Oh, the people you’ll meet and the food and drink you’ll taste when you leave the main roads in Normandy! Is your destination Deauville, Honfleur and the Flowered Coast or is it Caen, Bayeux and the D-Day Landing Beaches? Either way, let’s veer off at Pont l’Evêque for several tastes of Pays d’Auge, Auge Country: cheese, beer and apple brandy. First in this three-part series, the cheese. Whether you’re a traveler in Normandy or looking for enjoyable tastes elsewhere…

Pont l’Evêque is an unremarkable town that’s lent its name to a memorable cheese. It’s one of the fab four appellation cheeses of Normandy, the others being Camembert de Normandie, Livarot and Neufchâtel. A square, soft, unpressed cheese with a washed rind and a wavy top, Pont l’Evêque can be stinky to the nose but the taste is affable. It varies, depending on the cheese’s age, from creamy mild to a soft mix of grass, leather and hay, without ever entering the stables. It comes in pasteurized and raw-milk versions. But we don’t come to Norman cow country for pasteurized cheeses.

I took a country road in search of the best and most uncommon of the raw-milk versions: Pont l’Evêque fermier. Fermier (farm-made) on the label indicates here that the cheese is made with raw cow milk whose transformation begins soon after milking, while the milk—from cows fed from the pastures and grains of the farm itself—is still warm. All, including its initial aging, is carried out on the same farm.

Meet Jérôme Spruytte, one of only a handful of devotees to producing Pont l’Evêque fermier.

Jérôme is a time-honored cheese crafter who comes from a farming tradition rather than a hipster notion of returning to the soil. His grandfather, also named Jérôme, began making cheese here in the agricultural village of Saint-Philbert-des-Champs in 1933. The current Jérôme maintains an age-old approach starting with cows with a healthy, diverse diet, fed from the farm’s own 370 acres (150 hectares) of varied pastures. Rather, he and Françoise, his wife, do since Françoise also has a hand in this, as well as being well occupied in her role as the mayor of this village of 650.

The couple lives in a house near the village church. Their farm buildings are also across the street from the church. So no need to ask for directions—find the church and you’ll find Jérôme and Françoise Spruytte’s Ferme du Bourg.

Regulations for the Pont l’Evêque appellation call for at least 50% of the milk coming from Norman cows, but the Spruyttes’ cheese is based on a herd of Norman cows only. With a herd of 100, the Spruyttes transform about 20-25% of the farm’s milk production into raw-milk Pont l’Evêque. The rest is sent to other producers in the region to be transformed into Camembert de Normandie. (Note the “de Normandie,” which designates raw-milk camembert produced in Normandy, unlike other camemberts, typically pasteurized, whether made in Normandy or not).

Using 3.6 liters (nearly a US gallon) of milk to produce one medium-size square of Pont l’Evêque, the Spruyttes make 110 cheeses per session, normally two sessions per day, 365 days per year. Call it passion, call it a way of life, call it “this is what we do.” Their Pont l’Evêque is prepared and aged in a small installation on the ground floor and basement of the building where Jérôme’s parent once lived, the oldest part of which dates from the 16th century.

After firming up in its square mold for several day, frequently being turned and positioned in phase with the room’s humidity, the shaped cheese is wrapped and moved to the basement. Aligned, the squares look like journal notebooks on a shelf, ready to record the initial passage of time. They are then taken to a second basement space for further aging. It all looks quite simple (and labor intensive). And that’s the beauty of farm-made cheese that eventually develops a personality that’s rustic to the nose and mellow to the taste.

Pont l’Evêque fermier is aged here at least 18 days (a minimum of 21 days for the larger size) before being available for sale. Most is sold after 25-28 of aging. After 30 days, Jérôme says, locals, accustomed to the availability of younger versions in the countryside, no longer want it, but Parisians do as they often prefer more aged Pont l’Evêque. As for aged versions, Jérôme says that 30-45 days is ideal for his fermier. Test the difference yourself by buying halves of two or three different ages.

Raw-milk artisanal and farm cheeses will change in taste through the year depending on what the cows have been grazing on in a particular season. The variety of pastureland at the farm makes for a rich diet from spring through fall when the cows are out grazing. Though absolute consistency isn’t the aim (like a proud parent, Jérôme welcomes the individuality of each batch, each square), the tastefulness of farm-made cheese is maintained in winter by the cows continuing to enjoy a varied winter diet of grain directly grown on the farm. He nevertheless recognizes the strain that European Union regulations put on producers such as himself as he tries to maintain “the expression of the cheese” from being standardized.

Spend 30 minutes with Jérôme and you’ll understand the earthy heart of cheesemaking as it involves land, cows, cellars and constant work. Spend 30 minutes with Françoise and you’ll want to vote for her to be your mayor, too. While the installations in the house are off-limits to visitors for health reasons, visitors are welcome for a chat and a purchase at the little shack of a shop at the farm. Don’t expect to communicate with Jérôme or Françoise in English but through curiosity. As Françoise says, “When people are interested, we always manage to communicate.”

Pick up your cheese at the farm, buy some bread in the town of Le Breuil-en-Auge (or Pont l’Evêque earlier in your day), then find yourself a spot for a picnic, for example by the beach of the Lac Terre d’Auge, outside the town of Pont L’Evêque, or simply here, by the road, by the church.

Now what to drink with this picnic? Other than for the designated driver, consider accompanying your Pont l’Evêque with Norman cidre (hard cider) or with beer produced by a local brewer whom you’ll soon also meet on these pages.

Jérôme and Françoise Spruytte, Ferme du Bourg, 14130 Saint-Philbert-des-Champs. Tel: 02 31 64 71 99. A 15-minute drive from Pont l’Evêque. Farm shop closed on Sunday afternoons. Present at the Pont l’Evêque food market on Monday mornings.

Pont l’Evêque and surroundings have labeled their territory Terre d’Auge for tourism purposes. See the official tourist information site is terredauge-tourisme.fr. As a traveler, however, there’s no need to know the limits of this specific territory. The beautiful village of Beuvron-en-Auge is a short drive to the west. A short drive to the south is the Basilica of Lisieux, a Catholic pilgrimage destination. Official tourist information about the broader area of Calvados, one of the five departments or sub-regions that comprise Normandy, can be found here.

© 2022, Gary Lee Kraut

Also read this article about the fab four of Norman cheeses and this article about cidre (hard cider) and calvados (apple brandy) on Fance Revisited.

The post Cheese: Jérôme Spruytte’s Pont l’Evêque Fermier (Pays d’Auge, Normandy) appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

… there’s a public transportation strike going on and your good friend Achmed is staying with you for several days because he can’t get to work from his home in the suburbs. From Monday through Thursday you have dinner together. He then goes to sleep by 9:30 since he needs to get up by 5 to make his way to work. An easy houseguest. You both figure he’ll be with you for just those few days, but the strike continues. He goes home for the weekend then returns Monday evening for a second week.

This time he arrives bearing gifts. There’s a box of camembert, since he knows that you like cheese, and a Tupperware of cornes de gazelle, gazelle horns. He knows that you like them, too.

After dinner, while Achmed enjoys his customary yogurt (“No,” he said when you offered to buy some, “I’ll bring my own, I know what I like”), you serve yourself one of the gazelle horns. It has almond chips on the outside and a sweet almond-orange-blossom filling. Delicious. It’s the best gazelle horn that you’ve ever had and you tell him so. “Normal,” he says, “c’est de chez moi.” His sister in Algiers made them. They were delivered over the weekend by a visiting cousin. They’re all for you, he says; he has another dozen at home. Just save him the Tupperware.

