Dammeier wants Beecher’s to be Seattle’s first cheese—but not its only cheese.

“I’ll bet you on an average day there’s a hundred people enter our store who’ve never thought of cheese beyond the yellow Kroger-variety cheddar,” he says. However, you don’t convert people to premium cheese by providing them with something fuzzy and blue that stinks of a barnyard, no matter how exquisite that cheese might be to the gourmand.

Rather, you make it familiar. But better. People are comfortable with cheddar and jack and even the frenchy-sounding fromage blanc—which Beecher’s calls “blank slate.”

But give the people a familiar cheese that tastes like cheese should, and before you know it, they’re trying that fuzzy blue stuff. In other words, they’re buying more cheese. They’re buying more not only of Beecher’s cheese, but of the many regional farmstead and artisan cheeses that Beecher’s also sells. Dammeier sees his store as a way to both market small production cheeses and also build a market.

“The same thing happened in the early days of craft brewing,” he says. “It took a while for consumers to understand the value of a $7.99 six-pack versus a $4.99 six-pack and why it’s more flavorful, more authentic, more interesting.

“When you’re making things in small batches, it costs more.”

Dammeier ticks off the three tenets that underlie his approach to business. Full-flavored, great-tasting food. Fun and theatrical. Finally, he says, “Not a single thing produced by us has any additives, any preservatives. It’s pure, simple food.”

Along those lines, Dammeier announced in August that 1 percent of Beecher’s sales will go to a foundation dedicated to educating the public, especially children, about food production, how it is grown, processed, and transported, as well as what’s in it and what those ingredients mean to the health of the consumer and of the planet.

Not Your Average Cheddar

In the 1930s, Washington State College food scientists started research on packaging hard cheese in cans. Responding to a need for more canned foods during World War II, the U.S. government and American Can Company invested in the research in the 1940s. Cheese at the time was sealed in wax, as much still is. Wax can crack, allowing spoilage.

The main obstacle toward putting cheese in a can was the production of carbon dioxide by bacteria in the cheese, which caused the cans to bulge and even burst. Finally, N.S. Golding, a professor of dairy husbandry, discovered that adding a second starter culture to the cheese greatly reduced the carbon dioxide production. This second culture, known to us non-initiates simply as “WSU 19,” is what sets Cougar Gold apart.

This “adjunct culture” transforms a cheese that starts with a standard cheddar culture into the unique flavor and finish of Cougar Gold. Whereas cheddars generally have some bitter notes and finish on the palate with a sour milk sharpness, Cougar Gold finishes softer and creamier.

The texture is also different from most cheddars, more crumbly, largely due to its being aged for a year.

This uniqueness presents a certain difficulty in cheese competitions. Even though Cougar Gold is basically a cheddar in its youth, the texture, as well as its extra flavors, prohibits its entry in cheddar categories, which are quite specific in their criteria. Despite the categorical difficulty, though, Cougar Gold won the top of its class (hard pressed non-cheddar cheeses) in the World Cheese Awards in England in 2000.

Cougar Gold today is much the same cheese as it was when first produced in 1948. Of course the cows that produce the milk come and go, and their feed will vary over the years in nutritional makeup. A few years ago, the salt was reduced slightly. But the starters and recipe remain the same.

“We just try not to break it,” says Marc Bates, who was Creamery manager for 27 years and is now a consultant.

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Photo Gallery:
Making Cougar Gold

“You can always tell when little kids have been here, because there's lip and nose marks everywhere,” says cheese maker Brad Sinko. Here, Sinko's assistant Amir Rosenblatt cuts the thickening curds in a batch of cheese, as an avid audience watches. Photo by Laurence Chen.