Vermont Has More Dairy Than a Brothel Full of Heifers

Welcome back Learning to Love the Stink, our cheese column written by Charlotte Kamin, owner and cheesemonger—yes, that's a real term–at the Bedford Cheese Shop. She's here to de-mystify the stinkiest of cheese terms, cheeses, and makers in the biz to help you sound like a boss the next time you roll up to the fart…um… cheese counter.

Wanna know something pretty cool? Too bad, I'm not sharing. OK, I'm over it. Vermont is pretty awesome, when you exclude the Teva shoes and the occasional drum circles.

Just ask Wikipedia, or get off of your ass and get a rental car, a plane ticket, or hitchhike (just don't do it close to a mental institution.) Vermont is a super liberal state (that is not a quote from FOX News) that has mountains, trees, an honor system of farm stands, and they make some killer cheeses. As a whole, the state is like one big Grateful Dead concert where the audience has taken so much LSD and shrooms that they don't even realize that Jerry's kicked the bucket. And while you might think of this place as the maple syrup capital of the world, they've got more dairy than a brothel full of heifers.

Take for example the charitable cheese people at Springbrook Farms, where Jeremy and his crew of kids from the inner city make some bomb ass alpine style cheese known as Tarentaise. It's sweet, nutty, and salty—like the best salted peanut butter caramel cookie you could get if dairy was involved. They also crank out a stinker called Redding Raclette that melts like silken panties in the noon day sun of the Mediterranean. So Jeremy's whole hessian mission is to expose city kids to nature and teach them about Vermont life and cheese making.

Down the hill—unpaved, obviously—you will find Twig Farms. Manned by Michel Lee and his love, Emily, this duo crafts some tricked out goat wheels. Some are a mixture of different milk blends, while some are not. Some have furry rinds like the Dancing Bears, and some are smooth as a baby's derriere. That's the smell and feel of freedom right there. One of their greatest hits is the creatively named Square Goat, a floral, mellow, grassy beaut that is in the shape of a pigeon. No, it's square in shape, but I just wanted to make sure you are still paying attention.

Are you too stoned yet? How about we cruise over to the fine folks at Consider Bardwell to chow down on some Dorset, a raw cow's milk cheese. It's a washed rind beast that is all together funky and mellow, and that's not the bong water talking. Dorset tastes like the feeling that is reminiscent of Rick James on Quaaludes. This shit is a super freak.

So how did Vermont become such a lactic state? Back in the 1600s, the European settlers brought their cows up from the big cities to set up an "easier" life. Things chilled out for a while, wool became a thing, and that was pretty cool. Then, in the 1850s, milk became all the rage and obvi. cheese came close thereafter. Being the super socialist county that it is, some co-ops were formed in the '60s and '70s, man. Fast forward a few decades, and BOOM! We got Vermont and its shitload of cheese makers and cheeses as we know it today.