Achmed knows that you like gazelle horns because last week when you went together to an Algerian restaurant for take-out portions of a stew called chorba you bought a powdered-sugar-coated gazelle horn for dessert even though he told you not to. You’d thought that he was saying that because he believes you eat too many sweets, but he was actually trying to warning you off without saying so in front of the owner. It turned out to be hard, stale and too sugary. “I told you,” he said. “I knew they were industrial, not homemade, and could have been sitting there for weeks.”

He then tells you the following story: Many years ago, soon after he arrived in France, he bought a gazelle horn at a Tunisian bakery. The owner had told him that it was freshly made. Achmed took it home to have after dinner. When he tried to break it in half he couldn’t. He took a knife to it and even then had to insist until it finally splintered apart. And it tasted like plaster. The following day he returned the shards to the bakery and told the Tunisian owner that his so-called fresh gazelle horn was stale. The guy offered to exchange it for a new one. Achmed said, “If you can easily cut into one of those on your shelf, I’ll buy them all.” The guy picked one up and tried to break it in two but it was hard as rock. He asked if Achmed wanted a refund. Achmed said, “No, but I’m never coming back to your bakery. My name isn’t Jean-Paul or Pierre-Jacques. Maybe they’ll keep coming back for more, but not me. I’m from Algiers. You can’t get away with that with someone from Algeria.”

You ask how he knew that the chorba we’d had last week was homemade. “Because I’ve seen the kitchen, I’ve spoken with the chef, and I’ve also seen the truck that delivers the pastries.”

You allow yourself then to broach the subject of the camembert. “Excuse me for mentioning this,” you say, “but the camembert you brought—and I thank you for it—won’t be good for the same reason: it’s hard, pasteurized and industrial. It’s camembert in name only. I don’t mean to offend you, I just want to let you know that if you’re going to buy a camembert it should be Camembert de Normandie, made from raw milk.”

“I’m not offended,” says Achmed. “I just didn’t think you were so French.”

© 2019, 2021, Gary Lee Kraut

The post You know you live in Paris when … Gazelle Horns appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

So here is one way to re-raise the culinary bar with a summer sandwich recipe.

The ingredients
1. A traditional baguette, up to one half per person.
2. Comté cheese aged 18 months, 100-150 grams (3.5-5.3 ounces) per person.
3. Mustard with truffles, up to one teaspoonful, to taste, per person.

The traditional baguette

Formally called une baguette de tradition française, un pain traditionnel français, or un pain traditionnel [de France], and colloquially known as une tradition [s’il vous plait], the make-up of a traditional baguette is defined by a governmental decree of 1993. It must contain only wheat flour, water and salt, along with yeast, with tolerance for very limited amounts of other flours. Plenty of other delicious breads, including non-traditional baguettes and other loaves may also be tried with this recipe if you don’t have a baker of excellent traditional baguettes nearby. However, a traditional baguette is best.

While the proper portion of tender crumb (mie) to cracking crust (croûte) is important for any baguette, I prefer for this recipe a traditional baguette on the slightly white (blanche, meaning less baked) side of the spectrum, as opposed to the crustier more baked (cuite) version. In any case, it should remain within the mid-range, neither too blanche nor too cuite. It is essential that the baguette not be over 3 hours old, otherwise toasting in required. If there are several bread bakers within reach of your grocery rounds, it’s advisable to decide upon the best maker of traditional baguettes before attempting this recipe. Your stick of bread should also be kindly served at the bakery; a fine-looking baguette from an unkind seller may contain traces of bad karma. (Within my shopping radius, the prize baguette is found at 58 rue de Lancry in the 10th arrondissement.)

A single baguette feeds two for an adult’s lunch where this sandwich is the principal “dish.” For those who like figures, count two-fifths to four-ninths of a baguette per sandwich. That leaves a small portion which may have already been eaten on the way from the bakery anyway.

The cheese

This recipe calls for a semi-hard raw-milk cow cheese with a sharpness that is present yet not overly pronounced. My preference is for a Comté cheese aged 18 months. Comté is the most popular cheese in France. Produced in 80-pound wheels, three feet in diameter, then aged in the area of its production for four months to four years, Comté comes from the Jura Massif, a sub-alpine range along the French-Swiss border. We are naturally on the French side with this sandwich, in the Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region for the most part. (Some Comté also produced in Ain, on the northern edge of the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region). The Montbéliarde breed of cow is the primary source (95%) of milk for Comté, while 5% of the overall herd is comprised of the Simmental breed.

Much of the production is placed on the market after less than 12 months in the maturing cellars. However, those younger Comté risk being overwhelmed by the mustard with truffles in this recipe, while older Comtés aged 24 months or more stand best on their own. A 15-month Comté may do, but at 18 months there’s an ideal balance between its nuttiness and its saltiness, a saltiness that becomes more pronounced with ageing. (Note: What may appear to be salt in older Comtés of 18 months and more are in fact cheese crystals, as one might find in older Parmesans). Together, the nuttiness and the saltiness at 18 months further balance well with the mustard with truffles. Learn about Comté aging in this video.

I’ve also tried this recipe with a flavorful sheep cheese, such as a Tomme Corse, from Corsica, aged close to one year, and found it quite interesting. I’ve also experimented with a Brie de Melun (not Brie de Meaux), from just east of Paris, aged 10 weeks, and enjoyed that as well, though I prefer for this recipe a cheese with a semi-hard texture. In a pinch, when French cheese isn’t available, Comté can be replaced by an aged sharp cheddar. In any case, this is an element of the recipe that’s worth playing with according to your taste and the availability of various cheeses. Just be sure to select a gracefully aged cheese with a pronounced but not stinky taste on its own.

The mustard

The Romans of Antiquity were likely the first mustard makers in Europe, but the international conquest of the condiment comes from the appetite of the Dukes of Burgundy during the Middle Ages, particularly from their duchy’s capital in Dijon. Hence the reputation of Dijon in your own lifetime, more than 600 years later.

Dijon mustard (which isn’t necessarily from Dijon and might better be thought of as Dijon-style mustard) is prepared with dark mustard seeds, which have a sharper bite than the mild yellow (actually, yellow-white) variety. The English language gets the word mustard from the Old French moustarde (moutarde in Modern French). Mustum (Latin)/ moût (French)/ must (English) refers to the grape juice or young wine that was added to the grains to create the mustard paste.

Nowadays, 70% of French-made Dijon mustards use grains from Canada, but the jar used in this recipe contains only grains from Burgundy, administratively part of the Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region.

My mustard of choice for this summer sandwich is one with bits of white summer truffles, moutarde aux brisures de truffes blanches d’été. Specifically, a limited-edition product made by Reine de Dijon, a company based just outside of Dijon. The truffles in question are tuber aestivum, at 1.1%—a small but potent percentage. Use sparsely but markedly, enough to reach the nose when you first pick up your sandwich but not enough to overwhelm the bread and the cheese. The amount is key so as not to upset the proper balance of this sandwich. Do not feel that you have to cover every nook and cranny of the mie (crumb) of the bread. If this is your first time using truffled mustard then you may want to take a test run on with the nib of the baguette. (I will not at this time discuss the debate within the culinary community in France as to whether it should be placed on the bottom or top portion of the sliced baguette.)

Edmond Fallot, another regional mustard house (moutarderie), which can be visited in Beaune, the main town just south of Dijon, makes what might be considered a more precious mustard using fall-winter truffles (truffe de Bourgogne, tuber uncanitum, 5%). However, that mustard is more appropriately served with grilled meats or rabbit, or perhaps integrated into a homemade mayonnaise for other dishes, rather than used as a delicate condiment for this summer sandwich. (I could well imagine either mustard properly dosed to add a kick to a sandwich of raw roast beef, with or without cheese, and leave you to experiment with that at home.)

Maille, the most internationally known Burgundy-based mustard producers, also makes a line of truffled mustards.

No other condiments are needed.

How to serve

Cut in half. Best when served with fruit or salad. Avoid serving with potato chips (though I understand the temptation). This summer sandwich should be served soon after preparation.

