The grape varieties in Burgundy are relatively straightforward. Chardonnay is grown for all the great whites and Pinot Noir for the all the great reds with Gamay replacing Pinot Noir in Beaujolais. Aligoté is planted sporadically throughout the region, producing what I consider rather inferior white wines.
At the very heart of Burgundy is the Côte d’Or, between Dijon and just south of Beaune, producing what I think are the greatest red and white wines of Burgundy. To the north is Chablis, with its classically steely white wines. To the south is Beaujolais, with its generally lighter and fruitier red wines made from the Gamay grape. In between lie the Côte Chalonnaise and Maconnais (in my view poor relations to the Côte d’Or, though they won’t thank me for saying it).
Pinot Noir as grown in Burgundy is, to my mind, indisputably one of the best red wines to accompany most soft cheeses. Pinot Noir is a frustrating grape to grow, demanding the highest skills in the vineyard and not a little luck. It gives many problems, such as budding early, so it is susceptible to frosts. Its small tight bunches rot easily and yields have to be tightly controlled, as over-production will result in wishy-washy wines; but too low a yield will be totally uneconomic. As a result, it is not widely grown, although many a more adventurous vigneron in both Europe and the New World has tried. Burgundy, where it has been grown for a millennium, remains its true home and it is here that I look for many of the best wines to accompany cheeses.
To dinner at Lameloise
As one enters the restaurant from the uninspiring square in Chagny, south of Beaune, the air of refinement envelops and transports one to another world; a world of the quiet enjoyment of fine food, but thankfully not too quiet as is too often the case in many fine restaurants. Lameloise has the happy murmur of friends enjoying themselves. It is busy, even on a Monday. The waiters are welcoming but a little too formal and starched. Why does good food seem to go with formality? I suppose because the only people who can afford such food demand a certain formality.
The most delicious starter; raw salmon, smoked salmon and mi-cuit (or half cooked) salmon enrobed in a spinach soufflé studded with pieces of lobster. This was too good to be true; light, elegant and simply superb. Served with it were little cannelloni filled with whipped crème fraîche flavoured with fennel. The main course was rabbit with mushrooms served with mashed potatoes, which I found a little too heavy. Then, on the cheeseboard, was Cîteaux, where I had been earlier in the day. Finally, a light, fresh, palate-cleansing pear sorbet served with a whole, slightly caramelised pear and pear biscuits.
Clos de Vougeot Grand Cru 1998: Domaine René Engel
The obvious wine to accompany Cîteaux cheese is clearly Clos de Vougeot. Although the monks no longer have any connection with the winemaking at Clos de Vougeot, I felt I had to explore the wines in view of their historical links.
The Clos de Vougeot vineyard, in the northern half of the Côte d’Or and planted almost entirely with Pinot Noir, is now split between 80 different growers and, because I wanted to compare the wines of more than one producer, I went along to Berry Bros & Rudd for a special tasting with their Buying Director, Jasper Morris. Jasper has a house in the hills above Clos de Vougeot and spends part of his time there and part in London. He knows Burgundy and its wines in consummate detail.
It was a change for me to be sitting the other side of the table at Berry’s, listening to a tutorial rather than conducting it. While more relaxing, I was reminded how much I like to taste at my own pace rather than at a pace determined by someone else; also that to taste in the evening when one is, perhaps, tired (and certainly one’s taste buds are jaded) is not nearly so rewarding as tasting in the late morning.
Nevertheless, the tasting was fascinating; six red wines from Clos de Vougeot from six different producers and five different vintages plus a white Clos de Vougeot, which one seldom sees and was delicious. Those early monks at Cîteaux clearly knew a thing or two about winemaking as the land they planted back in 1109, some 10 years after they founded their monastery, is to this day capable of producing wines of world class stature.
