Reinveting the Wheel…of Cheese
A dairy themed visit to Sonoma

It was a familiar summer scene: fog shrouded the bridge and tourists hastily donned their newly purchased Fisherman’s Wharf sweatshirts in a vain attempt to hold out the chill. My companion and I shook our heads in a mixture of amusement and sympathy as we cruised from the City toward the green hills Marin County. About ten miles later, the fog was a but damp memory and we were basking in the glow of a steady stream of sunlight. We were on our way to Sonoma, about a forty five minute drive north of San Francisco. And what a drive it was. As the Spring-like climate of central Marin gave way to the persistent summer heat of Sonoma, the landscape morphed from inconspicuous suburban homes and gourmet coffee shops nestled amongst stately redwoods, to golden hills criss-crossed by tracts of carefully tended grapevines…and not much else. The scenery was surprisingly rural given the short distance from the hustle and bustle of the urban center behind us. The weathered barns and home-made signs advertising fresh tomatoes that occasionally punctuated the countryside gave us the sensation of being transported back in time.

We rolled into the center of Sonoma around noon. All roads seem to lead to the heart of the town, the historic Sonoma Plaza, which dates back to 1836. The shady square is bordered on the North and Northwest by a well-preserved mission and a cluster of church buildings, and nearly everywhere else by upscale restaurants and shops selling everything from gourmet goods to antiques. Though it was a Monday, a preponderance of well-dressed tourists strolled, arm-in-arm, through the cobblestoned downtown area. Many appeared to be retirees, happily exempt from the stresses of the work-week, unburdened of the albatross of employment related anxieties. Sonoma is wine country after all, a place to indulge in some of the finest reds and whites in the world. Wine tasting is a leisurely activity, not conducive to a rushed pace. We had something a little heartier in mind. So, after a cursory perusal of the area, my friend and I realized we were running late and hastily headed for our intended destination.

Vella Cheese Company is housed inside an imposing stone building just a few blocks from the plaza. The structure was erected in 1904 to house a brewery. The dawn of the prohibition meant the demise of its original purpose and it has been in use as a cheese production facility nearly continuously since 1931. By the time we arrived, a short time after noon, the sun was squarely overhead – and for two San Francisco residents unaccustomed to direct sunlight, the intensity of the heat was disconcerting. We dashed through the wooden doors and were met with a blast of welcoming cool air. The next blast was of an olfactory nature. There is no word in the English lexicon that can quite describe the “bouquet” or aromas that emanate from hundreds of pounds of cheese at various stages of maturation. A refrigerated display case, just to the right of the entrance, held packages of nearly every variety produced by Vella Cheese. A large sales counter divided the room. Behind it two employees were carving generous portions of cheese for a few customers. Displayed on a nearby wall were at least two dozen trophies, prize medals and ribbons of every hue, including blue. We later learned that the company’s most recent accolade was being named Best of Show at the 2006 California State Fair in the Commercial Cheese Competition. Just as our noses were adjusting to the scent, we were greeted by Ignacio Vella, owner of Vella Cheese. In his gruff yet friendly manner,he recounted a lifetime in cheese production. Indeed, as son of Tom Vella, who founded the operation in 1931, Ignacio Vella, now a patriarch of pasteurization in his own right, has been immersed in the family business his entire life. But “young” (70-something) Vella’s father was reluctant to relinquish the reins until he was well into his 90’s. If his father’s longevity is any indication, Ignacio Vella is in it for the long haul. “He was around until he was 100 years and six weeks,” Vella disclosed. As for the Vella family secret to success, “What makes us different is that we do everything by hand. Not too many places still do that. My cheese fills a niche in the market; the way I see it is: what you see is what you get” he explained. In a region renowned for its wine, where characteristically elitist wine connoisseurs abound, artisanal cheese attracts a different crowd. “There’s not that much snobbery in cheese,” Vella mused, “Thankfully it’s more down to earth [than the wine scene].”

Vella’s assistant indicated that he had urgent business to which to attend, so we were introduced to one of the head cheese-makers, Roger Rannikar. Rannikar took us on a fast-paced and informative tour of the factory. We started in a room filled with giant vats of curds, which were wrapped in cheese cloth and tied into balls by a team of half a dozen or so workers. Next Rannikar led us to a refrigerated storage room where rows of wooden shelves were stacked with countless wheels of cheese in various stages of development. Some ripen for a few months while others mature for over a decade. A cheesemaker was positioned just inside the door, individually coating wheels of cheese with a mixture of cocoa, black pepper, and oil. “It keeps the bugs off,” Rannikar joked, “It also keeps the cheese from cracking.” The last room we visited was the most pungent of all. It houses the “experimental wheels.” Some of the most popular varieties, including rosemary and jalapeño, were cultivated in that intensely scented room. As we stepped outside the building, Rannikar pointed out the newly installed solar paneling, glimmering on the roof. He told us that they will eventually generate about a third of the factory’s power and decrease its electricity bills by the same proportion.

We headed back to the main entrance, eager to try a taste of Vella’s product. We were treated to several varieties, each of which was distinct. The Rosemary Monterey Jack was infused with the fresh herb and the four month old Mezzo-Secco, or partially dry jack, was rich and tangy. Vella sent us off with several hunks of cheese to enjoy at home. We thanked him and headed out to the Sonoma Plaza. It was time for lunch and we were famished. We found an outdoor bistro and pulled up two prime plazawatching chairs. After all that rich and hearty cheese, there was only one option. Two green salads, please!

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