Suggested wine

Côtes de Jura vin jaune, a deep yellow wine, as the name indicates, from the same region as the Comté cheese. I’ve also had a delightful experience in pairing with this dish a 100% pinot meunier brut champagne, which has the advantage of serving as the aperitif as well.

See this video for other wine and Comté pairing ideas and this video for other dishes with Comté.

© 2020, Gary Lee Kraut.

The post A Summer Cheese Sandwich Recipe appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Yu Jia’s message both embarrassed and pleased me. It pleased me because she said that she enjoyed my writing. It further pleased me that she was interested enough to want more, particularly the more that I’d promised at the end of Part IV. “Part V: Mont Dore, Saint Nectaire and Chaudes-Aigues will be posted later in May,” I’d noted as a teaser.

Mostly, though, I was embarrassed. I hadn’t kept my promise, I’d given up, and Yu Jia was reminding me of that. I don’t remember giving up—one rarely does—but no doubt my inspiration had waned and as it did I let something distract me from the long-winded project of a 6-part series. Afterwards, I thought it occasionally, but only in passing, without the will or the inspiration to complete Parts V and VI.

Scrapbooks
Trip reports such as this Auvergne series are like scrapbooks. You sit down with pieces that you’ve collected from your recent travels—notes, photographs, audio, press kits, brochures, books—then stitch together the highlights and a few mid- and low-lights with observations, impressions, transitions and additional research. Chronology is an easy organizer. Furthermore, most of the steps of my 5-day 2012 Auvergne trip were planned in advance. I prepared and published the texts for the first four parts at a rhythm of one per week.

But some scrapbooks (and articles) don’t get finished. The scraps never get booked, so to speak; they remain in folders and the audio gets thrown out with an old computer. I’ll finish it one of these days, you say to yourself whenever you come across the folder or whenever someone mentions the place you’ve been.

Within two months after completing Part IV, I’d written articles about Kaysersberg, Colmar, Chambéry, Blois, Chateau-Thierry, a restaurant in Paris and a WWI memorial in the suburbs. I traveled; folders accumulated. And the chances of “one of these days” putting together the remaining Auvergne scraps became increasingly slim.

8 years on
It’s now April 2020, the spring of Covid-19 lockdown. That Auvergne trip was eight years ago. I’ve only been back to Auvergne once since then but nowhere near the area covered in this series. In a sense, Auvergne no longer exists. Since 2016, the official map of France has contained 13 regions rather than the 22 at the time of my visit. Auvergne has merged with the Rhône-Alpes region to become Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes. Actually, I’ve visited Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes once or twice a year since 2012, so I could fudge the facts by saying that I’ve returned to region of this series many times in the past eight years. But in all honesty I can’t. Administrative region or not, Auvergne is Auvergne, everyone knows that. The parts covered in this series have nothing to do with the Rhone or the Alps. So, no, I haven’t been to Auvergne since March 2012.

Why, then, return to this Auvergne series now?

Because in cleaning out and updating some articles on France Revisited during lockdown, I came across Yu Jia’s message. I had never “approved” it (i.e. allowed it to be made public on the site) when she wrote it in the comments section beneath Part IV. Yet I hadn’t trashed it either. Nor had I hidden my tracks by deleting the announcement in May 2012 that parts V and VI would be coming soon. For 7½ years Yu Jia’s message awaited in the limbo of the dashboard of this site, staring me down as a comment awaiting action: approve, trash or spam. It stared me down again a few days ago—”Too bad parts V and VI aren’t up, I did want to read about Mont Dore and St. Nectaire in particular”—a reminder that I still I owed Yu something. So I “approved” the message as a dare to myself to complete the series during coronavirus quarantine and began stitching and pasting together scraps and memories from my Auvergne trip of 2012.

It wouldn’t make sense to pretend now that this follows the momentum of the first four parts of the series. I’ll therefore leave the scraps in italics and place other facts, impressions, memories and comments in roman.

This is for Yu.

Mont Dore

Three types of hot springs. Living, dead, hot.

Either my guide in Mont Dore (aka Le Mont Dore) said that or that was a summary of what I’d learned about hot springs over the three days in Auvergne leading up to Mont Dore. Either way, if there are indeed three types, I don’t recall the distinction between living and hot, and I prefer the mystery of not knowing.

I’m more intrigued by another mystery: Why would you, Yu, a young woman from Singapore, still in her twenties, want to read “in particular” about Mont Dore. I can fathom an interest in Saint Nectaire—there’s the cheese and the Romanesque church. But why Mont Dore? Who’s even heard of Mont Dore, remote and bygone as it is? (Not to be confused with Mont d’Or, the fabulous and fattening runny cow cheese from the Jura region of eastern France.)

Sight of the slate roofs while approaching the hills. Le Mont Dore, at an altitude of 1000 meters. The ski slopes are 3 miles from town. The town feels unused/underused. Tourist official explains: “We’re between seasons,” nevertheless “Declining population, a town that lives from tourism and curists.”

I don’t recall the slate roofs, though I do see them in my photos. I do remember winding through hills and valleys on my way to Mont Dore from where I’d stayed the previous night near Chatel-Guyon. I remember some splendid inter-seasonal views of a choppy landscape and of lakes and hills appearing around bends or through pines. I remember above all the unused/underused feel of Mont Dore when I arrived. I remember that it brought the pleasant sense of having arrived at an oasis.

What’s especially stayed with me about Mont Dore is the thought that I’d like to settle here, or someplace like here, for a month and read and write and walk and get familiar with strangers, if they’ll let me and make the place mine for a bit. Do you ever feel that when you travel, Yu? Stopping someplace for just a few hours, do you ever think: I wonder what it would be like to settle down for a few weeks to “live” the town and explore the immediate surroundings on foot, never with transportation? Though “settle down” is the wrong term for the momentary attraction that I had for Mont Dore. “Shelter in place,” as we say today, would be more like it, within the confines not of a house or an apartment but of the entire town of Mont Dore and its surrounding landscape. You wouldn’t be there to escape anything, you’d be there… well, you’d just be there, between seasons. Then you’d want leave before too many tourists and curists arrived and transformed your quiet town. Not that you would actually ever shelter in place there. Not that you’d ever return to the place after that first visit and the original impression. But do you know what I mean?

The source of the Dordogne River is just above Mont Dore. Snow-capped massif visible from town. Situated along the Roman road from Clermont-Ferrand. Vestiges of Gallo-Roman thermal baths. The current thermal baths opened in 1823, with later additions and mosaics, including a portion from 1920. The casino burned down in 1962. Eight springs, 38-44 degrees, are now used particularly for rheumatology and respiratory illnesses. During WWI, gassed soldiers brought here from the front. Hot springs exploited since about 2000 by the Chaine Thermal de Soleil, which operates 20 establishments in France. Not always water therapy, sometimes vapors are used for nasal baths and injections. The nasal infiltration room; glass canopy by Gustave Eiffel; original wall mosaics from the 1930s. No noise or movement to distract the eye as it takes in the basilica-like space of the neo-Byzantine architecture, recently restored, light from the glass black of the barrel ceiling. Villas and grand hotels. Between seasons.

I don’t remember the villas, the grand hotels or whatever building replaced the casino. But the dramatic, archaic emptiness of the hot springs complex between seasons—go for that, Yu. Between seasons.

The Dordogne and Dore Rivers meet at the foot of Sancy Mountain as the Dordogne River begins on its course southwestward before turning due west about 90 miles from here to form what most people think of when they think of the Dordogne Valley.

I’ve just looked up the population of Mont Dore. It’s been in continual decline since 1982 when there were over 2300 inhabitant. In 2019 there were 1300. How sad, an exodus, people leaving parent and relatives, unrooting themselves. Or hopeful, but with something diminished left behind. I wish them well. Let’s move on to Saint Nectaire before this trip report becomes an elegy.

