To say that I like fromage is an understatement.
When I did a foreign exchange in high school, my host father would buy me a different kind of cheese every week to sample. And though I still haven’t grown very fond of blue (something I inherited from my mother and that my father can’t understand) if I could live on a diet of cheese, bread, and wine, I would be happy forever.
Every Wednesday and Saturday morning, there is an outdoor market my sister and I love to go to. She’s been really busy with new work endeavors, so on a Saturday morning typically reserved for sleeping in, we pulled ourselves out of bed, braved the freezing wind, and shopped. Here’s what we picked up!
My sister’s boyfriend requested morbier, a semi-soft cow’s milk cheese with a line of ash through the middle. It wasn’t my favorite. But in moderation, I think I could grow to like it. On the label, it reads “lait cru,” or unpasteurized milk. The fact that that’s illegal in United States is a sin.
Our second cheese was langres, another cow’s milk cheese. It’s exterior texture is unique and its center creamy and crumbly. It’s mild enough to gain about 5 pounds in one sitting. Again, not pasteurized. How will I ever be able to go back to the States?
I saved the best for last. Chèvre. Is there anything better than tangy, creamy goat cheese? Maybe when it’s on crusty, slightly sourdough but nonetheless perfect baguette. (Do I sound too much like Giada here? See: Commandment III.)
Hi, I’m Madeline, and I’m a chèvraholic.