A Gouda Day

The Winchester Cheese Company is located just 10 minutes northeast of Temecula, but in a scorched valley. The thermometer in the car read 94 degrees. (It was only 80 degrees back home on the farm.) As we turned off the main road onto the dusty dirt road, I saw lots of cows grazing not on grass but just dry, brown earth. "These are the Happy Cows?" I asked the Wrangler rhetorically, referring to the California dairy advertisements that depict California cows as being much happier than their blizzard-prone midwestern counterparts. "I think the Wisconsin cows with their green pastures have a leg up on this sorry lot."

The Wrangler, a fellow former midwesterner who has long since transferred his loyalties to California (with the exception of his affinity for the Minnesota Vikings), was less disparaging. "What are you talking about? These cows are having a blast. They're hanging out in the sun--not cooped up in some factory farm." Good point. As we continued up the road, I embraced the Wrangler's optimism...which quickly faded as we turned into the parking lot of the Winchester Cheese Company.

Scanning the three trailer homes strung together in front of us, I couldn't help announcing, "Well, we're not in Vermont." We made our way to the trailer with the neon "Open" sign. Things didn't look much better inside.

We did sample five delicious goudas--from a crumbly, sharp gouda aged five years down to their best-selling 60-day aged cheese (a mild but flavorful, smooth and somewhat creamy gouda). The cheese store trailer houses the table of cheese samples, a refrigerator filled with cheese for purchase, and a few shelves of tacky cow knick-knacks. The 70s decor is relic, not even throwback. But the sales staff is friendly and knowledgeable. After asking a few questions about the cheese operation, the Wrangler and I suddenly found ourselves on a fascinating, impromptu private tour of the "factory."

Donning hair nets, we headed to the cheese cave where the cheese is aged. It's not so much a cave as it is a carefully climate-controlled (66 degrees), sterile room in what I presume is a double-wide trailer. Rows and rows of cheese wheels in all sizes are aging on racks. Some are aged not for sale but for research; a few wheels of cheese date back to 2003. We were shown the immaculate but surprisingly small room where the cheese is made. With the exception of the giant tub in which the milk is stirred, none of the equipment is automated. The cheese truly is handmade. We saw the brine tubs that are never emptied, and the edible vegetable-based solution that is painted on each wheel (instead of wax). The solution allows the cheese to breathe and continue its aging process until the moment the cheese is eaten.

In its heyday, the Winchester Cheese Company had a working dairy operation and produced award-winning farmstead cheese featured in a Wolfgang Puck special (which we watched on a video in the office trailer). Today, the cows are gone and it buys its milk from dairies. The sales staff hinted at management problems--the founder passed away last year--and acknowledged that cheese isn't being made on schedule.

After watching the video of Wolfgang Puck's visit to the Winchester Cheese Company and his subsequent preparation of a gouda and prosciutto panini made with Winchester Cheese Company gouda, the Wrangler and I felt faint with hunger. We remembered that the Temecula Valley Cheese Company sells Winchester Cheese Company gouda. As we said our goodbyes and departed for Old Town Temecula, I noticed that the three trailers comprising the cheese store, office, and factory no longer looked so forlorn. They're not quaint and picturesque like the pastoral Vermont cheese farms. But there's a lot of heart and soul in those trailers.

P.S. We did get our gouda and prosciutto panini made with Winchester Cheese Company gouda at the charming Temecula Valley Cheese Company. While we were eating, a customer marched up to the cheese case, chanting "gouda! gouda!" My thoughts exactly.