The present vineyard is some 51 hectares, about the size one might expect of a Bordeaux Château producing a single wine; but the Clos has over 80 owners producing 80 different wines with an average production per owner of only just over 1,000 bottles. Hence the need to proceed with caution, as is true everywhere in Burgundy. Apart from the skills of each owner, the position of their vines within the Clos is of critical importance. It may seem strange when the whole vineyard is only 51 hectares but it runs from the well drained limestone at the top of the hill, to the heavy muddy frost-trap clay at the bottom, where it is extremely difficult to produce any wine which can live up to its Grand Cru status. Some owners have parcels of vines scattered around the Clos, which makes it even more difficult to predict with any certainty the quality inside the bottle. Tasting experience is the only way to proceed and Jasper talked us through the wines, passing on some of his considerable knowledge.
What was evident is that the variations within the Clos are at least as great as one would find between the Clos and vineyards 10 miles away. The producer is critical; Jasper even went as far as to give the example of two producers each with holdings in Clos de Vougeot and Volnay. By his reckoning there were more common characteristics between the two wines from each producer than there were between either the two Volnay or the two Clos de Vougeot.
Of the wines we tasted, the two I liked best were the 2000 vintage from Domaine René Engel and the 1993 vintage from Domaine Méo-Camuzet; but the latter only once a second bottle had been opened. The first bottle was very lack-lustre and rather disappointing for a wine retailing at nearly £200 a bottle. The second bottle was superb: dense, rich, lots of fruit, typical Pinot Noir, autumnal, leafy. However I felt that the 2000 from René Engel would be a better match for the cheese. In order to verify this I actually tried a 1998 vintage a few days later alongside the cheese.
The Clos de Vougeot 1998 Domaine René Engel was initially quite closed, showing a little red fruit flavour, but after about an hour it really opened up and developed those lovely, leafy, vegetal aromas and flavours which are the hallmark of good Pinot Noir. It showed great elegance and finesse with enough power and structure to partner the Cîteaux cheese superbly. The aroma of the cheese initially threatened to overpower the wine, but its flavour was more refined than suggested by the aroma, especially once the rind was removed. The crusty rind was too strong and aggressive for the wine.
The centre of Domaine René Engel is an impressive building near the square in the village of Vosne Romanee. As is traditional in Burgundy, the vats are on the ground floor, the cellar, housing both barrels and bottles, is below, and there is living space on the first floor.
In Clos de Vougeot, their large 1½ hectare parcel of vines, some of which are as much as 80 years old, is ideally situated near the top of the slope just below the Château itself.
Since 1981, the wines of the Domaine were made by Philippe Engel, René’s grandson, but tragically he died of a heart attack at the early age of 49 while sailing in Tahiti. He took the decision to bottle all the Domaine’s wines in-house and this was achieved in 1988. Before that much had been sold in bulk to merchants. Philippe achieved great things with the Domaine during his stewardship and I wait with interest to see how it will proceed now that it is under the ownership of Francois Pinault of Château Latour in Bordeaux. Hopefully a great future is assured.
WEARY TRAVELLERS NAME A CHEESE
Stilton: King of English Cheeses
As if to prove that cheesemaking never stands still, two developments in Stilton, that most traditional of cheeses, have cheese aficionados excited. The first is that cheesemaking has returned to Quenby Hall, where many believe the first Stilton cheese was made. The second is that there is to be an unpasteurised Stilton again; although whether they will be allowed to call it Stilton remains to be seen.
Quenby Hall was magnificent as I drove up the long drive th
rough an avenue of trees. Apart from the fact that the drive is now tarmac, the scene appears little changed from 1627, when the Jacobean hall was built by George Ashby in beautiful parkland some 10 miles east of Leicester. Freddie de Lisle, the present owner, set up a new dairy in 2005 where Sara Strong now makes Stilton again using milk from Tim Dixon’s farm in the village.
Although cheese has almost certainly been made in the area since Norman times, the origins of Stilton, as we know it, lie sometime in the late 17th century, when the Ashbys at Quenby Hall were given a cheese recipe by one of their relations, Lady Mary Beaumont. The Ashby’s housekeeper, Elizabeth Scarborough, made the cheese and it proved extremely popular when sold locally. When the Ashby family neglected Quenby in favour of their other estates, Elizabeth moved to Little Dalby. In 1720 she married a Mr Orton and started making cheese at Little Dalby Hall, where it is believed she perfected the recipe. The cheese was pressed and was consequently quite hard. It was probably blue more by accident than design.
