Ask five people what they taste when they suck a plush gobbet of Cowgirl Creamery's Pierce Pt. off their finger and you'll get five different answers. "Chamomile!" "Fennel!" "Coriander!" Personally, I always manage to pull out a flavor that reminds me of the big steaming bowls of oatmeal my mother used to dish out on cold Minnesota mornings. And now, with San Francisco skies waxing chill and nights that stretch dark and long like a Halloween cat flexing its supple spine, Pierce Pt. is once again of the season.

Once upon a time when I was a sweet young cheesemonger, Pierce Pt. was thick with herbs that scattered messily as a knife pulled through the encrusted round. It was a delicious mess, however, because I delighted in taking small white wedges and stamping them all over the plate, sticking up the herbs in a woodsy, furry collection.

Although it continues to be made with organic whole milk from the Straus Family dairy, today's Pierce Pt. is more restrained, refined, and graced with a delicate scattering of herbs that grow around the coastal climes of Tomales Bay. A quick spritz of a sweet and golden wine from Fetzer deepens the cheese's flavor and encourages the gilding of chamomile, fennel, bay, and coriander to cling fast to the natural, soft mold.

Delicately creamy, Pierce Pt.'s many levels of flavors unfold gently on your tongue.

Taste fall.

Far from the golden hills of California, with endless lush stretches of forest and field, the Green Mountain State lives up to its name. My road trip continues, and this week I find myself heading toward the Northeast Kingdom. Along the way, near the shores of Lake Champlain, I've been enjoying two local treats.

Faced with the uncertain future of sugar maples, eating maple creemees whenever possible is an imperative. Sugar shacks dot the countryside, and if a sign and an arrow point the way to a creemee, I am there. Soft vanilla ice cream swirled with this year's maple syrup -- what better way to celebrate summer in Vermont?

If you're picky about such things as real ingredients (and you must be if you're reading this blog) then be sure to ask at the creemee stands if they use real maple syrup. If not, well...there's always another sugar shack further down the road.

In the village of Barre, pronounced "barry" as I was gently reminded by a local, an especially memorable variation appears in the guise of a maple sundae. At the window of Caesar's Fare, where a red siren light promises rescue from snack attacks, you can order two scoops of maple-walnut ice cream topped with maple syrup (Grade B = "Better & Bolder") and more walnuts. The bitterness of the nuts balances perfectly the sweetness of the syrup. Whipped cream and maraschino cherries complete the experience.

Another local flavor comes from a metal tin. At the other end of the sensuality spectrum, dry and crisp Common Crackers have sustained generations of Vermonters. Round, puffy and neatly halved like a French macaron, they're the New England embodiment of pragmatism. Originally purchased annually by the barrel, these crackers served as breakfast when soaked in milk, lunch when nibbled with cheddar cheese, afternoon tea when spread with jam, or dinner when served with chowder.

Common crackers are descendants of the long-lived, well-traveled hardtack much-maligned by sailors and soldiers, and their close cousins include pilot crackers, water crackers, and sea biscuits. Recently revived by the Orton family, owners of the Vermont Country Store, the crackers are still available 180 years after they were first cut and baked in Montpelier.

I've been enjoying my mini-barrel of common crackers with shards of Grafton Village's six-year cheddar cheese in between my maple creemees. Who cares about crumbs in the car or lactose intolerance with the open road ahead?

Stay tuned for an update next week from Maine. If all goes well, I'll be posting photos of freshly dug steamers and buttery lobsters.

In the meantime, please feel free to share coordinates for your favorite lobster shack along the Down East Coast!

In the spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
In the spring, a young woman's fancy lightly turns to thirsts for beer.

Tennyson might not have penned it, but the fact remains. At least for this young woman it does. (Frankly, I prefer "chick" or "girl" or if you want to be really Jerry Lewis about it, "Laayayayayayadeeeeee," because "young lady" sounds like my mom caught me out after curfew.)

The first warm waft we got that the world was turning mud-licious and puddle-lovely -- which came last month right before that blast of cold had us turning the heaters back on. You know, for the cats. -- I had this odd quirking in my mouth. My tongue felt dry and edgy and my throat was clicking in a greed for something cold, bright, topaz. Something fat. Something tire.

Whizzing by our neighborhood BevMo, we picked up a handy case of New Belgium's Fat Tire and chilled it. A few hours later and, for the first time in many months, I lovingly coaxed that smooth, cylinder out of the fridge and held it close and throttled, enjoying its cold weight.

With a crink! and a spliff!, I let loose my amber beauty and slid it into a gently curving glass. Nose to mouth, nose to soul, heart to lips, I breathed it deep. Yeast and sharp and quench and tang.

Cheese. Cheese? We interrupt this Harlequin Romance: She Bore All for Beer to bring you this breaking announcement: Cheese. Seriously, I started to quaff this amazing beer that brings the full, teaming rush of summertime to my mouth and all I could think of was, "I SMELL cheese! What IS this CHEESE?!" The beer didn't pass my parched, cracked, lusting lips. The beer didn't slide down my willing, hungering throat. I sniffed it. I smelled it. I damn near SNORTED it!

Finally, it came to me: Ardrahan! Gubbeen! St. Nectaire! Durrus! One of those cheeses was the soul mate -- the Ilsa to its Rick, the Rhett to its Scarlett, the Pacey to its Joey -- to this beer. My friends, it was clear that I couldn't revel in my spring fancy until I requited this pairing.

After testing each and every one of the pungent cheeses above, it became abundantly clear to me that Fat Tire was a slut. It had no "perfect mate," no desire to be monogamous, no real loyalty. It slopped as well with Ardrahan as it did with Durrus. And Gubbeen. And St. Nectaire. It was a bi-cheesal beer.

