints of fresh, rich meadow grass and many layers of flavour, all in total harmony, unfolding as one tastes the cheese.

  Ram Hall Farm is just outside the village of Berkswell, which takes its name from a Saxon king, Bercul, who was born in the village and baptised at its well, which still exists today. The king would, I feel sure, be delighted that his name lives on not only as a village but in such a special cheese as well. No records exist of when or why the house was built. Although the name of the house is Anglo-Saxon, indicating its ancient origins, the present house is almost certainly 16th century and has a delightful air of timelessness about it. There is a room on the first floor of the house which used to be a cheese room at some point in the past. Although what type of cheese was made is anyone’s guess, I doubt it was up to the standard the Fletchers have attained.

  They are great ambassadors for British cheese: Stephen, Tessa, Linda and Sheila, can often be found at events and exhibitions where their cheese never fails to cause excitement and to impress. It is generous of them to give their time promoting British cheeses and they should be a huge motivation to aspiring cheesemakers. Some 15 years after inventing and making their first cheese, they have scaled the pinnacle of quality to produce some of the very best cheeses available; a modern champion.

  Other stunning sheep’s milk cheeses

  Apart from Roquefort, Manchego is probably the best-known sheep’s milk cheese, but it is often extremely difficult to find a good one. Made on the plateau of La Mancha in central Spain, the cheese is very hard-pressed and then salted in a strong brine solution. The flavour tends to be herby, sometimes with a hint of olives. It is easily recognised by the zig-zag pattern on the rind, left by the rush grass binder.

  Ossau Iraty is the exact opposite of Manchego; not very well known but nearly all the examples I have tasted have been good. Made on the French side of the Pyrenees, Ossau Iraty is a hard cheese with a delightful nutty character.

  Wigmore is a delightful sheep’s milk cheese with something of a melting chocolate texture; soft and voluptuous. When I first visited Anne Wigmore, I felt I had been inside a Tardis! Outside it was just like a wooden shed at the end of the garden; inside it was a state-of-the art dairy – all stainless steel and white, wipe-down surfaces. Anne and her husband, Andy, have developed the recipe for the cheese themselves, so the cheese is unique and one of the stars of modern British cheesemaking.

  Fonseca 20-Year-Old Tawny Port

  Bruce Guimaraens was one of the world’s great port makers. Larger than life in both his stature and his wit, he was responsible for all the ports made by one of the greatest port houses, Fonseca, from 1960 until succeeded by his son in 1994. With one man in charge of so many wines, one might expect a certain style to run through them all. Bruce’s style was quality, pure and simple, with each wine exhibiting the best characteristics of the particular port style he was making. I will be looking at Vintage Port in the chapter on Stilton; but for a hard sheep’s milk cheese like Berkswell, the ideal accompaniment, for me, is an aged tawny port.

  Aged Tawny Ports are matured in wooden vats or casks and come with an indication of age - 10, 20, 30 or 40 years old – and are a blend of wines from different years, the average age of which is that stated. The older the age the lighter the wine, but even at 10 years old they are considerably lighter than a vintage port which is matured in bottle. The variation from one harvest to the next, reflected in vintage ports with only certain years being declared, makes for a good story and generates a natural interest. As a result tawny ports have often been considered of less interest. But, in the hands of a master like Bruce Guimaraens, they are impressive wines.

  Bruce grew up with port in his veins; in 1822 his great-great grandfather, Manuel Pedro Guimaraens, bought the nascent business of Fonseca & Monteiro which, like most of the great port houses, had carried on a trade in a wide variety of foodstuffs and cloth since its foundation in the late 1700’s. Manuel decided to concentrate on port wine and the family has been involved ever since. Four members of the family have made all the vintages of the last century. It would seem more appropriate for the firm to be called Guimaraens but the departing Fonseca, when he sold his shares in 1822, insisted that his name be retained.

  The years immediately after the Second World War were difficult for the port trade and so it was that, in 1948, the ownership of Fonseca became consolidated with another highly respected port house, Taylor Fladgate & Yeatman. My first introduction to Fonseca was through the Chairman of both houses, Alistair Robertson, who explained that although both companies are under the same ownership, from the winemaking point of view they are run quite separately, with Fonseca having its own distinct style. This is confirmed every time I taste ports from the two houses.

