So that’s why Wensleydale's so cracking, Gromit!
HARRIET ARKELL visits the spanking new HQ of Wallace & Gromit’s favourite cheese to find why it’s Yorkshire’s tastiest export
We FIXED the date for my visit t o Wensleydale, home of t he f amous cheese, for mid- July, hoping for glorious pictures of sun-dappled Dales. That was our first mistake: this is Yorkshire, where they do things very much their own way, and that includes the weather.
Our second mistake was assuming the drive to Wensleydale Creamery in Hawes would go according to plan. Cue one tractor, a flock of sheep and endless tourists driving slowly to admire the breathtaking scenery.
By the time we arrive it’s not far off lunchtime, and the queue of salivating shoppers waiting to samples the little cubes of cheese is practically round the block.
first stop, though, is the spanking new dairy where Yorkshire Wensleydale is produced.
The ‘Yorkshire’ bit matters: you can make it in Portsmouth and call it Wensleydale, but if you want proper Yorkshire Wensleydale, it has to be made in the county of its birth, thanks to its Protected geographical Indication (PgI) status.
Wensleydale — a mild white, crumbly, tangy cheese — was first made in the 12th century by Cistercian monk settlers, before the local farmers’ wives caught on and started making it, too.
The first proper creamery was built in Hawes, a beautiful market town in 1897, but was threatened with closure during the Thirties Depression until it was saved by Kit Calvert, son of a local quarryman. The business thrived until 1992, when its owner, Dairy Crest, wanted to move production to (whisper it) Lancashire.
So unpopular was the plan that when the Dairy Crest-sponsored cycling extravaganza, the Milk Race, rode through Hawes, the locals who lined the streets refrained from the usual cheering, instead remaining utterly silent in protest.
At this point, David Hartley, then just a young worker at the creamery, decided something had to be done. He galvanised three colleagues and a local businessman and they bought it from Dairy Crest. ‘If
We hadn’t done something, 1,000 years of cheese-making here in Yorkshire would have ended,’ he tells me as we don white boots, coats and hairnets to go into the new dairy. ' Also' , he adds almost in a whisper, ‘I was only 29 then, so I thought if it didn’t work out, I could always try something else.’ it did work out. The Creamery now has an annual turnover of £26.5 million, the cent of which is down to exports - the cheese made even more famous by animator Nick Park’s creation, Wallace (aided by Gromit) is now shipped everywhere from America to the Middle East and Australia.
It’s no wonder, then, that they’ve had to open the new dairy.
It may look ultra-modern, thanks to the vast steel vats churning 10,000 litres of milk at a time, but very little in the process has really changed.
‘We work with 45 local farmers and they bring milk here every day, which we pasteurise and put into silos, before adding our own unique starter culture and rennet,’ says David.
The milk ripens and sets, before it’s cut by vast knives which whirr around inside the vats, turning it into curds and whey. (The whey is the yellow liquid and the curds are whitish chunks floating in it.)
This continues until the curds are baked bean-size, whereupon the whey is drained off and the curds are transferred to vast steel ‘finishing’ tables. These are where the curds turn into cheese before your eyes as more whey drains off and the acidity of the curds rise.
‘You don’t need a gym membership if you work here’, says David Hartley, now MD of Wensleydale Creamery.
As I watch his team of ten white-coated cheesemakers in action, I see what he means. They have to ‘work’ the cheese, constantly stirring, cutting and shovelling it, to release the whey and slow the work of the starter culture so the cheese doesn’t become too acidic.
When I pick up one of the blue plastic shovels to have a go, I can barely lift the thing, so heavy is the cheese.
Far easier is the ‘salting’, which involves cheesemaker Trevor putting a vast steel bucket — filled with salt from Cheshire — under his arm and walking up and down the table, hurling handfuls of salt on to the cheese as it is being cut and stirred. This helps get the last of the whey out and also adds to the flavour, so requires some expertise timing.
‘The cheesemaker’s challenge is to monitor the developing rate of acidity of the cheese, as this affects both the flavour and the colour,’ explains David as he pulls a piece of white curd off the table.
‘Look at that — it has stringy fibres like chicken breast when you tear it apart, which is perfect. You’re looking for a nice, even colour, a really fresh smell, and you have to maintain a consistency in every batch you produce.’
After salting, the cheese is left to mellow on the table until it’s just right, before being packed by hand into moulds and taken to the press room, where they are pressed by pneumatic rams for 24 to 48 hours to get the last drops of whey out.
The cheeses are then wrapped in bandages and transferred to the maturing room, domain of 60-year-old Norman McCallum. There is nothing Norman — a moustachioed Yorkshireman who’s worked there since 1972 — doesn’t know about Yorkshire Wensleydale.
ONE of the varieties is the Yorkshire Wensleydale Blue, which has penicillin mould added to the mix at the start of the process. It’s Norman’s job to pierce it in the maturing room (the cheese won’t start to ‘blue’ until air is introduced) and monitor the maturing cheese until he deems it’s ready.
For this, he needs his ‘cheese iron’ — a T-shaped metal corer used for extracting slim cylinders of cheese from the enormous truckles to see if they have a ‘good judder’, describing the not quite smooth thrust of the iron when he plunges it in. ‘This tells me when it’s just right.’
He samples a piece he’s pulled out from one of the many hundreds of cheeses on the shelves, all at different stages of maturity, and sighs with happiness.
‘This is everything a Yorkshire Wensleydale should be: the texture’s kind, there’s a whole milk flavour with lactic notes and it’s a clean flavour.’
The best-known blended Yorkshire Wensleydale, which is studded with sweet red cranberries, was invented here 20 years ago, since when a stable of other flavours have joined it, including the divisive Salted Caramel (possibly not one for purists), Apricot, Ginger and even Mince Pie Yorkshire Wensleydale.
Meanwhile a Sugar Plum Yorkshire Wensleydale, flavoured with Cognacsteeped plums and caramel pieces, will be available in Sainsbury’s at Christmas.
There’s also the Kit Calvert (a more buttery version of the standard Yorkshire Wensleydale), the Yorkshire Wensleydale Blue and the Coverdale, as well as a new line of Yorkshire yoghurts.
After a hard day’s toil, both David and Norman like to tuck into a nice slice of Yorkshire Wensleydale at home.
David favours a Yorkshire Wensleydale sandwich with fresh plum tomatoes, salt and cracked black pepper, while Norman has it the traditional Yorkshire way — with a slice of fruit cake and a beer.
It is truly a matter of taste.