The tart, yeast-bosomed cheeses brought out all that was giving and sensitive in this simple beer. None of them were favored above another, but all of them were deeply loved.

The End.

Over at Ye Olde Stanke Cheeseshoppe, we are quite serious about our cheese. However, there are times -- especially in moments of high stress -- when we also get quite silly about it.

There has long been a tradition of one cheesemonger or another suddenly bursting into song as they pull the wire through a round or as they offer a taste of something to a customer. Although the customer might be taken aback by this behavior, I assure you it is perfectly normal. It is also perfectly normal for another cheesemonger to chime in on the next verse. But if you listen closely, you'll realize that, while you recognize the tune, the words are a totally different story (I do believe that "Meaux! Meaux! Meaux! How do you like it? How do you like it?" is nice and catchy). See, the longer you Work in Cheese, the more you likely you are to realize how many songs can be made up about cheese, glorious cheese. Especially when you're all hopped up on hot chocolate flights.

There are times when we've even chewed over the idea of burning our own CD and calling it "Cheesemonger's Delight" or something. At any rate, with the constant Christmas carols being pounded into my head no matter where I go, it was just a matter of time before I fully cracked and started coming up with lyrics. So, here are a few Cheesemas carols to speed you on your merry way.

Oh, Christmas Cheese, Oh Christmas Cheese

Oh, Christmas Cheese, Oh Christmas Cheese
How lovely is thy bloomy rind
Oh, Christmas Cheese, Oh Christmas Cheese
Not only ripe in summer's heat
But also paired with salty meat
Oh, Christmas Cheese, Oh Christmas Cheese
How lovely is thy bloomy rind

God Rest Ye Merry, Cheesemonger

God rest ye merry, cheesemonger; let's plan a large buffet.
Remember, Mozz, our sa-a-vior will sell out every day
So shave us all some Parmesan while we cut more Ouray.
O tidings of Roquefort and joy, Roquefort and joy!
O tidings of Roquefort and joy!

From Greece our island partner, a blessed Feta came;
And unto certain mo-on-ngers brought tastings of the same;
And there was some nice Ardrahan that sort of causes stains.
O tidings of Roquefort and joy, Roquefort and joy!
O tidings of Roquefort and joy!

Silent Cheese

Silent Cheese, Holey Cheese
All is Tomme, all is Bries
'Round of Che-eh-der
Monger and wire

Holey Stilton so stinky and dire
Cheese, oh HEA-ven-ly, chee-EESE!
Chee-eese, oh hea-ven-ly, cheese.

O, Come All Ye Mongers

O come, all ye mongers,
Tired yet still patient,
O eat ye, O e-eat ye some Mo-on-tegrappa
Come taste our Poacher, pair it with a Chardonnay
O come, let us pre-cut it,
O come, let us pre-cut it,
O come, let us pre-cut it,
Brie de Meaux.

Slice, wires of mongers,
Slice in quick rotation;
Slice all the Fougerous of heaven above:
Fourme of Ambert, Fourme is the priciest
O come, let us pre-cut it,
O come, let us pre-cut it,
O come, let us pre-cut it,
Brie de Meaux

Here We Come A-Mongering

Here we come a-mongering among the cheese and cream
Here we come a-wiring so fair to be seen.
Brie and chevre wrapped for you.
And to you glad Gruyere too.
And Gouda bless you and send you a stinky New Year.
And Gouda send you a stinky New Year.

I told my mother about them and when I got to "roquefort and joy," she could only groan, "Oh, Steph-ie, that's awful!" She also didn't think our family friend and opera star Janis Hardy could be induced to sing them the next time she makes an appearance on Garrison Keillor's "A Prairie Home Companion." Oh, the world can be such a cruel, punless place!

My mom, not only the woman who gave birth to me, but also the woman who gave me my love of cooking and baking, is visiting with my dad (PR spokesperson for my mom's food) right now. So, being the culinary adventurers that we are, we decided we needed to make something that we had never tried before. You have to understand, that list is somewhat short. My mom is the type who made homemade yogurt in the 70s, always had a jar full of sourdough starter on the kitchen counter, and is constantly experimenting with new recipes and taste sensations. In fact, recently, on a trip to see my brother and his girlfriend in Portland (of Apizza Scholl's fame), they made corned beef from scratch. So, perhaps owing to my ultra-competitive nature, and to the curious culinary adventurer inside me, we decided to make our own cheese.

We found our recipe for homemade ricotta in the current edition of Cooking Light magazine, which my mother brought with her on the plane (although I've noticed that there are tons of recipes for ricotta, all slightly different to be found online).

We filled a large stockpot with 2% milk and buttermilk and brought the mixture to 170F. Once we hit that temperature we stopped stirring, and the curds started to separate from the whey. At 190F, we removed the pot from the heat and gently ladled the curds into a cheesecloth-lined colander that was set over a bowl. After the curds drained for about 5 minutes, we tied up the cheesecloth and hung it from the kitchen faucet for about 15 minutes to finish draining. Finally, we turned the ricotta out into a bowl, sprinkled it with salt, and tossed with a fork. YUM! This is definitely the best ricotta I have ever tasted.

We made 2 full batches of ricotta, about 6 cups total. On Sunday evening we are going to prepare a full ricotta tasting menu, including a delicious roasted veggie lasagne and a creamy ricotta and lemon cheesecake.

Who knew that making ricotta could be so easy? I for one will probably never (well, maybe in a pinch) purchase a tub of store-bought ricotta again. Not only is homemade ricotta cheaper, fresher, and far superior, think of how much you will impress your friends by telling them that you made the ricotta in the lasagne.