At much the same time a Frances Pawlett was making a similar cheese in the nearby village of Wymondham. The story is hazy but it is thought that the Ortons and the Pawletts went into some sort of a partnership which included the owner of Quenby Hall and Cooper Thornhill, the landlord of The Blue Bell Inn at Stilton. Quenby Hall, the Ortons and the Pawletts had the means to make the cheese and Thornhill had the perfect outlet to sell it.
The Blue Bell was a renowned inn on the Great North Road, the main London to York highway, where weary travellers – among them Dick Turpin, Lord Byron and Daniel Defoe - broke their journeys, changed horses and often stayed the night. As part of their meal they were usually served a fabulous cheese. Those who bought the cheese, thinking it had been made in Stilton, spread its reputation by that name. The first written mention of Stilton cheese is from Daniel Defoe who notes that in 1722 he “passed through Stilton, a town famous for its cheese”. Its fame grew throughout the 18th century, as stagecoaches were used to transport vast quantities of the cheese for sale in London.
According to Ian Skailes, who is responsible for Cropwell Bishop, one of the best Stiltons produced today, the cheese these early travellers enjoyed bore little resemblance to today’s cheeses. “They would have been much harder and drier” he says. Certainly this is borne out by Mrs Beaton, the great Victorian housewife, who referred to it as “British Parmesan” in her book of 1861, saying that it should be aged for 10 to 12 months or even longer. By contrast, today Ian Skailes’ prize-winning Cropwell Bishop cheeses are aged for three months and are creamy and moist.
Stilton was the first English cheese to be awarded any sort of protection when, in 1910, the producers had the foresight to lay down some basic rules for its manufacture. These rules have served it well and it is unusual, today, to find any bad Stilton cheeses – not something one can say about Cheddar, that other pillar of English cheesemaking. True, the better cheeses come from the smaller dairies, like Cropwell Bishop and Colston Bassett, but even the big dairies produce cheeses which have some appeal. Dairy Crest, the largest Stilton producer, has experimented with automated production in their Hartingdon dairy. The cheese vat is a moving rubber conveyor belt; the milk goes in at one end and cheese comes out at the other. Hardly romantic and, more to the point, relatively unable to respond to daily variations in milk supply; but the quality of the cheese remains consistently, at least, acceptable.
The rules for Stilton, now adopted into the European PDO system, state that it must be a “blue veined moulded cheese made in cylindrical form from full cream cows’ milk with no added pressure and forming its own crust” from the geographical area of Leicestershire, Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire.
Most of the dairies I have visited, apart from the conveyor belt manufacture at Hartington, follow a similar pattern of make, which is roughly as follows. The milk, both morning and evening, is put in a large open vat and heated to about 30˚c. The starter culture and penicillium mould spores are added. Rennet is added and the curd forms. After an hour or so it is cut and then left to rest for three hours after which the whey is drawn off and the curds transferred onto the cooling ‘tables’ which are really shallow vats. Depending on the maker this is sometimes achieved by letting the curds gently flow from the vat to the table by gravity. Sara at Quenby and Richard Rowlett at Colston Bassett prefer to ladle the curds by hand which they think is less rough on the curds. All are emphatic about the need for gentle handling.
Once on the table, the curds rest overnight when they are milled, salted and put into tall cylindrical moulds. The newborn cheeses go into the ‘hastening room’ where they are turned daily for five days, after which they are removed from their moulds and the sides of the cheeses smoothed with the flat blade of a knife. Some makers prefer to coat the cheese in cling film, which they believe achieves the same effect as smoothing with a knife but which I feel retains too much moisture in the cheese. After about six weeks, or roughly halfway through the maturing process, the cheeses are pierced with stainless steel needles. This process allows air to enter the centre of the cheese. The penicillium mould, which was added to the milk and has remained dormant, now turns blue with this exposure to the air and the maker is assured of a cheese with more evenly distributed blue veining than in days gone by, when the veining occurred largely by chance in any cracks and fissures which were in the cheese. A second piercing takes place a week or so later.
