While standing in the dazzling fluorescence of the modern supermarket, one can spot an astounding array of culinary wonders: plump strawberries nestled in plastic cartons, waxy apples as crisp in September as in April and, on the refrigerated shelves in the back, a staggering assortment of cheeses. There’s crumbly, saline feta stored in squat disposable tubs; orange-tinged cheddar slices, ranging from mild to sharp, in slim plastic sleeves; and selection upon selection of uniformly grated and shredded varieties, each hermetically encased in crinkling, resealable bags.
The contemporary supermarket is, in many ways, a marvel of modern science fiction. Thanks to a sprawling global supply chain, refrigerated cargo ships, controlled-environment greenhouses and the introduction of artificial ripening techniques, American shoppers have gradually become untethered from the natural cycles of the earth.
As we push carts through these air-conditioned aisles, it’s easy to forget the usual constraints of time and geography — and to overlook that good cheese, like apples or strawberries, is still very much a seasonal product (though to fully appreciate that, you might have to back away from the supermarket dairy section).
While the exact origins of cheesemaking remain shrouded in mystery, its practice is inextricably linked to the domestication of milk-producing animals, primarily sheep — a process that, according to the National Historic Cheesemaking Center in Monroe, Wisconsin, began 8,000 to 10,000 years ago. Some historians and archaeologists suggest that cheese may have been discovered by accident; in ancient times, milk was commonly stored in containers crafted from animal stomachs. Rennet, an enzyme naturally present in the stomachs of ruminants, would prompt the milk to coagulate, separating into curds and whey, thus laying the groundwork for modern cheese production.
Remarkably, while the Cheesemaking Center notes that many beloved cheeses today, such as Cheddar, Swiss and Parmesan, are relatively recent innovations — most appearing within the last 500 years — the allure of cheese was equally strong among our ancestors. “The art of cheesemaking is referenced in ancient Greek mythology, and evidence of cheese and its production has been discovered in Egyptian tomb murals dating back over 4,000 years,” they write.
This brings to mind the 2018 discovery of a 3,200-year-old piece of cheese in the tomb of Ptahmes, a high-ranking Egyptian official from the 13th century BCE. Made from a blend of sheep and goat's milk, this ancient delicacy likely resembled chevre in its consistency when fresh. However, it also contained traces of brucellosis bacteria, an infectious disease associated with unpasteurized milk — a stark reminder of the deep connection between cheese, milk and the rhythms of seasonality.
Historically, cheesemaking has been an activity tied to the ebb and flow of nature. Many dairy farms schedule calving to occur in late winter or early spring. This timing ensures that cows, sheep and goats are at their peak milk production when the pastures are carpeted with fresh grass, herbs and wildflowers. These grazing animals absorb the character of the plants they consume, which is then imparted into the milk they produce.
It’s a phenomenon the French have long championed with the concept of “terroir” — the idea that the taste of a product is intrinsically tied to the land from which it originates. While the term is most often used in the States when describing a wine’s provenance, it’s fitting for cheese, too. “Everywhere that cheese is made has native flora and fauna which will impact the cheese, both in the milk and in the aging,” Chris Osborne, cheesemaker at Blackberry Farm, told Wine Enthusiast in 2020.
Autumn actually serves as a prime time to experience the terroir of cheese, as varieties made from spring milk and then aged begin to grace store shelves, though not necessarily at Big Box grocers. Take Cabrales, a blue cheese crafted by rural dairy farmers in Asturias, Spain, which captures the verdant essence of grazing cows thriving in lush pastures. Then there’s Comté, with its smoky, umami-rich notes that deepen as the cheese matures, revealing the rich flavors of the spring milk that form its foundations. The decadent Brillat-Savarin, a triple-cream delight, embodies the vibrant foraging of cows, while Spring Cheddar — made from the milk of cows that have grazed spring pastures — is subtly sweet and lightly herbaceous.
Together, these cheeses encapsulate the terroir of their respective origins, allowing diners to savor the fleeting beauty of seasonal flavors long after spring has passed.
Eventually, when the fall turns to winter, grazing becomes sparse. Soon, farm animals are brought indoors for the seasons where the wildflowers and herbs they spent the spring eating are replaced by hay and feed. This, too, has an impact on the flavor of milk and the types of cheeses that are produced from it. In the colder months, cheese production slows, and the cheeses that do emerge often bear heavier, heartier profiles, like the nutty intensity of an aged Gruyère or the rich creaminess of a winter Brie.
As agriculture industrialized, cheesemaking followed suit, fundamentally altering its relationship with the agricultural cycle. This shift allowed manufacturers to standardize processes, prioritize efficiency and utilize pasteurization and mass distribution, resulting in a dairy aisle that rarely reflects seasonality. Instead, shoppers encounter an illusion of uniformity, where Cheddar, Gouda, and Brie line the shelves year-round, seemingly indifferent to the changing weather outside.
Yet some cheesemakers are pushing back against this trend, returning to small-batch production that honors the natural seasonality of milk. The knowledgeable staff at local cheese shops — or even the Murray’s counter at the grocery store — are eager to guide you through their curated selections.
While the modern supermarket, where mozzarella tastes the same in February as it does in July, is undoubtedly a triumph of human ingenuity, it also serves as a reminder of how far we have drifted from the origins of our food. So, the next time you reach for a wedge of cheese, take a moment to consider the season in which it was made, the grass on which the cow grazed or the weather in the pasture. In doing so, you might just taste a little more of the world than the vacuum-sealed plastic suggests.
Correction: A previous version of this article stated that Brillat-Savarin is a sheep's milk cheese. It is a cow's milk cheese.