Saint Nectaire

Another beautiful drive. Though I left Clermont-Ferrand three days ago on this meandering itinerary, I look at the map to see that I’m still less than an hour’s direct drive from my point of departure. Questions of near and far.

What questions? I was preparing a trip report, not an essay on distance. Sometimes one writes cryptic notes to oneself, don’t you find? With corona lockdown, everything that isn’t near seems far. I might have thought about those “questions” because Saint Nectaire also felt empty when I arrived, or because the feeling of Mont Dore was still with me when I arrived at Saint Nectaire and checked into the hotel Mercure.

But the feeling evaporated during lunch.

By contrast with the emptiness of the hotel, the busyness of the brasserie Les Baladins is a sign of a living town. I had a hearty St. Nectaire fondue for lunch. Population 728.

Lunch was more than hearty. My photo reminds me that it was absolutely and appetizingly local and delectable, the kind of meal and the kind of place where the hungry traveler says: This is good living, despite what the ingredients whisper about heart disease. (Like the pancakes, bacon and eggs on the table of the post you wrote about celebrating your 23rd birthday in Paris. But thinking about heart disease when you’re 23 is a personal crime.) To judge from the photo, I was not alone for lunch. (Neither were you for your birthday, to judge by yours.)

Saint Nectaire once had 25 hotels serving “curists” coming for ailments related to rheumatism and urinary problems. Once the cure season was over, employees would leave town to find work elsewhere, e.g. Clermont. The thermal baths closed their doors in 2004. Currently, four hotels are in operation. I’m staying in one of them. It’s nearly empty. Remnants of the 19th-century thermal baths can be seen at the Hotel Les Bains Romanes and at the Tourist Office.

Unlike other spa towns whose reputation has faded with a diminished interest in taking a cure, the name Saint Nectaire is still well-known in France because of the cheese of the same name that’s produced here and in the 69 surrounding communes. Plus, while thermalism is dead at St. Nectaire, for church hunters this is one of the prizes of central France.

A prize indeed!

You know all those great soaring Gothic cathedrals and churches of Paris and its surrounding regions, Yu? Of course you do. I saw the picture that you took from the towers of Notre-Dame on your birthday. An impressive cathedral; an impressive view. Sometimes, however, those Notre-Dames of northern France seem to me to be trying too hard compared with the ease of the rounded arches and the effortless proportions of the Romanesque period—at Saint Nectaire, for example—that proceeded the extensive use of the ribbed vaults and the pointed arches at those Notre-Dames.

On a promontory overlooking the valley (and the lower town), exquisite proportions, an impassive western façade through which one enters to the shadows of the narthex and the light of the choir illuminating the whitewashed stone and the polychrome capitals. Storytelling capitals.

Were those scrap words mine or those of the excellent guide who steered me around and through the edifice? Or were they the words of her source? Doesn’t matter: I could see it, I could feel it, from near and from far, a vast and harmonious church in such a remote area. Worth the detour, as they say in the guides.

A lengthy and thorough restoration 2002-2009.

Legend has it that Saint Nectaire, a Greek who encountered Christians in Rome then came to evangelize in this area, early 4th century, created an oratory here. Saint Nectaire said to be accompanied by Saint Auditeur and Saint Baudime. Rebuilt by Benedictine monks in the 12th century. Made with lava stone. Red, beige, blue?, grey. Belonged to the monks of La Chaise Dieu until the Revolution. A pilgrimage church, one of the 5 major Romanesque churches of Auvergne.

The question mark that follows “blue” is enough to make me want to go back to examine my doubt.

While I’d elected to focus my 5-day itinerary in Auvergne on spa towns, I can well imagine the parallel interest of an itinerary that aims for those five major Romanesque churches: Saint Nectaire, Notre-Dame in Saint-Saturnin, Saint-Austremoine in Issoire, Notre-Dame-du Port in Clermont-Ferrand, Notre-Dame Basilica in Orcival. I kept the brochure.

The treasure of Saint Nectaire is a 12th-century bust of St. Baudime, a wood sculpture covered with gilded copper. See also the Virgin and Child in the choir.

I had an appointment with Mayor Alphonse Bellonte outside the church at the end of the visit. As I write this, between the two rounds of municipal elections, Alfonse Bellonte is still mayor of Saint Nectaire.

The natural, warm welcome of this big fellow has undoubtedly contributed to my favorable view of Saint Nectaire from that day. He didn’t start, as most mayors do, by telling me anything about his town but rather about how much he’d enjoyed visiting Cleveland and Baltimore several months prior to my visit. The trip had been an extraordinary journey of discovery for him, one that he wanted to share me, an American. But Cleveland and Baltimore? Yes, he’d followed Saint Baudime on tour to those cities, and during that visit he’d marveled at the generous welcome that he’d received from his hosts.

Alphonse Bellonte is also a producer of saint nectaire fermier. Fermier (farmhouse, we would say) indicates that it uses raw milk from a single farm. Saint nectaire fermier is one of the kings of France’s farmhouse cow cheeses. Industrial saint nectaire also exists; the milk used for that can come from more than one farm and be pasteurized. The farmhouse version is tastier.

I visited the mayor’s farm, Ferme Bellonte. (Other farms in the area can also be visited.) The Bellonte family has been in the cheese business for eight generations in Saint Nectaire, and for several generations elsewhere prior to that. Ferme Bellonte is open to the public (free and daily, year-round). The farm’s 110 cows, primarily a breed called montéliarde, are milked twice each day, 7-8am and 4:15-5:15pm, followed by the cheese making 9-10am and 6-7pm, so time your visit according to your interest, Yu, or stay long enough for both. I did. (Times indicated are Daylight Saving Time, so an hour earlier in winter.)

Each cow here produces more or less about 15 liters of milk per day. 15 liters of milk for 1 round of cheese. So the farm makes about 100 saint nectaires per day. 8 days in the refrigerator then 5 weeks of cellar maturing on straw mats. Aging cellars here are 1000-year-old troglodyte quarry rooms, formerly inhabited by people and/or farm animals, which can also be visited. Summer farmhouse saint nectaire is softer and tastier.

I bought some saint nectaire fermier for lunch today. The rind, I now see, echoes the color of the exterior of the church: Red, beige, grey. Blue? I can smell (or imagine that I smell) the humid cellar and the straw on which it’s aged, though the taste of this semi-hard cheese is mild.

In addition to the spa town route and the Romanesque church route, Yu, you might also melt into the itinerary the AOP Auvergne cheese route (AOP=PAO, Protected Appellation of Origin): saint nectaire, cantal (semi-hard, pressed, raw or pasteurized, typically aged up to 6 months), salers (raw milk, pressed, aged up to 9 months), fourme d’Ambert (a mild blue) and bleu d’Auvergne (a creamy blue), all from cow’s milk.

By the way, Yu, due to the coronavirus crisis, farmers, industry and authorities have to deal with the excess amount of milk being produced in view of decreased consumption. (My Paris cheese tastings have been halted!) So the strict rules of producing an AOP saint nectaire have been modified to allow for newly cultured cheese to be frozen in anticipation of aging and sale next year. Production and storage times have also been modified slightly for blue d’Auvergne and fourme d’Ambert, as well for some cheeses produced elsewhere in France.

In the morning, breaking from the two-hour drive to Chaudes Aigues, a quick stop in the town of Issoire to visit St. Austremoine Church, the largest of the five Romanesque majors. A visual feast of its extravagant and jubilant painted columns and walls.

While the columns do indeed seem to be “extravagant and jubilant” when I look at my pictures of the interior, I must have been in an upbeat mood to jot down those words. It must have been one of those “Wow, I’m glad I stopped here!” road-trip moments before getting back into the car.

