Fromage s'il vous plait?

When in Paris, the answer is always OUI OUI OUI! or BIEN SUR!

I promised you fromage, and I am not one to go back on any promise, especially if it involves cheese. Especially if it involves Paris. Because cheese holds a special place in Paris life--in French life, in general, but especially Parisian.

I know, I know, that sounds a bit silly and vague, like I am on my first trip to Paris and have just discovered cheese. And I also know that there are wonderful cheeses outside of France. But it is also true: cheese in Paris and all of France, is considered a serious purchase and food; it is treated with respect, and when buying cheese, as with choosing a wine to go with your dinner, you enter into an intimate dialogue with your procurer.

A good cheese monger will ask you: "When would you like to eat the cheese?" and also: "How ripe do you like your cheese to be?" "What type of animals milk do you prefer?" "Do you have a favourite region to enjoy cheese from?"

You want a cheese monger who is knowledgable, whose offerings follow the season, and most of all, someone who shares your enthusiasm (for cheese, yes, and also for your own particular taste), your heartfelt LOVE for fromage and everything that goes into creating it.

He or she will know the story of each cheese, from its region of origin, to its traditions, to its degree of ripeness, to its history, and how it all segues with your own taste: THAT is your first step towards understanding a cheese's...dare I say...miracle? The cheese monger will guide you as to how best sample and taste that beautiful substance which has transformed itself from simple milk to a thing of endless (and changing, according to its age) flavours, scents, nuances, to taste it with all of your senses.

A cheese plate in France, especially in Paris, is all about the cheese, not about the excess of condiments and accompaniments found on cheeseboards in other lands, or the oddly-named charcuterie boards which may or may not include real charcuterie, though from the photos I see on social media, seems to usually include cheese.

It could be served on a basket, like the amazing cheese selection served (and made famous) at the restaurant Astier, pre-pandemic and I hope will again one day. It could be served on a board. An individual selection will likely be placed, respectfully, on a plate. They might include a little tuft of dressed salad greens, but not a lot more than that: in Paris, a plateau du fromage is truly about the cheese. And you.

First of all, you must find the right cheeseshop, which if possible is also an affineur, a shop that ages its own cheeses in the right conditions for...a certain perfection, or array of perfect states.

One of the tantalizing fromageries of Paris’ Marche St Quentin.

This trip I found myself devoted, absolutely devoted, to one of the fromagerie in the Marche St Quentin, a market that could be a portrait of Paris in the 1960s, or even 50s, with the little cafe-bar, a tiny bistro, piles of fish and seafood, shops for take out. A market with so much heart.

My first morning in Paris, this trip, I headed out in search of which fromagerie I might eat my way through, and as luck would have it, it was the first: Au Coeur du Marche--affineur de fromages. The first cheese I bought was so luscious, so perfect, so outstandingly wonderful, that I just kept returning. There was no need to go elsewhere for my cheese. The Market was a 15 minute walk away; goal for trip was stop there every day and try something new.

The first day I tried a little "bouton" from Burgundy, basically a mini Epoisses; many cheeses start with the same mixture, but are made in differing sizes, which affects the way the cheese ages, the bacteria that engulf and transform it. Think of Brie and Camembert and Colummniers. And because at the moment I have a sweet sweet spot in my heart for the stinkier runny cheeses of Burgundy, the next day I bought a somewhat too large for me, sister of Epoisses whose name I don't remember because of the excitement of the moment. I snuck a tiny taste from the runny runny round; I felt like I was in Las Vegas just winning a jackpot and lights and bells were going off all around me. In reality it was simply overwhelming heady pleasure.

Since the cheese was too large for me to eat all of, and frankly, something so utterly special needs to be shared with others, I decided to bring mine to the Gourmand Book Awards and Paris Cookbook Fair which was being held at Paris’ magnificent and historic Refectoire des Cordeliers. How historic? Dating back to the 13th Century, it has been the site of many meetings and gatherings and incarnations, including it is said: the spot where Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite was first declared.

To describe the fromage? It was, like Epoisses, from Burgundy, so ripe, so....fragrantly?...stinkily?...luscious. So runny that it just slid out of its wooden box (I had kept it two days (unrefrigerated) before eating, while the cheese monger recommended only one day), it was in its own way so strong and kinetic, with a life of its own, that I felt I could address it: "Cheese! Go find those who will love you and bring them back to join our little table of cheese-love".

I'm not going to lie; many were frightened and scooted away quickly once they got that first whiff. But in the lunch hall of gastrononomes, the UK's legendary Claudia Roden, and top Turkish food writer Aylin Tan joined me. We needed a little bit of bread and saw from across the room that the founder of the restaurant awards site, La Liste's, had a basketful. Jorg Zipprick was NOT frightened of the cheese, brought his bread and happily sat down at our table to help us swoon our way through.

The next day: Claudia, who was being honoured by the gathering, sought me out: "Marlena, that cheese...was really special".

