billmarsano
Member
KCBC used to be a solid everyday cheddar, good enough to win a taste-off on America’s Test Kitchen back in the day. Commonly sold in 8-ounce sticks for $3 to $5, it was firm in texture and a bit snappy (if hardly sharp) and a favorite of the person in my family who binges on cheddar.
And so, recently passing a dairy case, I snapped up a bar of it, thinking to win points with That Person. That very evening, nodding to Brillat-Savarin, I presented apple wedges and cheddar for dessert. In a “Ground Control to Major Tom” moment it exploded theatrically on the launch pad--the sort of thing NASA boffins call an R.U.D., or Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly.
In short, it was awful. TP shifted into massive scorn mode, and I had to agree. Whither taste? texture? (it was kind of greasy). ‘Extended shelf life’ was written all over it. Then I noticed that the package said only “Cracker Barrel”--the imprimatur of Kraft was missing. Too late!
Growing up Italian in an Italian neighborhood I was well-insulated from cheddar and other ’foreign’ cheeses, so despite my advanced age I am an infant in cheddar, Monterey Jack and such. Thus, in a recent attempt to regain favor at home, I had no idea what I was looking for.
By the grace of the retail gods I stumbled on Cabot’s during a raid on Costco. I love it, and pals who know better than me agree. Long-aged, white, crumbly and really sharp, it’s from Vermont, which I take it is to cheddar what Bordeaux is to wine. It costs little more than Cracker Barrel. It’s white because Vermonters don’t add coloring. There are other noted brands—Jasper Hill, Grafton Village and Plymouth among them, and tons of artisanal makers--so Google, help yourself and clue me in.
Other Vermont big cheeses: Presidents Chester A. Arthur and Calvin “Silent Cal” Coolidge. Both were Vice-Presidents who succeeded dead Presidents. Unlike most of his successors, Silent Cal was famous for short speeches and no fuss. When President Warren G. Harding died on a sudden in 1923, Cal had to be sworn in pronto. The family home, in uber-rural Plymouth Notch (pop 641), had neither electricity nor phone, so the business was a total post-midnight surprise. Nevertheless, Cal got up, and by the light of kerosene lamp was duly sworn in by his dad, a JP and notary. And then? He went back to bed. What the hell, it was 2:47 AM.
And so, recently passing a dairy case, I snapped up a bar of it, thinking to win points with That Person. That very evening, nodding to Brillat-Savarin, I presented apple wedges and cheddar for dessert. In a “Ground Control to Major Tom” moment it exploded theatrically on the launch pad--the sort of thing NASA boffins call an R.U.D., or Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly.
In short, it was awful. TP shifted into massive scorn mode, and I had to agree. Whither taste? texture? (it was kind of greasy). ‘Extended shelf life’ was written all over it. Then I noticed that the package said only “Cracker Barrel”--the imprimatur of Kraft was missing. Too late!
Growing up Italian in an Italian neighborhood I was well-insulated from cheddar and other ’foreign’ cheeses, so despite my advanced age I am an infant in cheddar, Monterey Jack and such. Thus, in a recent attempt to regain favor at home, I had no idea what I was looking for.
By the grace of the retail gods I stumbled on Cabot’s during a raid on Costco. I love it, and pals who know better than me agree. Long-aged, white, crumbly and really sharp, it’s from Vermont, which I take it is to cheddar what Bordeaux is to wine. It costs little more than Cracker Barrel. It’s white because Vermonters don’t add coloring. There are other noted brands—Jasper Hill, Grafton Village and Plymouth among them, and tons of artisanal makers--so Google, help yourself and clue me in.
Other Vermont big cheeses: Presidents Chester A. Arthur and Calvin “Silent Cal” Coolidge. Both were Vice-Presidents who succeeded dead Presidents. Unlike most of his successors, Silent Cal was famous for short speeches and no fuss. When President Warren G. Harding died on a sudden in 1923, Cal had to be sworn in pronto. The family home, in uber-rural Plymouth Notch (pop 641), had neither electricity nor phone, so the business was a total post-midnight surprise. Nevertheless, Cal got up, and by the light of kerosene lamp was duly sworn in by his dad, a JP and notary. And then? He went back to bed. What the hell, it was 2:47 AM.