Chaudes-Aigues

The problem with scraps, Yu, and in particular my written scraps from Chaudes-Aigues, is that they amount to no more than wikifacts without footnotes. Absent some evidence that I had actually been there to “experience” the place (I put experience in quotes because what does that mean, really?), you might be tempted to skip this section. After all, your message said that you were particularly interested in Mont Dore and Saint Nectaire—not a word about Chaudes-Aigues. How then to get you to scroll beyond the fact bites?

Chaudes = hot, Aigues = eaux. The town’s inhabitants are called caldagaises.
The various springs emerge at 52-82 degrees Celsius [126-180°F ]. The 82° springs are the hottest in Europe. The village exists since about 1332, date of the construction of the first houses. We’re at 750 meters [2460 feet] in altitude. Population about 900, 3000 in summer. 1500 curists during the April-November cure season. The water at the thermal baths is 52 degrees. The water comes from 5000 meters underground. Each quarter of the village has a patron saint.

Among the 32 springs, the majority of which are private, some provide heat in winter on the ground floor of houses, about 20 of them. Those whose homes are heated with the hot spring pay only an annual maintenance fee of 30-100€, depending on the length of the piping network and the temperature. Pipes get clogged with deposit; they need to be cleaned often, eventually replaced. The church is heated this way as is the municipal swimming pool. The springs also feed the thermal baths (expanded in 2004), the fountain (where I boiled my egg) and the lavoir (publish wash basin), which is still used and where the water, which contains sodium bicarbonate, is good for bleaching.

Before 2004, about three-quarters of homes were heated by the spring called Source du Par. Since then, three-quarters of the flow is used by the thermal center and for the swimming the pool from June to September (through a spring water serpentine) + to heat the church (to 20-25°C/68-77°F) + to boil my egg. The little Geothermalism Museum explains how houses were/are heated and shows pipes that get obstruct quickly with carbonate deposits and must be cleaned frequently.

On your blog, Yu, you define yourself as a baroudeuse, an adventurer. I don’t think of myself in the same way; I’m not a baroudeur, just someone who travels sometimes, happy enough with the adventure of boiling an egg in the fountain made at a hot spring in Chaudes-Aigues in Auvergne.

Centre Caleden, thermal center that belongs to the Cantal department in a new building since 2009. Includes thermal baths, spa, fun pool, hotel, residences. Water comes out at 32-37 degrees depending on where. The average age of those who come for the cure is 65, often “retirees and professors.” The cure lasts 3 weeks, prescribed by a doctor, with 60-100% reimbursed by the Sécu [the French health system]. 230 curists come in the morning, fitness program clients then come in the afternoon.

Lunch with Claire Soyer Le Thorel, director of the Chaudes-Aigues Tourist Office at owner/chef Simone Gascuel’s Le Moulin des Templiers, in Jabrun, a 10-minute drive from Chaudes Aigues. SG’s mother ran a café here in what was formerly a mill, rebuilt after WWII. Her father wanted her to work in the kitchen. [Now there’s a line that’s open to interpretation! It means nothing to me as I read it now; I assume that it meant something to SG if she said it to me. What did your father want you to do, Yu? Mine wanted me to be a doctor. He also liked to travel.] My first encounter with Le Birlou, an apple and chestnut liqueur that smells like apple and tastes like chestnut. Salade de gesier, blanquette de veau, pruneau au vin rouge.

That’s it, Yu. I left Chaudes-Aigues soon after that for the Aubrac Plateau. My article about that, the sixth and final part of this series, will be published soon. I promise.

In the meantime, I have a question for you, Yu. After your two-year stay in France and the celebration of your 23rd birthday in Paris with pancakes and gargoyles, you visited over the following year New York, Quebec, Nova Scotia, Malaysia and Montenegro. A barodeuse indeed! Then you were in Istria, Croatia, taking your time before “the drive back to civilization.” With that line you ended your blog. Did you ever make it back?

© 2012, 2020, Gary Lee Kraut

Return to:
Part I: From Paris to Clermont-Ferrand
Part II: An Introduction to Spa Towns and Hot Springs By Way of Royat
Part III: Chatel-Guyon 
Part IV: Château La Canière, a Luxury Hotel

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* * *

Every French region is passionate about its own cheeses, but as in so many things the Corsicans are just a little more passionate about theirs. It’s said that you can’t understand the island if you haven’t tasted brocciu, a flavorful soft-white fresh cheese made from sheep’s or goat’s milk.

Brocciu season begins in November and continues through June, mirroring the milking season. There’s a bit more than milk in the mix though. Brocciu is the first French AOC cheese to include whey (lactosérum), a byproduct that is usually abandoned when cheese is made.

How do you eat brocciu… aside from every chance you get? Corsican chefs whip it into omelets with a hint of mint, stuff cannelloni with it and even eat it for breakfast. It’s also the key ingredient for the zesty lemon-flavored cheesecake called fiandone.

Chef Vincent Deyres, born on the mainland, is a converted Corsican. Almost everything served at the two Villa Corse restaurants in Paris (one in the 15th, one in the 16th) that he supervises is imported from the island: the fish, the famous charcuterie that comes from chestnut-grazing boar, the chestnut flour to make the bread and of course the brocciu. A highlight of our recent lunch was garganelli pasta with a memorable sauce that blended creamy brocciu with tangy Corsican tome cheese and slices of hazelnut-scented prisutto ham.

But brocciu is not the only winter food draw from Corsica. As of December (and until the weather warms), Villa Corse’s menu features the velvety pork-liver sausage called ficatellu. Deyres gets his directly from Ange Andreucci’s farm in Zéveco.

The three-course lunch is 30€, and a copious main dish comes to 17€50 with coffee. Try a glass of Patrimonio’s dry white Orenga de Gaffory wine, 7€, if you order that amazing pasta. There are two locations – Right and Left Bank – but right now, we suggest the newly redecorated Rive Gauche location in the 15th arrondissement. One of the new amenities is a table d’hôte that seats 12.

La Villa Corse
Rive Gauche: 164 boulevard de Grenelle, 15th arr. Tel: 01 53 86 70 81. Metro La Motte Picquet Grenelle.
Rive Droite: 141 Avenue de Malakoff, 16th arr. Tel: 01 40 67 18 44. Metro Porte Maillot.
Both are closed on Sunday.

© 2013, Corinne LaBalme

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Due to the importance of agriculture and agricultural lobbies in France, French president Francois Hollande, following in the footsteps of his predecessors, made ample room in his schedule to visit the show, spending 10 hours there—impressive, though down from 12 hours when he was candidate for president a year ago.

After inaugurating the event, M. Hollande attended the milking of the cows, met with union leaders and producers, farmers, farmhands, and children, laid a presidential hand on one-ton beef cattle, futuristic cows and other precision animals, cute, wooly and otherwise remarkable, tasted enough cheese, beverages and other appellation delights to make a Francophile swoon, made a political declaration about the need for better labeling for beef in prepared dishes (response to horse meat scandal), and overall showed the manure-loving bonhomie that the exercise requires. So can you, minus the presidential hand.

I, meanwhile, at least in the morning, was over in a vast hall nearby tasting wine in my role as a judge for the Concours Général Agricole (annual agricultural competition) discerning, along with four cohorts, gold, silver and bronze medals to the best of the 15 Chateauneuf-du-Pape 2012 white and 2011 red wines.

For our joyful troubles we left with purple teeth, a medal of our own (see photo), an ice bag (not for our head but for chilling wine), and three invitations to attend the Agriculture Show during the week.

We’re giving those invitations to the first two people* to correctly answer the following question:

What appellation cheese is being made here?

Since no correct answers came from that clue, and since an image of this healthy meal enjoyed in that cheese town may not do the trick…

… then maybe it will help to know that the cheese bears the same as this church:

Send your response to moi, Gary Lee Kraut, at francerevisited@aol.com, with “Name that cheese” in the subject line.

