The Magic of Emmental

My in-laws have visited Switzerland several times, and they love to tell of their experiences there.  In their guest room, I found this children's book, and after a few days, the cover art prompted me to read it.

The story is set in the village of Trub, located in the Emmental region of Switzerland.  Its 1400 residents are surrounded by twenty-four square miles of land, nearly all of which is farmland and forest.  

Emmental's claim to fame is its cheese, and I use Emmental cheese every time I make fondue.  But author Ferdinand Steenaerts asserts that Trub is about more than cheese.  We follow his young protagonist Hans through the seasons of the year, and watch him in his daily activities, such as milking the cows, working in the dairy, fishing in a stream, taking his animals to market, harvesting grain, hunting, and assisting the lumberjacks.  

Steenaerts paints such a compelling portrait of Man living in harmony with Nature that at first the miraculous passed me by.  It was only on my second reading that I realized how precious traditional Swiss life was to the author, when Hans startles a young deer.  Instead of shying away from him, the animal allows him to pick it up, and carry it to his mother.

I frequently reap the benefits of modern marvels such as microwave ovens, televisions, cellphones, and Wi-Fi.  Yet I also feel the allure of a simpler existence, where Man lives more in harmony with the seasons and the world around him.  While I don't plan on trading my computer for a scythe anytime soon, The Boy From A Village Called Trub makes me want to visit this seemingly timeless place.  To fish in its streams.  To see a village market-day.  To hike around placid farms and through thick, forbidding forests.  And, in late Fall, to watch the cows, adorned with flowers and jingling bells, make their long return from the hills to their cozy, warm barns.  Perhaps there I'll feel some of the everyday magic Ferdinand Steenaerts describes in his book, perhaps not.  But at the very least, I'll see some beautiful scenery, experience some wonderful things, and of course, be able to sample some delicious cheese.

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries
A Surprising Discovery
Dining Like a Swiss Philistine

The Bovine Comedian

Breakfast made moo-velous with
an egg-white omelet, apple, blackberries, toast,
and of course, Laughing Cow cheese.

Some mornings, I enjoy cheese on my toast at breakfast.  Recently, I’ve enjoyed Stilton and Double Gloucester.  The other day my wife brought home a triangle of Laughing Cow.  After the other two cheeses, I didn’t expect much flavor from this mild, smooth cheese.  But I found that I enjoyed Laughing Cow just as much as I had the other two.  Its flavor might be less rich, but I found it no less pleasant.  An added bonus was how easily it spread across the toast. 

Of course, names are evocative for a writer, and Laughing Cow made me wonder.  In his books, James Herriot tells of cows that winked at people, who butted milk pails, who regarded kicking a farm worker or a vet as a bovine-handshake.  He tells about cows getting angry, ornery, mean, inquisitive, friendly, and loyal.  He asserts that each farm animal, like every person, is an individual, and therefore has his or her unique personality.  But none of his stories ever mention a cow laughing.

So, as I often do these days, I turned to the Internet for answers.  On Wikipedia, I learned that Leon Bel trademarked the brand in 1921.  To advertise his new brand, he drew a cow with a hilarious expression.  Three years later, a famous illustrator named Benjamin Rabier enhanced Bel’s drawing, giving her earrings, coloring her red, and depicting her laughing.  The cheese has since won the world over, and recently the company contacted BBC Radio comedian Milton Jones to answer my question: Could he make a cow laugh?

At the link below, you can see several two-minute-long videos.  I enjoyed watching Milton's outdoor show.  While I’m not convinced that the cows’ responses to his stories, gags, and punch-lines equivocate with my own laughter, they certainly seem interested in him.  Or maybe they’re just trying to get to the hay. 

Enjoy!

Dragon Dave

Related Internet Link

Milton Jones’  “Pull theUdder One” campaign

A Final Taste of Yorkshire

Hawes, home to the Wensleydale Cheese Factory

As we enjoyed all the samples on offer in the Wensleydale Cheese Factory, I initially found it intriguing that two of the three cheeses we brought home with us were Cheddars.  Only one, a blend of Wensleydale and Apricot, represented the creamery's signature variety.   The Wikipedia page on Wensleydale cheese describes its flavor as “wild honey balanced with a fresh acidity.”  I don’t remember reacting to that acidity at the factory, but once I got home, and had a little of it with my breakfast, it somehow tasted off to me. 

My wife liked the taste though, so I let her enjoy it while I got on with the Cheddars.  I particularly enjoyed the smoked Cheddar—it had a nice, strong flavor that mixed well with the eggs, toast, and fruit I eat each morning.  While my wife found she disliked the smoked Cheddar, she helped me out more with the softer, Abbot’s Choice variety.  I tried the Wensleydale a second morning, but still couldn’t find the sweetness in it that my wife appreciated. 

For a time, I wondered if we had simply waited too long to eat it.  We brought back many treats from England, after all.  As we had good things awaiting our return, including leftover Stilton, the new cheeses sat in our fridge awhile before we got around to them.  By the time we unwrapped them and cut through the wax casing, all three were past their expiration dates.  The two Cheddars supported this argument, as I often had to cut a little mold off them as I sliced off a little for my breakfast.  But the Wensleydale & Apricot never developed a hint of mold.

Despite the fact that we were enjoying the latter stages of summer, one night my wife dug out Wallace & Grommit’s Cheesy Cook Book and announced that we were going to bake a cake.  Using the last of our Wensleydale & Apricot cheese, we proceeded to make “Wallace’s Crumbly Apricot & Apple Cake.”  While I peeled and sliced the apples, she did the rest.  In short order, the cake was in the oven, which was happily pouring more heat to our already hot house.

I always find it difficult to describe a unique taste to someone else.  Our new cake, which we sliced into the following night, was a combination of flavors and textures.  Perhaps it was the baking process, or the addition of the sugar and the apples, but the cheese in it no longer tasted off.  The cake had a substance that I often find lacking in cakes.  It wasn’t too dense, nor was it too light and airy.  It was moist, but not too moist.  No one flavor dominated: it wasn’t too sweet, too cheesy, or two apple-y (if that’s a word).  In short, the cake was different, a unique combination of flavors.  Usually, I accompany cake with ice cream to balance out the tastes and textures.  But when I set the fork on my empty plate, I decided I needed nothing more. 

My wife, on the other hand, marched out to the store the following day and brought home some vanilla ice cream.  That night, she presented me a slice of cake and some ice cream drizzled with a little Caramel sauce.  Oh, yes: her instincts had steered her right once again!

I’m not sure if I can get any variety of Wensleydale Cheese in San Diego.  That’s something we’ll have to investigate.  I’d like more of Wallace’s “Crumbly Apricot & Apple Cake,” and I'd like to try some of the other recipes in the book.  But even if I can’t find any more Wensleydale cheese until I return to England, I’m glad we brought those cheeses back, and I’m also glad she insisted we bake that cake.  For it was wonderful to return to England, albeit through the medium of taste, and visit Yorkshire one more time. 

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries

Our Visit to Wallace & Grommit’s Cheese Shop