The role of a cheese selection after a meal was once put succintly to me, in Paris, naturally. I was responding to American readers who just didn't get eating the cheese at the end of the meal. I was asking everyone I came upon, everyone who showed a tiny bit or a huge amount, of cheese love. "Ah, it is that moment when you know that your meal is over--your heart feels so sad and you wish you could prolong that pleasure. Voila! The cheese arrives, and assuages everyone's sadness at the meal ending".

This explanation gave me unbridled happiness, as my guy was telling me this while carrying a huge plateau des fromages, en route to the table. All gathered round were nearly shaking with excitement; we had had a barbecue, then some fruit; endless wines. Was there a tarte or did I imagine it? Anyhow, now the cheese was here to make us all feel better. It might be over for this afternoon, but we would do it again. Having a bite of the complexity of fromage, taking that taste in our mouths, remembering an amazing afternoon, seemed to secure for us that promise.

The aging room at Au Couer du Marche, otherwise known as my beloved cheese shop and affineur, of the moment, at le Marche St Quentin.

To select the cheeses for a cheese plate, there are several things to keep in mind: personal preferences of course! Some like an all goat or sheep selection; others prefer a regional cheese plate. Some like simply one nice cheese in perfect condition, with a few toasted almonds, dried or fresh fruit or other condiment alongside. You can put a little tuft of dressed leafy salad in the middle, if you like. Once in the Loire at a walnut pressers home I had a plate of fresh local goats cheese, drizzled with walnut oil and garnished with a handful of fresh chives. St Agur with a drizzle of truffle honey is pretty great too, though I confess to stealing this idea from the Italians, who do it with creamy Gorgonzola and white truffle honey.

And, this being the Christmas season, time of freezing weather, luxury and truffle season, while most cheese afficionados would frown on stuffing a cheese with...stuff...a ripe gorgeous soft cheese filled with shaved fresh Perigord truffles, is...sigh. Amazing. At Alain Passard's L'Arpege, I had a cheese course of a little slab of at least four year old Comte, and a generous chunk of fresh truffle. I made that course last for hours; the people I was with were wanting to go already. Even the staff wanted me to leave--we were the last people there and they were getting ready for the dinner service. But nothing, nothing, could make me eat it any faster. Each tiny teeny bite of truffle, each delicious melting bite of cheese. No bread, no crackers, no nuffin else. It was divine.

Basically though: if you are thinking about an actual cheeseplate, ie a selection, as tempting it is to offer a huge array, don't. Keep it to say, five or six. Otherwise its too confusing.

Perhaps the most important thing, however, when planning to end your meal with cheese, is to not eat too much of the rest of the meal—leave a spot in your appetite and in your digestion, for a few bites (or more) of cheese. I often forget this, and my appreciation of the cheese is lost. Truly do as I suggest, not as I succumb to (sometimes). (Too often).

If you are serving the cheeses on a big plate or tray for all to help themselves from, you'll need a severe patrolling cheese-cop (like me) because TOO MANY PEOPLE don't realize how important the right cut of the cheese is. For instance: a round soft cheese should always be cut into wedges: its tidier, yes, but its also crucial for the whole experience: the inside of the cheese tastes different from the outside; to respect the cheese as well as the other eaters, when you reach the cheeseboard DO NOT lop off the tip of that Brie wedge. Just don't. I've been known to give long lectures on how to cut the cheeses for maximum appreciation. I'm not going to subject you to this, as you can google it. But know its so important, and if I approach you at a cheeseboard already into lecture mode, know that I am not acting fancy shmancy: its in respect to you. To your pleasure. And pleasure of those around you. And most of all: to the cheese. It deserves your full respect.

Start the cheese selection at the top, with the mildest cheese, and work your way clockwise to the strongest.

So, below is my today's plate: the top, mildish cheese a Tomme de Montagne: mild, milky, semi-soft. Like you would eat on a hike up a mountain, along with a chunk of bread and an apple or two. Next is a fruity, nutty, Comte, aged to super tasty, but I'm not so sure of exactly how long. Count in years, not months though. The fat wedge with pale paste (the inner part of a cheese is called paste) I actually wasn't given the name of, but tasting it I think: sheep. It reminds me a little bit of a pecorino salata, but must more tender, and full of flavour not just saltiness (like some pecorino salata can be). Then we come to that cheese of legend, the one my cheese monger said: "I think you'll like it, its from near Epoisses" and truly, I don't know its name. But having just tasted it, I think its only a matter of time before I go on a pilgrimage to this area. Last is a fiesty sharp and spicy blue: the only cheese that is not French: it is an aged Gorgonzola. With a big kick; at its best with a bit of unsalted butter alongside to help smooth its way.

All these cheeses are so good, and I could burst into tears that you, my subscribers, can't join me in eating them.

Maybe some day, post Covid, post all bad things, we will.