Not the Usual Fruit and Cheese Plate

My timing could have been better. The day I called a bunch of friends to invite them to spend a Sunday afternoon eating cheese and drinking red wine, the skies were overcast and the temperature was in the blessed 70s. In that kind of weather, anything seems possible.

By the time the date rolled around, of course, summer had officially started. With temperatures in the upper 90s, we gathered on the back porch--snacking, sipping, talking, laughing and wondering to ourselves what we were doing thinking about food in this kind of weather.

The star of the afternoon and the real reason for the whole thing was a big cheese. While wandering the back roads of the Central Valley recently, I had pulled into the town of Los Ban~os, about 10 miles east of Interstate 5, southwest of Merced. Los Ban~os may be nothing but another unfortunately named farm town to most people (we favor the kinder translation of “The Baths”), but to cheese-heads it is the home of the Pelusos, a legendary third-generation cheese-making family.

The Pelusos’ claim to fame is Teleme, a cheese invented by the grandfather Giovanni more than 80 years ago to sell to newly arrived Greek immigrants. Several Telemes are available now, but most are mild melting cheeses, virtually indistinguishable from Monterey Jack or white Cheddar.

It’s Franklin Peluso and his father Frank who keep the true Teleme candle burning, and their version is potentially as magnificent as any cheese made in America. It was selected “best of show” at the 1992 American Cheese Society judging, and cheese-meister Steven Jenkins--kind of the Robert Parker of cheese--has deemed it one of America’s treasures.

At an informal tasting in New York this winter, amid the high-flying likes of Epoisse, Vacherin Mont d’Or (with which it is frequently compared), farmhouse Cheddar and several imported raw-milk cheeses (apparently Manhattan health inspectors can’t translate lait cru), it was a well-aged Peluso Teleme that stole the show.

The company is housed in a rather ramshackle old building just off Los Ban~os’ two-block downtown. There’s a hand-lettered sign above the door, and inside is the comfortable clutter of any small family company.

Since it was lunchtime, the younger Peluso, who is in his early 50s, had time for a quick tour. The actual cheese-making part of the building is as pristine as the front is shabby. Long stainless steel troughs hold coagulating curds of the various cheeses Peluso makes.

Teleme is actually a fairly small portion of the factory’s total production. More than half the factory is devoted to making Mexican and Central American cheeses. “My grandfather built this business making cheese for immigrants, and when you think about it, that’s exactly what I’m doing today,” Peluso said.

In another chilly room, Teleme ages. Over time, the texture of the cheese changes. What starts out feeling like any other brick cheese becomes gradually more and more liquid. You can actually feel the progress in this room. Each rice flour-crusted block has a slightly different texture, ranging from firm to springy to one that was almost like a water bed. “This one’s about ready to eat,” said Peluso.

And so that’s how I, king of the impulse shoppers, wound up shepherding a 10-pound box of wiggly cheese from the Central Valley back to Long Beach. And further, that’s how we all came to be sitting on the back porch drinking wine and eating Teleme on what was to that point the hottest day of the year.

Guests cannot live on cheese alone, though, not even Great American Cheese.

To accompany the cheese--I also put out some of Ig Vella’s Bear Flag Brand Dry Jack from Sonoma and a small wheel of Emily Thompson’s fine fresh goat cheese--I wanted food that was simple, light and brightly flavored. I sliced a bunch of backyard and heirloom variety tomatoes and seasoned them with just enough salt and black pepper to bring out their depth (with great tomatoes, further flavoring is just ornamentation; even basil is superfluous). I blanched some green beans and dressed them with a vinaigrette of Champagne vinegar flavored with shallots and then tore bits of basil over the top. And I made a salad of raw zucchini with toasted pine nuts, lemon juice, good olive oil and mint.

My favorite dish, though, was dessert: I peeled and sliced various dead-ripe summer melons--Charentais and Hagen from the farmers market, Galia, honeydew and cantaloupe from the grocery store--and arranged them on a platter. Over the top, I poured a lightly sweet simple syrup flavored with mint and grated lime peel. The herbal accents of the lime and mint brought out all the subtle complexities inherent in the wonderful melons we’re getting this summer.

What about the cheese? There are those who like to remind people that cheese is a living thing, and no one could possibly doubt that after seeing the Teleme. Once I’d sliced away the crust on top, the cheese seemed to come to life.

Like some molten monster from outer space in a ‘50s horror movie, it seemed bent on nothing short of world domination.

No matter how much people spooned out of it, the Teleme seemed to expand to fill the void--and more. A couple of times it actually oozed out over the top of the box, off the cutting board and onto the counter. At one point, someone left a spoon propped across the top and it was only a last-minute grab that saved the utensil from being swallowed whole.

As aggressively as it might have behaved, it was deliciously mild-mannered to eat--sweet, creamy and nutty with a sour milk tang. If ever a cheese could be refreshing in 100-degree heat, this was it.

Still, it lacked the stature of the Teleme I’d had last winter. It needed another month of aging, at least. When properly aged, I read later in “Steve Jenkins Cheese Primer” (Workman, $16.95), “the enticing, chewy rice-flour rind turns to a gray, greenish-black sludge that must be skimmed off.”

I guess I’ll have to try it again. Maybe this winter.

Peluso Teleme is available at Karoun Dairies, 5117 Santa Monica Blvd. in Hollywood, and at La Brea Bakery, 624 S. La Brea Ave. For current sales information, call Bob Galvan at (213) 668-9854.

SLICED MELONS IN LIME-MINT SYRUP

2 cups water

2/3 cup sugar

2 to 3 sprigs mint

Grated peel of 1 lime

2 1/2 pounds assorted melons

This recipe is adapted from a dish served at Echo, a small treasure of a restaurant in Fresno. Partners Tim Woods and Adams Holland treat the best of their local produce simply and with respect. Their version uses only mint in the syrup, but grated lime peel adds another dimension to the melons. Mix two or three melon varieties for an assortment of colors, flavors and textures. The peeling method detailed here works well for firm melons. With riper, softer melons, you’re better off cutting them in thin slices with the rinds attached, then stacking several slices and removing the rinds afterward. If your melons are over the top with sweetness, decrease the sugar to 1/2 cup; if they’re on the bland side, increase the sugar to 3/4 cup.

Heat water and sugar to boiling in small saucepan. Whisk until sugar is completely dissolved and remove from heat. Add mint sprigs and grated peel and let stand until cool. Strain through coffee filter into lidded jar, cover and chill. Makes 2 cups syrup.

Cut melons in half and remove seeds. Place each half cut-side down on cutting board and slice off top inch. Cut away peel with sharp knife, working down melon in 2- to 3-inch strips until melon is completely peeled. Cut each half in quarters, then cut in thin, 1/4-inch slices. (Melons will keep, tightly covered and refrigerated, about 2 hours.)

When ready to serve, arrange variety of melons in large deep platter. Pour syrup over and serve.

8 to 10 servings. Each of 10 servings:

83 calories; 8 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 0 fat; 21 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram protein; 0.33 gram fiber.

More Teleme Tales. Forklore, H2.