If no correct answer is received by Tuesday evening Paris time, Feb. 26, then a final clue will be posted here as well as on my personal Facebook page and on the France Revisited Facebook page (new FB friends welcome).

Contest over, we have our winners. And the name of that cheese is….

… Saint-Nectaire.

Congratulations to our winners, Jennifer (2 tickets) and Lynn (1 ticket), and to the others who got the right name right if not fast enough.

*Name That Cheese Contest Rules:
– The first person to send the correct response will receive 2 invitations. The second person to send the second correct response will receive 1 invitation.
– One entry per person per clue. In other words, you can send your guess after the first clue and then a second guess after the second clue and a third after the third.
– Anyone can enter for the fun of it, however you must have a mailing address (it can be a hotel) within Paris or the Paris region in order to be declared a winner and receive the prize. The reason for this is that the show ends on Sunday and the invitations will be sent out on Tuesday or Wednesday, meaning they will normally be received by the winners with only two or three days to be used. You can wait until you have been declared winner in order to provide your address but please indicate your city of residence in your initial e-mail.
– No purchase required.
– Invitations cannot be sold.
– Prizes will be mailed out by regular J+1 priority mailing at La Poste.
– We/I cannot be responsible if the invitations fail to arrive on time and apologize in advance for postal delivery.

Attending the show with or without an invitation: The International Agriculture Show (Salon de l’Agriculture) at Porte de Versailles is open from 9am to 7pm until March 3 and also in the evening until 11pm on Friday March 1.

Tickets: €13; €6 for children from 6 to 12, students on presentation of ID, everyone on Friday March 1 after 7pm; €9 for disabled people (upon presentation of disability card) and the person accompanying them; free for children under 6.

The next Paris/France Revisited contest will take place during the week leading up to March 20.

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Where is Allier?: The department of Allier is in the center of France within the region of Auvergne. Specifically, my destination was an area within Allier known as Pays Bourbon or Le Bourbonnais. Le Bourbonnais was the feudal fiefdom of the Bourbon family whose descendants eventually became kings of France and Spain. Spanish King Juan Carlos I is a Bourbon as is Grand Duke of Luxembourg Henri I. The capital of Allier is Moulins, 2:23 by direct train from Paris. The Allier River runs through Moulins.

Amount of time: 2 days, 1 night, but would have liked an additional day to visit more wine producers and Charolais farmers.

Local products tasted, tested, enjoyed: Saint Pourcain wines, Charolais beef, several cheeses.

Notable sights in Le Bourbonnais

In Moulins:  National Center for Theatrical Costumes and Scenography (Centre National du Costume de Scène), offers some fabulous temporary exhibits for admirers of costumes, fashion and stage performance of all kinds; Mantin Mansion (Maison Mantin), restored home a wealthy man of the late 19th-century left more or less as it was, according to his will, plus the adjacent and Anne de Beaujeu Pavilion/Museum; Le Grand Café, an Art Nouveau café-brasserie whose 1899 décor is listed as a historical monument; a walk in the old town.

Romanesque-at-heart churches near Moulins:  The Priory Church of Souvigny (Eglise prieurale St-Pierre et St-Paul), contains the tombs of the Dukes of Bourbon and is the subject of a fascinating guided tour; Saint Menoux Church, Eglise Saint-Menoux, in the village of Saint Menoux, where legend has it that sticking one’s head in the saint’s tomb (it has a big hole in the side and yes you can) is said to render the simple-minded more intelligent.

Bourbon-l’Archambault: An old spa town with ruins of the feudal fortified castle of the Dukes of Bourbon. Rooms in two castle’s towers contain exhibits that about castle life in the Middle Ages; especially designed for children but informative for all. See restaurant noted below.

TASTED, TESTED

CHEESE

Gaperon, a cow cheese with garlic and a bit of pepper. Dome-shaped, with a natural white crust, medium soft (elasticky) inside, made from raw or pasteurized milk. Not strong to the smell but with a nice little (not overwhelming) peppered garlic kick to it. Traditionally cured by hanging from a string on a hook by a fireplace. The name gaperon comes from gape, meaning buttermilk in a local dialect, since buttermilk was originally added. Its origin is actually said to be in the area of Billom, Auvergne’s garlic capital, in the department of Puy-du-Dome which is just south of Allier. For that reason it’s pared with Cotes d’Auvergne red wines, which, like the reds of Saint Pourcain tested here, are made from gamay and pinot noir grapes.

Sept-Fons, a cow cheese made by Trappist monks in the Abbey of Notre Dame de Sept-Fons in Dompierre-sur-Bresbe.

Cérilly, a very fresh cow cheese preferably made with raw milk by the cheese producing company Déret et fils. There are different versions of Cérilly, from a fromage blanc version to slightly aged versions with a crust by way of the fresh, white, mild spreadable version that I enjoyed. (Déret et fils also produces a blue cheese called Bleu Bourbon.)

Sept-Fons and Cérilly stood out among the cheeses I tried while lunching in the small town of Boubon-l’Archembault at the Grand Hotel Montespan Talleyrand, 2-4 place des Thermes, 03160 Bourbon-l’Archambault. Tel 04 70 67 00 24. This Grand is a great old-fashion 3-star hotel and restaurant with vast rooms and Louis XIV-style décor. Both the hotel and restaurant are worth the detour to this small spa town.

BEEF
Charolais. My main aim for lunch at the Grand Hotel Montespan Talleyrand wasn’t actually to discover those cheeses but rather to try a thick marbled rump of Charolais beef, simply grilled.

White or cream-colored Charolais cattle dot the otherwise green landscape in much of the Bourbonnais and beyond. Charolais actually derives its name from the town of Charolles in southern Burgundy, just over the regional border from the department Allier, so Burgundians naturally claim the Charolais as one of its own. Charolais developed from a strong workaday bovine into an animal bred for beef in the late 18th century. In the 19th century its breeding zone spread, including to the Bourbonnais, which remains a central breeding ground for Charolais.

Charolais du Bourbonnais, as the Red Label beef produced in the area is called, must be traditionally raised traditional with calves feeding on its mother’s milk then 8-9 months of the year at pasture, moving to the stable from the end of November to March, where it’s fed hay, fodder, cereal and grain.  If interested in buying a couple of local Charolais to create your own herd, here’s where.  Sheep are also raised locally for Agneau du Boubonnais. For further information on both meats see the Bourbonnais meats site.

Charolais beef is tastiest and most tender when grilled on the outside, medium rare or rarer on the inside.

By the way, grilled beef is served in France as either bleu (meaning blue), with a quick flick of less than 30 seconds on the grill, saignant (meaning bloody) with up to a minute on the grill on either side, what we would consider as rare, and à point, which might appear medium rare to medium.  Bien cuit (meaning well done) would be anything beyond that, in which case the chef stops paying attention.

WINE
Saint Pourcain
Saint Pourcain—red, white and rosé—is among the lesser known appellations in France. For those unfamiliar with the geography of the center of France—I’m still shaky on it myself—it’s difficult to situate. It’s among a diverse grouping of wines from the Upper Loire region, which is far removed from the main body of Loire Valley vineyards. The closest major winegrowing regions are Burgundy and Beaujolais about 85 miles to the east. For those with a clearer sense of the geography of wine regions in France, the zone (and in some ways the taste) can be considered as being midway between Maconnais and Sancerre.

The production zone forms a long band along the Allier and Sioule Rivers covering a variety of soils. Part of that zone, the part that I visited, is located in the Bourbonnais.

Five main grape varietals can go into Saint Pourcain, the most area-specific being tressalier used in white wines here, along with chardonnay and sauvignon blanc. All Saint Pourcain whites must contain at least 20% of tressalier even though the predominant taste is with the chardonnay or the sauvignon. The reds and rosés are made from pinot noir and gamay, a reflection of the zones relative proximity to Burgundy for the former and Beaujolais for the latter.

