Gorgonzola Speaks -- Cheese Wimps Beware, The Stinkier The Better

MINE WAS AN UNUSUAL childhood when it came to food. I lived for a while with my Italian grandparents. Rarely did a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich or chocolate-chip cookie show up in my lunch box. Instead I would get salami sandwiches and, for a special treat, a hunk of melt-in-your-mouth Gorgonzola cheese.

I loved its creamy texture, ivory color, streaky blue-green veins and pungent smell. On Saturday afternoons my grandfather would relax at the kitchen counter and whittle away at a small wedge in between sips of red wine. Every once in a while he would hand me a chunk on the end of a paring knife. I would scarf it down like candy and wait for another.

Few of my 6-year-old peers shared my idea of this lunch-box treat. While other kids traded apples for oranges or tins of chocolate pudding for colored marshmallows, I got nowhere with my MOLDY cheese.

Today when I bring a chunk home to melt in between slices of warm polenta, or just to savor by itself with a slice of ripe pear and a handful of walnuts, my husband's reaction is much the same as that of my fellow classmates. He abhors the smell, but most of all hates the idea of eating mold.

Cheese wimps be warned: The blue-green veins are what give Gorgonzola its tongue-grabbing bite. The yellowish part is sweet and creamy. "When you eat it all together it has a wonderful balance," says James Cook, cheese buyer at Delaurenti Specialty Food Markets, which sell 50 or 60 pounds of Gorgonzola a week during the winter months.

Gorgonzola takes its name from a small market town near Milan, Italy, where farmers would gather in the evening to rest their cows. A soft cheese was made by mixing the curds from the evening's milk with curds from the following morning's milk. The evening curd, having grown cold during the night, and the warm morning curd did not blend together perfectly, leaving spaces and cracks. The blue veins appeared, folklore has it, when the owner of a wine shop, who accepted cheeses from farmers as payment for his wares, stored them in the cellar where they ripened. Blue mold formed naturally in the air spaces.

Today "true" Gorgonzola, often called Mountain Gorgonzola, is aged in caves in the Lombardy and Piedmont districts of Northern Italy. The mold is induced by sliding a copper wire through the cheese to create fissures. The cheese is aged six to eight months.

A more common variety is "dolce latte," or sweet Gorgonzola. This is a factory-made cheese. The mold is "infused" by sprinkling mold powder onto the cheese in the early stages of processing. Holes are punched into the cheese to facilitate the fermentation process.

Mountain Gorgonzola is harder than dolce latte, and is best savored by itself with crusty bread, ripe pears, apples or walnuts and a hearty red wine. It's also good for crumbling. Dolce latte is creamier, sweeter and better for cooking.

Because Gorgonzola is not a "protected" cheese, such as English Stilton (the name is registered and only the real thing may bear its name), the factory-infused types can be made anywhere. Delaurenti's stocks a Wisconsin-made version for those who crave a milder (and cheaper) Gorgonzola. And many apparently do.

The Palomino Bistro, which serves a half-dozen dishes featuring Gorgonzola, switched to a domestic brand after experimenting with an imported cheese that proved too strong for Seattle palates. Senior executive chef Brad Komen understood the reaction. He recalls his first encounter with Gorgonzola at age 12.

"We were out to a restaurant and I ordered it with pasta because it sounded unusual. "When the waitress set it in front of me, I thought `No way.' It smelled like an old shoe. I took one bite and that was it."

Komen has since been converted. "Gorgonzola Spoken Here," was the theme of a Palomino billboard campaign that awakened many Seattle taste buds to the pleasures of "Gorgonzola Potatoes," crinkled French fries topped with a Gorgonzola cream sauce, black pepper and chives, and Focaccia Gorgonzola, Italian flat bread with Gorgonzola, mozzarella, basil, red onions and pine nuts.

Gorgonzola is often a cook's cheese of choice because it melts quickly and creates a velvety texture in cream sauces for pastas (the sauce clings well to penne and other tubular pastas) and red meats. A Seattle woman I know likes to go hiking with bagel sandwiches of Gorgonzola and pesto. Stephen Lee, chef at the Cyclops Cafe in Seattle, sneaks a cream and Gorgonzola mixture into mashed potatoes for a surprise taste.

Usually a small amount of Gorgonzola goes a long way. Leftover cheese can be kept in the fridge in an airtight container for several weeks. Brown edges are a sign of overripening. They take on a nutty flavor that can be eaten or cut off.

"People look at blue cheese as being more perishable but it's not," says Cook of Delaurenti's. "In most cases, it gets better."

As for that "old shoe" smell, some can't get enough, says Cook. "I've got customers who come in and say, `Give me the smelliest, stinkiest piece of Gorgonzola you've got.' "

Carol Pucci is assistant business editor at The Seattle Times. Jimi Lott is a Times photographer.

Pasta Gorgonzola (Serves 2 to 3) 1 Granny Smith apple 3 tablespoons clarified butter 3 tablespoons crushed walnuts 1/4 cup brandy 1 cup heavy whipping cream 4 tablespoons Gorgonzola 1 1/2 cups penne noodles 1. Slice apple, taking out center seeds and core. Cut into thin slices. 2. Heat clarified butter in a skillet. (To clarify butter, heat one stick gently over medium heat until melted and separated into clear and cloudy layers. Skim away the cloudy layer using a metal spoon, or blot with a paper towel.) 3. Add apples and brown on both sides, then add walnuts. Deglaze with brandy by taking pan off the heat. Pour in one-third of the brandy at a time, letting the brandy reduce and evaporate between intervals. 4. Pour in cream, return to a low heat, add cheese and reduce to proper consistency. 5. To cook pasta, add 1 1/2 teaspoons each of salt and oil to 4 quarts of water, bring to a boil, add pasta and cook until al dente, about 7 to 9 minutes. 6. Combine pasta and sauce. Recipe courtesy of Stephen Lee, Cyclops Cafe