American Cheese Society Conference

This past July, I traveled down to Chicago for the annual ACS conference. At the time, I had mentally committed to a new life in cheesemaking, but still couldn't shake the lingering notion that perhaps I was an impostor, and didn't belong.

I made the trip with good friend John Weir and his daughter Emma. John has a brother in Chicago, and generously allowed me to tag along. Mankato is a seven hour drive from Chicago, give or take, so we had time to play a few travel games. Emma stumped the old guys with a spirited version of "guess the artist" from her iPod. It was determined that we were lame.

We arrived in Winnetka, a tony northern suburb of Chicago, shortly before dusk. John's brother, Nick, and sister-in-law Nora, welcomed us to their gorgeous home; a small dinner party had been arranged. Nora, it turned out, was a serious cook. We had a delicious lobster salad with a couple of great french white wines. Before dessert, she brought out a very impressive cheese platter, and the guests began to pepper me with questions. Let the unveiling begin! I did my best, but had the good sense to admit when I was out of my depth. All in all, the night was quite fine: kind, bright hosts and guests, outstanding food and wine, and a calm, warm summer evening.

The next morning, I woke early and slipped out of the house to catch a train into the city. I love big cities, and Chicago is one my favorites. As the train approached the terminal, I felt a great sense of excitement, mixed with that slight gnaw of trepidation. I was finally going to be amongst the finest artisan cheesemakers, critics and aficionados in the country...and what right did I have to join them? Only one way to know.

The conference was at the downtown Hilton. I registered and made my way to the reception area. Everyone seemed friendly enough, though there was a hint of belonging amongst the veterans. I did my best to look secure.

The program was a mixture of large communal and small elective sessions. For the most part, I found myself so immersed in the subjects of discussion I lost track of my self-consciousness. The language was often foreign, but I knew enough to follow along and pick up some useful things. At one session, I sat next to Laurie from Prairie Fruits Farm in Illinois, a farmstead goat cheesemaker; she was very kind and willing to share her thoughts.

There were a few moments where I was close to a "rock star" of the industry--Ari Weinzweig from Zingerman's Deli, Steve Jenkins of Fairway Foods, and Sue Conley and Peggy Smith of Cowgirl Creamery come first to mind--where I became, I'm almost certain, visibly nervous and suspicious-looking. As a reader, you might be thinking, "Good lord, you're at a cheese conference, not robbing a bank!", and you'd be right. So we move on...

Speaking of Sue Conley, my main goal during the conference was to meet her. We had traded a few emails, and she'd asked me to introduce myself. Sue started Cowgirl Creamery (With Peggy Smith) in the nineties, and their cheese has won a bazillion awards. I love their cheese, and from what I could glean from research, their business philosophy and practices. I found an opportune time to approach her at the evening-ending reception. Sue was humble and kind, and very encouraging. She agreed to spend time with me at her facilities the following month. Sue's acceptance, along with a few glasses of wine and a bunch of great cheese, left me feeling a bit heady as I ventured a few blocks north to my resting place, a large youth hostel.

Youth hostel? Well, yes. In an effort to conserve funds, I decided I could rough it a few nights in a communal environment. I'd stayed at a number of hostels back in the day, and had always had a reasonable experience. And this hostel was just what you might expect: a pretty barren, slightly dingy building with each room accommodating six to ten beds. As I entered my room, I began to have second thoughts. Five German fellows were drinking from a "suitcase" of cheap beer, playing cards, and listening to loud music from a boom box. Drinking is strictly "verboten"
at the hostel, but I imagined myself at their age and figured I would have been right alongside them 20 years ago. "Don't worry", the most outgoing of the bunch said, "We're going out in few minutes."

I climbed up to my bunk and settled in. As promised, the Germans filed out and the rest of my roomies were all sleeping or at least quiet. I'd like to say I drifted off and enjoyed a peaceful night. I had moments of fitful rest, and could never quite get comfortable. Then, around 4, my Teutonic bunkmates returned, fully lubricated and quite chatty. I grumbled at them a few times, and they eventually settled into bed and drifted off. My alarm startled me at 6:30, and I quietly slipped down the hall to shower, loathing my "adventurous spirit".

After several cups of coffee at the conference, I felt restored and ready for the day. This was, after all, the epicenter of great American cheese. All of the sessions were informative and helpful, though there was one tedious moment during a Q & A session regarding the safety of unpasteurized cheese. I had no idea the level of passion this held for some of the participants, and I can say with confidence they would have gone at it for hours if the moderator hadn't changed topics.