One area where the rules do not perhaps do the quality any favours is the insistence, since 1990, on pasteurisation. A cheese as traditional as Stilton, arguably Britain’s King of Cheeses, should surely be made from raw milk. At present that is not so, but Randolph Hodgson and Joe Schneider intend to start making a blue cheese to a Stilton recipe from raw milk. Joe showed me round his new premises while the builders were busy laying the drainage in the floor. They have come to an arrangement with the owners of the magnificent 16,000 acre Welbeck Estate, built by the Dukes of Portland, in the north of Nottinghamshire and Joe is supervising the construction of his new dairy which they will call Stichelton. They will use the organic milk from the estate’s herd of 150 Friesian cows.
Joe, who previously made Daylesford cheese, which is one of my very favourites for its stunning complexity and delicious flavours, is looking forward to the new challenge of making Stilton. He is an exceptionally skilled cheesemaker and is confident he can make a great Stilton. He adds with characteristic modesty that the recipe is, after all, very well known and that between himself and Randolph they are friendly with plenty of people who have a deep knowledge of the making and who are willing to help. His concern is more in the maturing and in ensuring the conditions are right for this to be achieved. From my previous knowledge of Joe I am sure he will succeed in making a truly stunning cheese and that it will be one of the most traditional cheeses made to a Stilton recipe. However there is a big question mark over whether he will be allowed to call it Stilton. I can’t see why not – other than commercial interests of other makers – but signs are that the Stilton Makers Association will stop him, simply because he will make it from unpasteurised milk. Nevertheless I am really looking forward to tasting it. The renaissance of an unpasteurised organic Stilton is an exciting prospect.
Of the Stilton makers today, Colston Bassett and Cropwell Bishop are my two preferred cheeses. Each dairy takes its name from two villages which are close to each other in The Vale of Belvoir, some ten miles east of Nottingham. Colston Bassett is the smaller and more traditional of the two. Here Richard Rowlett, only the third manager in the history of the dairy, oversees a small workforce who follow much the same methods as were used when the dairy was founded in 1913, although they have pasteurised the milk since 1990. Recently I tasted the two cheeses together and both had their attractions. The Colston Bassett was very creamy, almost buttery, with a wonderfully full mellow flavour which lacked any harsh edges. The Cropwell Bishop, by contrast, also had plenty of flavour and was well balanced but, perhaps because it was a little younger, showed m
ore of a mineral tang which was not unpleasant. Cropwell Bishop was quite ivory in colour and streaked with plenty of blue/green veining, whilst the Colston Bassett was white with more pin-point bluing. Both cheeses were quite moist and semi soft. In both the salt was quite subdued which is a pleasant change from some other blue cheeses. Neither was crumbly or acidic indicating that they were of sufficient maturity.
Driving round the countryside of Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire one sees reminders of the rich heritage of coal and iron mining in the area. Surely these mineral deposits have their effect on the grazing, through the milk and into the cheese, manifesting themselves in the steely taste of a fine Stilton.
Some people only eat Stilton at Christmas time. This is a shame because it is excellent all year round. But, some of the best cheeses are made in September, when grass growth is good, and these mature just in time for Christmas.
The Victorians developed the custom of pouring port into Stilton. I don’t recommend it. In my view it is a waste of two good products and the tradition probably originated when Stilton was a much harder cheese than today and the addition of port was a last desperate attempt to breathe some life into an otherwise dead and dry bit of cheese. Instead, if you a lucky enough to have a whole cheese, I advise you to cut off a disc about 1cm thick from the top, to form a lid, which can be used to keep the top surface covered. To serve the cheese remove the lid and cut wedges of 3-4 cm depth out of the top of the cheese. When you have cut wedges all round the cheese, start on the next layer. Cover the cheese with the lid after serving.
The Cheesemonger's Tales Page 13