“Stab straight downward, and then wiggle it back and forth a bit.”
My palms grew sweaty inside the black rubber gloves and my pulse quickened. I raised the knife and took a deep breath.
For the ninth year, Market Hall Foods in Rockridge had acquired one of two giant wheels of the Italian cheese Crucolo that make their way to the United States each year. Nosh covered the 2023 edition of the Crucolo parade, and this year I was invited to be part of the celebration: the ceremonial cutter of the cheese.
It was a lofty title to live up to, but even the folks at Market Hall didn’t know how much this meant to me. I had been pursuing Crucolo for the better part of two decades, and this moment was bigger than any celebrity chef interview or Michelin-starred meal. This was my spirit cheese.
The singing and dancing were over and my time had come. I started to notice all of the smartphone cameras pointed in my direction. First, we removed our hats for a blessing from Father Raphael Mary Salzillo from nearby St. Albert’s Priory, a seminary and residence for Dominican Friars.
“Lord God, we ask for your blessing upon this cheese, we give you thanks for creating the cows, for the cows who created the milk, and for the intelligence you gave us to be able to design such a beautiful food out of your creation.”
Nosh editor Tovin Lapan (center in white hat) focuses on his ceremonial duties. Credit: Market Hall Foods
Then, with both hands wrapped tight around the black handle, I drove the blade into the center of the 422-pound wheel. The crowd erupted. A tambourine rattled behind me. Energized by the cheers, I stabbed the wheel again and again, carving out a giant wedge along with my coach for this career-culminating moment, Market Hall retail director Juliana Uruburu.
“You’ll use muscles you didn’t know you had,” she forewarned.
Together, we lifted the wedge above our heads triumphantly, and I joined the Market Hall staff in handing out samples to the waiting line of people.
It was a moment I could not have imagined even a few years earlier. Throughout my early, peripatetic journalism career, I had searched for Crucolo wherever I went, but the trail had gone cold and I had given up.
Our affinity for particular foods is frequently driven by memories of the occasions and people that accompanied them. I remember the frosty El Presidente beer I drank on a Dominican beach, chilled nearly to the point of slush, not because the lager was so expertly crafted, but because it was perfectly cold on a beautiful, sunny day with my future wife.
Nosh editor Tovin Lapan and Market Hall Foods retail director Juliana Uruburu lift the first hunk of Crucolo in the air. Credit: Market Hall Foods
Few foods have produced as many memories for me as Crucolo, a cow’s milk cheese made by a single producer in the northern Italian alps. And, like many love stories, we were brought together by a mutual acquaintance.
The exact year is a bit fuzzy, but it was no fewer than 15 years ago. I was starting to get serious with my then-girlfriend, now-wife and introductions to extended family had begun. During a stay with her parents in a Boston ’burb, we visited my cousins who lived nearby. As we chatted and caught up, they put cheese and crackers on the table. I quickly became more intrigued by the snacks than the conversation.
“This cheese is great,” I finally blurted out. “What is it?”
“Crucolo,” my cousin said, adding that it came from a local market and their kids loved it. Crucolo is a people-pleasing cheese, with characteristics that give it a wide appeal. It is semi-hard, perfect on crackers and as a stand-alone bite, but it also melts well and makes an excellent, gooey grilled cheese. It has none of the “notice me” neediness of an aggressively stinky soft cheese, but rather a subtle-but-complex flavor profile that is slightly nutty and mildly fruity, honed by the Purin family of the Rifugio Crucolo for more than 200 years. I made a note and when I flew back home across the country, I started asking around for it. And the journey began.
I was immediately stymied. Not only could I not find Crucolo in any of my local stores, ostensible authorities told me it didn’t exist.
In 2010, when I was a food reporter living in San Diego, I wrote an email to my partner recounting a dinner at an Italian restaurant:
At Bice they have a cheese bar. So, the first thing I did was go up to the Cheese Chef and ask: “Do you have Crucolo?” and she replied, “We only have Italian cheeses,” and I retorted, “It IS Italian.” Her facial expression was one of a person who’d been hit in the back of the head with a stale baguette.
I moved from San Diego to Santa Cruz to Las Vegas to San Francisco. Each time I landed in a new place I’d scour Italian groceries and specialty markets, but Crucolo was nowhere to be found.
Watch a video of the 2024 Crucolo cutting ceremony at Market Hall Food. Credit: Tracey Taylor
I tried to fill the void with similar cheeses. I turned to Central Coast Creamery’s Holey Cow, a great cheese in its own right, but something was missing. By then, I had put Crucolo on the cheese pedestal of my mind. There were memories and people that Crucolo invoked that made it taste better.
Eventually, my energy for the hunt dwindled, and I stopped cornering every cheesemonger I encountered to ask if they stocked or had even heard of Crucolo. A couple times a year I’d prod my partner to have her parents send us a wedge from the Boston shop — a fix that would last about a week and only serve as a reminder of the deliciousness I couldn’t find at home. I still kept my cheese radar active, listening for any whisper of “Crucolo” on the streets or grocery store aisles.
Roughly a month after I started as editor at Nosh last year, a press release landed in my inbox: Market Hall’s Taste of Italy event featuring the Crucolo parade was coming. I was stunned. I had been back in the Bay Area since 2014 and had no idea the cheese of my dreams had been available in Rockridge every fall.
For most of this quest, I thought I wanted a permanent, consistent source of Crucolo — a corner store where I could get my fix anytime. I was wrong.
Market Hall’s annual Crucolo parade offers me the peace of mind of knowing I will have my yearly opportunity to feast on my favorite cheese, while also keeping the supply limited enough that the nostalgia lives on. The parade attracts more people each year, and the 400 pounds of cheese sell out in approximately two weeks. The giant wheel is paraded down Shafter Avenue with dancing, music and waving Italian flags, and it’s hard not to get caught up in the pomp and circumstance.
Prior to the ceremonial cutting of the Crucolo wheel, it is paraded down Shafter Avenue along with music, dancing and waving Italian flags. Credit: Tovin Lapan
Father Salzillo concluded his blessing of the Crucolo wheel: “Lord we pray that you would bless this cheese and that it might not be too unhealthy for us and that it might bring joy to our hearts and fellowship to our community.”
Divine intervention may be required for that first part, but I can honestly say there’s no other food that has brought as much joy and community to my life as Crucolo.
After I executed my duties as ceremonial cheese cutter and worked the line dropping samples into cupped hands, I bought a one-pound, brick-shaped piece to take home. I was headed to a friend’s house for dinner that night, and I picked up another wedge for him. When I first met my wife I was living with this friend, and one night he ate an entire hunk of cheese out of our fridge but had no recollection of it the next day.
That evening, I sliced up the Crucolo for my sleep-walking, cheese-eating buddy and awaited his verdict.
“That’s some really good cheese!”
Another Crucolo convert. More memories with friends. All my Crucolo is gone now, but each morsel, combined with a cracker or strawberry or layered on top of toast, is a little bit richer and brighter thanks to the journey that brought us back together. I’m already counting the days until next year’s parade.
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