Friends in Paris had served as an aperitif a nice white Saint Pourcain produced by the Laurent family a few days before this trip, but here I visited Domaine Gardien, operated by the Gardien brothers Olivier (left in photo) and Christophe (right). The domain consists of 21 hectares (52 acres) of vines in the northernmost area of the Saint Pourcain production zone. The soil of their vines is clay and flint, often with white pebbles on the topsoil.

Among the Gardien brothers’ whites I preferred those with the sauvignon left out, i.e. the 80% chardonnay/20% tressallier 2007 Réserve des Grands Jours, kept en lie and in oak barrels for 6 months, bottled two years after harvest.

There must be something to those percentages that appeal to me because it was the 80% pinot noir/20% gamay 2007 Réserve des Grands Jours that I preferred it among the reds. It’s a fairly hefty dark berry wine though not to be confused with substantial reds made further east. Earlier in the day I’d had the Secret de Jaligny, a 100% old vine pinot noir to accompany a Charolais. Though considered their top of the line I found it less notable, perhaps because I’d recently been to a Burgundy tasting and had a trip to Burgundy coming up a week later.

Saint Pourcain is largely unknown in the U.S. and the U.K. and the few bottles available there may not represent the variety of offerings available closer to the production zone. Even in Paris there are few references in wine shops. Of course, this isn’t a top French wine, in fact it’s relatively inexpensive (4-10 euros per bottle in France), but it is certainly a local attraction and, at its best, a welcome change at any dinner party.

For more on Saint Pourcain wines see the official site of the appellation.

WATER
Various bottled waters from that spring-happy Vichy basin which covers part of the Auvergne region were proposed in the restaurants where I ate during this two-day visit to the Bourbonnais. Chateldon, from just south of the area I was visiting, was my choice of the occasion because less well known (to me) and more chic than the others. Fine bubbles, a smooth and easy drink.  The town of Vichy with its famous brand-name waters for drinking and spa treatment is 34 miles (55km) south of Moulins.

© 2011, Gary Lee Kraut

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The temperate coastal climate of this region, where clouds and rain are rarely far from sight, gives rise to a lush landscape highly suitable for the grazing of milk cows, making this region a major producer of milk, cream, and butter in France and home to famous cheeses—Camembert de Normandie, Livarot, Pont-l’Eveque, and Neufchatel—that are must-tastes for anyone visiting Normandy.

Honoring the region’s dairy-producing heritage, the term à la Normande generally refers to dishes with sauces containing fresh cream and/or butter though it might also refer to the addition of apples, cidre (hard cider), or Calvados (apple brandy). Come expecting dishes with olive oil and other staples of the Mediterranean diet at your own risk.

While the coast naturally offers menus of fish and seafood, inland Normandy thinks more in terms of beef and veal. Locally raised duck, notable the canard de Rouen, also appears on many menus. Add apples or the apple-based beverages cidre and Calvados and you’ve got a meal the makings of a great, hearty meal.

Restaurants serving local fare will be explored in a separate article to be posted this month. For now, setting aside the full meal, this article goes directly to the cheese tray or to a picnic by the beach of ripe cheese and fresh bread. But let’s begin with those cows.

La Vache Normande/The Norman Cow

The traditional cow of the region is the Norman cow, la vache normande, that produces rich, high-quality milk. The Norman is a hearty, hefty race that was developed in the 19th century and whose genealogy was codified in 1883. After World War II the high-producing workaday Holstein took over the landscape, in part to replace the numerous Normans that had been killed during the Invasion of Normandy, in part to hike up production with increasingly industrial farming. However, since the 1990s the Norman has made a comeback. You’ll recognize her by her irregular dark brown robe, a white stomach, and a white face with dark brown or black “glasses,” like that lazing vache in the photo above.

The Four Cheeses

1. Camembert de Normandie
Camembert, among the most famous names in French cheese-making, is said to have originated in Normandy in 1791 on the farm of Marie Harel, when a priest from the Brie region (just east of Paris), having fled here while on the run from the anti-clerical, anti-monarchy revolution then sweeping France, taught her how to transform her usual cheese-making technique so as to make a cheese with a white “crust” or rind à la Brie. The new cheese was initially associated with the village of Camembert and surroundings.

As with the majority of French cheeses, the name of Camembert and the other three major Norman cheeses comes from that of its early village or town of production. The numbers on the map accompanying this article show their location. However, the current production zone may now extend well beyond the place whose name is bears, as is the case with Camembert de Normandie, which may be produced in various zones in Normandy.

Camembert went from being local production sold in the markets of Calvados’s Pays d’Auge area (a fine wandering zone for the truly green traveler) to a wider regional production to a national cheese. That third step came thanks to the arrival of the train, which allowed quick shipment to Paris, the belly of France, and specifically to the belly of Paris, its central food market at Les Halles. In the late 19th century a national reputation didn’t necessarily mean that camembert was eaten throughout France but that the taste-makers in the capital knew about it. For shipping purposes the cheese was contained in round wooden boxes that would become its packaging signature toward the end of the 19th century, a period that also saw the development of large-scale cheese producers in the region.

Camembert truly became a national symbol during WWI when it was included in rations given to soldiers. Due to the needs of the army, camembert production was not limited to Normandy. Therefore, despite attempts to declare camembert an AOC or “controlled appellation of origin” that would allow only those cheeses produced in a specific area of Normandy with the milk of Norman cows to be called camembert, camembert was eventually declared a generic term for this type of cheese.

However, in 1983 “Camembert de Normandie” (as opposed to simply “camembert”) received an AOC designating a raw milk cheese molded by ladle and with a fat content of at least 45 percent, molded in a round shape 10.5-11 centimeters in diameter and produced in specific areas in Normandy. What was formerly known as AOC for cheese is now called AOP, appellation d’origine protégé (protected appellation of origin).

Finding a wooden box that contains a round cheese with camembert’s characteristic white mold isn’t enough. First, look for “Camembert de Normandie” on the box if you want the get intimate with the best of camembert. The majority of Camembert de Normandie producers are located in the southeast corner of Calvados, though several others are found further west in the region. Since the tastiest camemberts are made of raw milk, lait cru is what you should look for if your personal health certificate allows.

Fans of camembert enjoy it at different times in its maturation/riping process, but generally speaking you’ll want the heart be soft enough to slightly but not fully bulge out when cut open. In search of the ideal ripeness you’ll notice that in a cheese shop (fromagerie) the cheese seller (fromager or fromagère) will take off the top of the box to give a squeeze in order to see how ripe it is. Shoppers do the same in the cheese section of supermarkets. When you do open a ripe camembert, don’t be afraid of slight red staining along the side as that’s just due to the ripening.

You’ll also find in Normandy cidre-soaked camembert, whereby the round has been soaked in hard cider during a portion of its maturing process. Camembert mariné au cidre can have a slightly bitter smell to it, and it naturally takes on a slight (or less slight) taste of the cidre, which some people may find aggressive. Since a full round of the cidre-soaked camembert can be overkill, most cheese shops sell halves or even quarters. Love it or leave it, cidre-soaked camembert is worth a taste because it’s as local as you can get in terms of ingredients.

Beware: A camembert that declares itself Fabriqué en Normandie (made in Normandy) without the AOP “Camembert de Normandie,” simply means that the cheese was made in the region of Normandy but, with all due to respect to the region’s cows, that in itself is not the sign of quality. While it’s always nice to eat local products, it’s even nicer to eat excellent local products.

2. Livarot

Livarot, named for a village in the same area of Normandy as the village of Camembert, is another round cow cheese but is stronger and denser than camembert. Whereas camembert, even when strong and ripe, is rich and creamy, Livarot can feel sticky and taste somewhat biting as though someone left it in a cave and forgot about it for a month or more—at least that’s the case with the best of them. Though contemporary tastes have milded it down a bit, a very mild Livarot is of as little interest as a sugar-free chocolate éclair.

