It's the best of cheese, and the worst of cheese. Every supermarket and cheese counter stocks cheddar, and most refrigerators probably harbor a chunk of it.
Given that California and Wisconsin alone produce more than one billion pounds of it a year, one might presume that Americans and cheddar need no introduction. But how many shoppers, faced with a choice, know why one cheddar in the deli case costs $3 a pound and another $30?
If you hesitate to venture beyond the cheddar you know, you're missing out on a great taste adventure. And if you think you know everything you need to know about cheddar, try answering the following questions.
Is sharp cheddar best? "I don't know what people mean by sharp," says Cathy Goldsmith of the Cheese Board in Berkeley, Calif. "My sense is that when cheddars age they get really sweet, so I never know what people are talking about, and I'm not sure they know what they're talking about. But it confirms their sense of sophistication if they can say they like it sharp."
Cheddar is a high-acid cheese, and some do produce a gripping sensation on the tongue, an acid bite that many tasters define as sharpness.
"Acidity will light up your tongue," agrees Paul Kindstedt, a professor of nutrition and food science at the University of Vermont and an adviser to the Vermont Cheese Council. "But that's different from sharp. Sharpness refers to intensity of flavor."
As a cheddar matures, its fats and proteins undergo biochemical changes that produce flavor compounds. So the older cheese gets, the sharper, or more intense, it's likely to be. Dairy scientists like Kindstedt may distinguish acidity from sharpness, but many cheese professionals still do not.
"I always associate sharpness with acidity," says Debra Dickerson, the American representative for Neal's Yard Dairy, an exporter of fine English cheddars. "It's more of a sensation than a flavor."
Are older cheddars better? The best cheddars develop flavor and textural interest over time, but like wines, some cheddars aren't built to last. And with any cheddar, aging eventually brings diminishing returns.
The most traditional cheddars - such as Montgomery's and Keen's from England and Fiscalini from California - age in a breathable cheesecloth wrap and develop a porous natural rind. They lose moisture steadily over time, becoming drier and more crumbly, so their lifespan tends to be measured in months, not in years.
When cheddars are matured in big blocks in thick plastic bags, as most are, aging slows considerably. A two-year-old block of generic Wisconsin cheddar isn't much different from a one-year-old. But give that same cheese five years in a bag in a 45-degree aging facility, and flavor noticeably mounts.
Sometimes.
"If perfectly made, it should age out beautifully," says David Leonardi of the Wisconsin Milk Marketing Board. "If not, every flaw becomes more pronounced with every passing year."
Retailers say that four-, five- and six-year-old domestic cheddars are much more common than they used to be. In years past, one to two years was standard. Grafton Village Cheese Co. introduced its first three-year-old cheddar in 1999 and has added four-, five- and six-year-old cheeses to its lineup.
"It's been somewhat of a lesson to see what time will do," says Grafton vice president Peter Mohn, who predicts a growing market for super-aged Vermont cheddars.
Is white better than orange? In a word, no. It's a matter of tradition and preference. Midwestern consumers won't accept white cheddar any more than New Englanders will eat the orange kind, Leonardi says. While no law says that Wisconsin cheddar has to be orange, most of it is. Vermont and Canadian cheddars are largely white; California makes both styles.
Cheddar's pumpkin color comes from annatto, a natural plant dye. Annatto seed, known as achiote in the Mexican kitchen, has an earthy taste on its own, but the coloring made from it doesn't seem to impart any taste to the cheese.
Does real cheddar come only from the village of Cheddar? Shoppers often tell merchants that they want "authentic cheddar from Cheddar." Today, only one cheese meets that standard, and it is unavailable here. Cheese production ceased in the Somerset village of Cheddar long ago, although Cheddar Gorge Cheese Co. recently revived it. The company remains the only producer in the town.
In contrast to many of Europe's great cheeses, cheddar can claim virtually no name protection. The definition of cheddar depends on where you are and whom you ask.
Traditional British farmhouse cheddar, some say, can come only from Somerset in southwest England. Others expand the boundaries to include three neighboring counties. In 1997, the European Union granted West Country Farmhouse Cheddar the coveted protected-designation-of-origin status; PDO regulations require that the cheese be made on the farm from local milk and aged at least nine months.
But to purists, these rules don't go far enough in protecting traditional cheddar, in part because they don't specify raw milk. Working with Slow Food, a handful of traditionalists, including Randolph Hodgson, proprietor of Neal's Yard Dairy, have developed standards for artisan Somerset cheddar: made in the county, from the unpasteurized milk of a farm's own herd, using traditional cheddar cultures and hand methods, and aged at least 11 months. Only three producers (Montgomery's, Keen's and Westcombe) fit this description.
Then there's America, where mass-market cheddars are made in 640-pound blocks and few rules apply. There's no minimum age, no mandated method. The U.S. government requires only that a cheese labeled as cheddar have a minimum fat content in the solid matter of 50 percent and maximum moisture of 39 percent.
Only California's Fiscalini Bandaged Cheddar comes close to the Somerset model in its process and its ambitions. Made in Modesto from raw cow's milk from the farm's own herd, Fiscalini cheddar has the crumbly-yet-creamy texture, layered flavor and lingering tang of the English classic.
Shelburne Farms in Vermont may be the only other domestic producer making raw-milk clothbound cheddar, but its production is extremely limited.
Last summer, a new clothbound cheddar took best-of- show honors in the American Cheese Society's annual competition. Made by Cabot, a large Vermont cooperative, the wheels were matured in the aging caves at neighboring Jasper Hill Farm, a tiny family dairy. Andy Kehler of Jasper Hill says the partners made about 280 wheels in 2005 and about 720 wheels in 2006, and will make about 7,500 wheels by 2008.
Is it cheddar? Not according to Jeffrey Roberts, author of a forthcoming atlas of American artisan cheese, who argues that true cheddars must be made by cheddaring - the labor-intensive, backbreaking practice of stacking and turning thick slabs of curd. Cabot employs a mechanized method common to large dairies, and uses pasteurized, not raw, milk.
Nevertheless, the results speak loudly. At a recent tasting in Vermont, featuring the Cabot plus other standard-bearers from the United States and England, Roberts says two of the English cheesemakers could not pick out their own cheese.
Do you get what you pay for? Probably yes. "Each wheel is going to be different," Goldsmith says. With artisan cheddar, the retailer says, "you get that comfort of knowing that somebody made it with their own hands, that it's part of a long tradition and special to itself, and that's a priceless thing these days."