The conference ended with the Festival of Cheese, a function open to the public, featuring every cheese submitted for judging. We're talking about more than a thousand entries, and as I walked into the hall, I was a bit taken aback. The football-field room held a number of tables bearing, if not mountains, then small hills of cheese. At one end, there was a scale version of the Chicago skyline sculpted from a wide array of cheese. Really.

I found a glass of wine and plunged into the fray. Most of the tasters were orderly and polite, but getting near the grand prize winners (the top three cheeses of the bunch) required some tenacity. All together, I think I tried close to a hundred cheeses, all of them good, some amazing. There were a few other vendors in attendance, the best, for me, a charcuterie outfit from Utah, Creminelli. Nice stuff from free range herds.

About then, my phone began to vibrate. It was John, and he wanted to know if I would come back to Winnetka for the night and join them for dinner at a local Italian place. Sated with cheese, salumi, and bread, my stomach said no. Then I considered the prospects of one more night at the Hostel. "I'll be there as quick as I can.", I replied, starting a beeline toward my soon-to-be former residence.

Fortunately, by the time I reached the station I had an hour's wait before the next train. This gave me time to digest a bit, and when I found the Weir's dining al fresco at their favorite tratorria, I was persuaded to try the fish special and a nice salad. Everything was, to borrow one of John's favorite descriptors, fabulous. Since this is a blog and I can make up the rules, I'd like to pass on, again, my gratitude to Nick and Nora Weir for their kindness and generosity. Cheese is coming your way!

On the drive home, as is custom, we spent less time talking and more reflecting. I felt like I'd climbed up a few notches on the cheese-knowledge ladder, been introduced to thoughts and theories I'd never even considered, and found a potential (more later) mentor. Best of all, I felt a renewed confidence that if my fellow attendees could do it, so could I.

In 2009, the Conference will be in Austin, Texas. I plan on staying at the hotel.

The Journey Begins...

Well, not really. The journey started a while back. "The Journey Started A While Back" sounds less interesting, though.

I have been working on getting my artisan cheese business (Alemar Cheese Company) off the ground for the past six months. This blog will hopefully chronicle the project from infancy to international acclaim, or at least to the point where I'm making a living and enjoying the work.

I hope to post often, and rather than attempt to catch you up chronologically, I'll fill in bits and pieces as we proceed. Since this is the maiden voyage, I will start with the basics.

My name is Keith. I live in Mankato, Minnesota. I have two daughters, Alexandra, 14, and Mariel, 12, from a previous marriage. If you have already solved the enigma from whence the name "Alemar" derives, you are quite savvy. At the risk of sounding like a sap, Alex and Mari are the best thing that ever happened to me, so the name feels very natural and right to me.

I grew up in Northern California, moving to Minnesota in 1991 to be with my future ex-wife. For most of my time here, I was the owner/operator of a small family of bagel and artisan bread shops. My former brother-in-law, Tony, and I started with one store and grew to five. From the outset, I loved the business. Making something tangible yet temporary held strong appeal, and I thrived on customer and co-worker contact. When things were good, and they were for a long time, there was some sort of electricity that ran through the business. Like many things in life, an unannounced day arrived when the lifeblood of the company crested and we began a slow march toward extinction. I'll spare you the ugly details, but know that I struggled and fought the entire way down when more obvious and sensible alternatives beckoned.

For most of the past four years I've worked in sales for a local children's book publisher. And, while the work was entirely honorable, I was never fulfilled, not even close, to the way I was doing my own thing. So, despite the potential of failure, I'm making another go of it. Masochistic? Perhaps, but I can't shake the urge to follow this dream.

Which brings us to cheese. Why Cheese? Well, I love the stuff. I mean, even bad cheese is still pretty good. I'm talking about that nacho sauce abomination they slather over stale tortilla chips and Alex adores (she also loves the good stuff). I grimace handing the money over to the snack bar attendant, and walk a few feet in front of her on the way to our movie. Then the lights go down, and I'm reaching over to filch a few chips. I'm guilty of cheese snob hypocrisy...oh well, one more thing to rationalize before the day is done.

But, the great cheese, the type of cheese I aspire to make, that is something altogether different. It has the ability to transcend smell and taste and become something more. I could continue to gush, but let's leave something in reserve for next time.

So, thanks for taking the time to visit, and I hope you'll come back. All the best...