Livarot comes strapped with three strips of rush or rush-like paper, like the stripes of a colonel, which is why it also goes by the nickname Le Colonel.

3. Pont-l’Evêque

The grandfather of Norman cheeses, produced in the area around the town of Pont-l’Eveque since the 12th century and already exported to other regions in the 17th century, this is another soft cheese with a brushed or washed rind. It comes in a square, like a paving stone, however you needn’t by the full square as many cheese shops also sell rectangular halves.

Though Pont-l’Eveque can have a strong smell, it’s more mild in taste compared with Livarot and ripe Camembert. At its best there’s an aged richness whereby the smell is pronounced but not overpowering and the taste is smooth, almost sweet.

4. Neufchâtel

Neufchâtel can come in squares or logs but is most commonly produced in its heart-shaped version. It comes from a very localized area around the town of Neufchâtel-en-Bray in Upper Normandy, which is north of the primary zone for the other Norman AOP cheeses and removed from the area covered in the series of Normandy Landing Zone articles on France Revisited. Because its zone is more localized, Neufchâtel has a smaller production than the other three cheeses and is less well known.

Cheese has been made in the Neufchâtel area since the 11th century, which could allow it to claim seniority over Pont-l’Eveque, however the Pont-l’Eveque’s reputation early on has earned it a stronger historical claim. As with Camembert de Normandie, a peach-fuzz of mold can naturally form on the Neufchâtel rind, particularly its raw-milk version. You may wish to remove the rind or not. Inside, the cheese is creamy and smooth and can be tasty both young and properly aged. Though the smell naturally becomes more pronounced with age, it is generally mild compared with Camembert and certainly compared with Livarot.

Preparing a picnic

There’s plenty of industrial cheese around, especially in supermarkets, even if it is made in Normandy, but to know the best of Norman cheeses you should head into a cheese shop where you’ll find more artisanal, and better yet fermier (farm-produced) cheeses. Good restaurants conscientious about their cheese trays are the other place to try them.

Despite a temptation to put these cheeses in the refrigerator they are best left out, particularly if ambient temperature is below 60 degrees. If you do wish to refrigerate, say at night while at a hotel, it’s advisable not to re-refrigerate, not just for health reasons but because it messes up the natural maturing process of the cheese. Though the better cheeses will retain some of their interest with re-refrigeration the more average ones loose what little interest they ever had. Better to keep them out, without overheating them; leave a raw milk cheese in the trunk of the car for 12 hours on a warm day at your own risk.

The wisest and tastiest way to go about preparing your picnic as you travel is to stop by the fromagerie during the day of your picnic and tell the fromager or fromagère (depending on whether the husband or the wife is minding the shop) that the cheese is for consumption that afternoon. If you already have a sense of Norman cheese ripeness you can tell him/her what ripeness you prefer, otherwise let the expert advise. The bread store is probably within a storefront or two of the cheese shop, and also nearby you’ll likely also find some good regional charcuterie (cold-cuts). Tell the charcutier/charcutière (depending on which is having a tryst with the fromager/fromagère) that you want a few slices of something local, then go with the flow.

Ideally you’ll try each of the four Norman AOP cheeses, but if there isn’t enough interest (or aren’t enough mouths) in your travel party to warrant all that for a single picnic then just try one or two per day—or go to a restaurant with a good cheese tray.

Drinks to accompany Norman cheeses

Northwest France, from Brittany to the Belgian border, has no serious vineyards, nevertheless, all four cheeses described above are enhanced with a glass of red.

If you want to be picky and are looking to match the depth of the wine with the strength of the cheese it’s worth nothing that Livarot can be strong enough to overpower many reds; it’s well suited for a bold pinot or something with a bite of “noble rot” to it. Or go local chic by having a glass of Calvados with your Livarot. Also consider beer.

Camembert can be accompanied by a cabernet or a merlot or any grape or combination of grapes growing within 50 miles of Bordeaux or with something relatively full-bodied from the Loire Valley. The Loire Valley vineyards are closer to Normandy than those of Bordeaux, so in the name of local travel I vote for the Loire for the picnic.

Neufchâtel also does well with fruiter wines from the Loire Valley, Beaujolais, or the Rhone Valley.

Pont l’Evêque and Neufchâtel, as the milder of these cheeses, are also well accompanied by a cool glass of cidre.

Water is always an acceptable alternative for all four and obligatory for whoever’s driving after the picnic.

Visiting a cheese production facilities

You may pass by farms with a small shop to purchase their cheese directly for your picnic, and perhaps have the chance to speak with the producer about his or her products. However, for health reasons, small producers can’t give public tours since a special sanitation set-up would be required in order to allow outsiders to witness the cheese-making process.

Graindorge, a semi-industrial (or mixed artisanal-industrial) producer of the major cow cheeses associated with Normandy gives tours in which visitors can observe the process from behind a glass wall. Their production facility is located in the town of Livarot, west of Caen. See www.graindorge.fr for details.

Between Utah and Omaha Beaches, you’ll pass Isigny (number 5 on the accompanying map), a town especially known for its production of butter and cream. As with the cheeses noted above, Beurre d’Isigny and Crème d’Isigny are both recognized appellations. The workshops of the Milk-product Cooperative of Isigny Saint-Mère, a major regional producer of butter, cream, camembert and Pont l’Eveque, can be visited weekdays in July and August during regularly scheduled guided tours, otherwise by appointment from Easter to mid-October. See www.isigny-ste-mere.com for details.

Isigny is also known for its irresistible, damn-the-calories caramels. For information on caramel factory tours, in French only, seewww.caramels-isigny.com. Or simply buy some anywhere in the Landing Zone.

Cheesy websites

Association of producers of Camembert de Normandy AOC: www.camembert-aoc.org
Association of producers of Livarot AOC: www.livarot-aoc.org
Association of producers of Pont-l’Eveque AOC: www.pont-leveque-aoc.org
Association of producers of Neufchatel AOC: www.neufchatel-aoc.org
If focusing on back-road travels in Pays d’Auge you might consult the site routeducidre.free.fr

© 2009, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Must-Tastes of the Normandy Landing Zone: 4 Norman Cheeses appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

That’s exactly what I did while visiting the Landing Zone then with Tom and Cathy Fuller of Atlanta, Georgia. Along a seawall near Ravenoville, a few miles north of Utah Beach, we unwrapped four ripe cheeses and tore apart fresh baguettes and… continued the war tour.

The Utah Beach landing site was actually intended close to where we sat, but tides and misnavigation pushed the initial waves of troops a mile south from the intended site. Despite the confusion that ensued, that was actually to the American’s advantage since German artillery pieces were positioned just a couple miles from our picnic wall.

Outside of July and August, this part of Normandy appears quite desolate for much of the way up the coast toward Cherbourg, which about 35 miles away.

Here I am, same place, same cheese, same picnic. In the background a view of how far water draws back at low tide.

The first landing craft arrived at Utah Beach at 6:30 a.m., at low and rising tide, on D-Day. The major German battery at Saint Martin de Vierville that would have posed great danger to landing operations at Utah had been destroyed by sunrise. The other German positions along the landing site were silenced or surrendered by 9 a.m.

Of the 20,000 Americans who landed that day 197 were killed in action and 60 missing, making this the least bloody of the five Landing Beaches. It was also the most successful in terms of reaching and maintaining the day’s objectives.

The black line you see just offshore are part of a mussel farm. Closer to Utah Beach, and better known, is the Utah Beach oyster park. To learn more (in French) about Norman oysters click here.

Written with fond memories of Norman oysters, Norman cheese, war touring and a picnic by the beach.

The post A cheese picnic near Utah Beach appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.