Enter, the Blue Period

For cheese with character, go for the Roquefort and its robust relatives

LIKE A PROPER French woman, my mother had strong and often peculiar opinions on gastronomy. When it came to cheese, her opinions came as declarations delivered with the shrill certitude of moral righteousness.

"There isn't much point to eating a cheese that doesn't have character," she would pronounce. No surprise, then, that Roquefort, among other relatives of the blue-cheese family, always held first place on her list of personality dynamos.

So naturally, we kids, educated in the cuisine of the American school cafeteria, took "character" to mean stinky and inedible. We had our own ideas about cheese: Its highest and best use was as the glue that held together a whopping pot of macaroni. The less character the better.

Fortunately, adulthood has taught me a few things about "character." For starters, my mother was right about cheese — especially about blue cheese. A mature palate has allowed me to be wooed by its bold, complex flavors and seduced by its subtle balance between pungent tanginess and smooth cream. And, let's face it, such an unabashedly moldy cheese can make other fromages seem rather dull by comparison.

My infatuation started as a cautious flirt: a nibble here, a little crumble there. Now the crush has blossomed into a full-blown passion I could liken to Picasso's "blue period." But I'm not painting canvases here; I'm making frequent detours to the cheese counter. And I've contrived to make blue cheese the foundation of the food pyramid.

Some say it can't be done. To that I say, try me.

First, I simply do away with the French protocol of saving cheese for last. There's no harm in starting out with wine and a well-ripened Castello Blue. This smooth, buttery triple-cream from Denmark is sheer sin, perfect to smudge on crackers. Its velvet creaminess makes it the perfect blue for beginnings and beginners.

Whether dinner includes a healthy assortment of roasted vegetables or a casserole of comfort food like mac 'n' cheese, it calls out for Italian gorgonzola for a savory spike of flavor. The same goes for salad. For a sweet counterpoint to the saltiness of the cheese, toss in some raisins, dried cranberries or bits of dried apricots as an alternative to apples or pears.

Dessert? Why bother? By now, I've reconsidered the strong points of that French cheese course and bring out a bold cabrales from Spain as the centerpiece. With apple slices, almonds and a nice pour of port or riesling, I don't need anything else.

There is something else to take note of: You can crisscross the European continent sampling just a few blue cheeses. Yet there are dozens more. Each has its own distinct personality, which is determined by the mold and the source of milk: cow, sheep or goat.

Some blues go even further to distinguish themselves. Take France's velvety brie-style Montbriac Rochebaron, which will ooze onto the plate when ripe. The mold is on the rind, which has also been coated in ash. Spain's Valdeon cheese is another prize, a mix of cow and sheep's milk, wrapped in chestnut leaves.

While sniffing out the notable blue cheeses, I discovered that some of the best are coming from the U.S. It reflects a broader trend. National dairies, creameries and artisanal cheese-makers have tapped into a growing market: Americans who have acquired the "acquired taste" of blue cheese. And these producers have been busy making up for lost time.

To my delight, the cream of the crop hails from the Pacific Northwest. Take the Rogue Creamery, for example, based in Central Point, Ore. Its Rogue River Blue, wrapped in grape leaves macerated in a local pear brandy, has taken the world of blue cheese by storm. It grabbed the gold in 2003 and 2004 at the World Cheese Awards in London, trouncing entries from all over Europe, and won a silver in 2005. How's that for a little character?

Lark chef John Sundstrom, who's made a cheese list a prominent part of his menu, is also an avid fan of blues. "We always have at least one," he says, and he aims to have a good mix of American selections, so he filled me in on a few of his favorite domestic blues.

Adding praise to the Rogue Creamery, he also singles out their Crater Lake Blue and Oregonzola (you've got to love a cheese with a name like that). Sundstrom has a couple more choice picks made by artisanal producers on the East Coast: Great Hill Blue in Massachusetts and Ewes Blue from the Old Chatham Sheep Herding Co. in New York. "Massachusetts and upstate New York are having a little renaissance in cheese-making," Sundstrom says, adding that these days, Americans like big flavors.

My mother would argue it's "character" all the same. But Sundstrom has a more poetic way of putting it: "I would definitely want a good blue on my desert-island cheese plate."

And on that, my mother and I can quite agree.

Jacqueline Koch is a writer and photographer living on Whidbey Island. Barry Wong is a Seattle-based free-lance photographer. He can be reached at barrywongphoto@earthlink.net.