I blame our trip through California for having to buy new pants. We first discover Devil’s Gulch cheese at the Cowgirl Creamery shop in Point Reyes, California.
It’s dangerous, having cheese like Devil’s Gulch around. If the full wheel is out, not fire, nor brimstone, nor the fear of snug jeans will keep Paolo and I from finishing it off.
I mean look at this cheese.
Cowgirl Creamery is a coaxer of curd, a provocateur of cream, the ultimate seducer of suckers for cheese. Once you get to know their cheeses, the familiar wrap of their wheels, you’re in trouble. Let alone the Devil’s Gulch for a minute, Red Hawk, Mt. Tam… the Chimney Rock dusted with organic shiitake mushrooms, they are all a spectacular spin of gluttony waiting to happen.
With Devil’s Gulch, Cowgirl Creamery was wicked enough with their winter cheese to take a sweet heat approach, dusting their creamy wheel with ground heirloom peppers. I particularly love the density of Devil’s Gluch, it stands up to your cheese knife, daring you to taste just a little more. Just one more bite… you know you want it!
It’s about this point in the evening, when Paolo and I both look down and a sense of dread sweeps into the room. The familiar Whistle of a Western Duel, a Cowgirl Face-off if you will. We stare each other down, who will make the first move?
Stalemate broken. I reach over and cut the cheese in half. Out of a cheese lover respect–or shared desire to make the cheese last–Bello then does the same with the remaining bite.
We carry on this way until the last itty, bitty bite is savored. I guess in the end the Angel wins out but only because I love my husband THAT much.
Thank you Cowgirl Creamery for spreading your temptation across the land. If I could only pick up your cheese in Pt. Reyes, our travel plans would not be near as plenty this year.