Last night, I gave my 9-month old niece her first taste of Parmigiano-Reggiano. I’d like to say her eyes lit up in delight, and while this is true, she has the same reaction to tomatoes, guacamole, bananas. Still, after she had several more bites, I looked her in her the eye and admonished: “Real Parmigiano-Reggiano. Accept no substitutes.” I think she understood.
   
I’ve often admonished anyone else who will listen to do the same—and to find a cheesemonger and make friends with him if you want to live well and prosper. Yet, tonight, I broke my own rule and bought cheese from Trader Joe’s. My favorite cheese market has recently shuttered, and I have yet to make a regular habit out of a new guy. How did T.J. stand up?  
   
First, I spent about ten minutes in the cheese aisle, trying to settle on what I thought might be acceptable substitutes for three of my favorites-- St. Pete’s Select, a Minnesota blue; Prairie Breeze, an Iowa cheddar-style; and an herb rolled chevre from Dancing Winds Farms, also Minnesota made—none of these are available at T.J. To be fair, you can find a small selection of imported cheeses at T.J.’s, including some better bries and blues. Yet, after my stint as a cheesemonger, I’ve discovered a thing: my favorite cheeses are American, most of them Midwest regional. Americans make outstanding cheese, and don’t let anyone tell you anything different.

I wasn’t able to find much information online about T.J.’s cheese, but the labels indicate that these cheeses are their own brand, much like a majority of their other product. Without going into a whole lot about sustainable farming (much ado has been made about the T.J. branding, and how closely—or not—it adheres to its perceived wholesomeness). I’ll keep this taste test strictly about that: flavor. 

St. Pete’s Select vs. T.J.’s Cave Aged Blue: Where St. Pete’s Select is creamy, pungently sharp and bright to the point of tongue-stinging (exactly what I crave) T.J.’s version is far milder with a distracting mealy texture, and none of the zing I seek in an assertive blue. Still, it’s not an offputting cheese, and would be a fine addition to a sauce or dip— it just doesn’t fit the bill for an eating-out-of hand cheese. 

Prairie Breeze vs. T.J.s Wisconsin Extra Sharp Cheddar: This may not have been the fairest contest to begin with, but the Wisconsin cheddar was the closest I could find to assuage my desire for something with a crumbly, slightly “wet” texture, snappy sharpness and long finish. The T.J.s version doesn’t have any of those qualities, being rather waxy and completely devoid of “milk crystals,” the crunchy bits you’ll find in good Parm and many fine aged cheddars, a sure sign of a superior cheese. Again, this cheddar would be fine melted over tortilla chips, but doesn’t do me a bit of good with a glass of wine and a good book.

Dancing Winds Farms Chevre vs. T.J.’s Fine Herb Chevre: T.J.’s version stood up surprisingly well to my taste test. Clean and smooth, the T.J.’s Chevre is characterized mostly by the assertive tarragon flavor at the outset, but doesn’t leave any sort of off-putting chemical aftertaste, which I’ve detected in lesser chevres. It finishes fresh and lively. While it didn’t exactly beat out Dancing Winds’ grassy, complex farmstead chevre, I’d buy this cheese again. There wouldn’t be a damn thing wrong with it spread over a hot baguette.
  
Other considerations: the T.J.’s cheese is cheap. A half-pound of the cheddar cost under $3. A similar amount of Prarie Breeze would cost easily three times as much, and the same is true for the other selections. Like good wine, often what you’re paying for in cheese is aging. Many great cheeses have been aged for four, eight, even ten years. It’s as if those cheeses are due to collect lots of years in back child support, and you, the consumer are the wayward daddy.

That said, also like fine wine or even a piece of artwork, artisan cheese is often about stories, craft, and ethics. Mary Doerr of Dancing Winds farms has worked her goat farm near Kenyon MN for 25 years. A 16-year old Galen Musser began making Prairie Breeze with his Amish family, and now, just a few years older, he’s in charge of the production and recipes due to his award-winning penchant for the process. St. Pete’s select is the first blue cheese made in America. Galen can tell you the names of the cows that produce his milk. And so on.

If you must buy pre-cut cheese (and this holds true for any cheese at all) allow it to breathe and temper. Even an inferior cheese becomes more nuanced and sophisticated once it has been released from its plastic prison for a couple of hours. Also, check the packaged on date. Try not to buy anything that's been sealed up for more than a week.

But, at least for special occasions, like a Wednesday night and baby’s first taste—let it be the real deal.

Surdyk’s, France 44 and St. Paul Cheese all have wonderful cheese selections. One of them will become my new cheesemonger. What about you?