  What seems like many years ago, Bruce showed me round the centre of Fonseca’s vineyards, their 44 hectare estate, Quinta do Panascal, just south west of Pinhão on the River Távora, in the heart of the wild and mountainous Douro region of northern Portugal. The Douro valley is where the grapes for all port are grown and the area is heavily terraced to make the vineyards anything near workable. Still, it is amongst the most difficult of all wine growing regions. Here grows a bewildering variety of grapes; nearly 80 varieties are permitted although it is generally recognised that four, Touriga Nacional, Touriga Franca, Tinta Roriz and Tinto Cão, produce the best wines.

  In September or October every year the harvest takes place. In order to extract the fruit, colour and tannins essential to the character of port, it is vital to maintain maximum contact between the skins and the juice during pressing and fermentation. Treading the grapes by foot in large open stone troughs, called lagares, is the traditional and still the best way to do this, and is used extensively by Fonseca. However, it is extremely labour-intensive and, over the years, a number of semi-automatic processes have been tried out with varying degrees of success.

  The sweetness of port is achieved by adding neutral grape spirit to the partly-fermented grape juice, thus stopping the fermentation and maintaining some of the natural sweetness of the grapes.

  The concentration of so many extracts brought about by the pressing method of the grapes, the shock addition of alcohol and the sudden ending of fermentation, produces raw, rough wines, which need time to mature. Some people complain of hangovers from port. By drinking tawnies or vintage ports, which have been aged for at least 10 years, I have seldom experienced the problem. Avoid younger wines, rubies, Late Bottled Vintage and so-called Premium or Vintage Character ports.

  All the newly-made ports are kept at the quinta until the following spring when they are graded and moved to the maturing lodges (above ground cellars) in the town of Vila Nova de Gaia, 75 km down river on the coast opposite the port of Oporto, from which the wine derives its name. Fonseca tawnies are aged in their lodges in Gaia on the bend of the river where the relative humidity is slightly higher, helping to preserve the fruity style that Bruce wanted and which is the hallmark of Fonseca.

  The aged tawnies are matured in casks of 550 litres (or pipes as they are called in the Douro). The high surface area to volume ratio of these pipes allows a slight oxidisation to take place while the fresh berry flavours give way to more complex, ripe, plumy fruit and a distinctly nutty character, with hints of caramel, cinnamon and butterscotch, and the appearance of the wine takes on its characteristic russet/tawny hue. As the wines ages they lighten in colour until about 25 years of age, after which they start to pick up colour from the wood; an olive green tone that starts to verge on very dark by 100 years.

  Being lighter in style, I find tawny ports are in many ways more suited to modern diets than the richer, more full-bodied vintage ports. I love them with all hard cheeses, except the very strongest, which can overpower the delightful delicacy of a fine tawny. With Berkswell, Fonseca 20-Year-Old is sublime. The wonderful aroma is immediately apparent on opening the bottle; the rich amber tawny colour with russet highlights excites the senses. The ripe, plumy flavour allied to a d
istinctive spiciness creates a truly magical harmony with Berkswell. Both have a nutty sweetness balanced by a savoury spiciness that are so well matched it can be difficult to separate the flavours of the cheese from those of the port.

  I find Fonseca 20-Year-Old Tawny a compelling wine, combining a wonderful richness and power with great finesse and elegance. I consider it a supreme example of the style. In Fonseca 20-Year-Old Tawny, Bruce Guimaraens established a character which is, to me, the outstanding example of this style of port. Bruce once said to me that to make a good port one needs good beer. It took me a few seconds to realise that the ‘good beer’ was intended to be drunk by Bruce, not to go into the blend! I met Bruce in Portugal and in London and it seemed to me the two things he enjoyed most were the company of others and making wine; he excelled at both. Many, as I do, will remember his enthusiastic conversation. Many more will remember his glorious wines.

  How to Make Cheese

  The first thing is to make sure the quality of the milk is really good. Good cheese can not be made without good milk. The breed of animal will have a huge effect on the style of cheese. Not only the breed, but its feed, age and stage of lactation are important in determining the quality of the milk and thus the cheese.

  Milk will vary from day to day, depending on what the animals have been eating (wild garlic is a nightmare) and even the weather (thundery weather can produce tough cheeses). One of the biggest differences is between summer cheeses, from cows fed on grass, and winter cheeses, from cows fed on silage. Both have their merits but some French appellation contrôlée regulations specify that hay, not silage, must be fed in winter and some cheesemakers even have grass driers, for years when the sun is not enough. I have tried asking English farmers to consider installing a grass drier, only to be met with a blank stare.