France 2018 is all change. (Tout est rélatif). But among all the réformes and inevitable lutte sociale, is there not another more visceral cultural tsunami? Une véritable crise existentielle de proportions pharaoniques? A threat to the very foundation of gallic culture? Ben si, c’est le fromage.
At recent dinner parties I have noted le plateau de fromage being skipped. Is it age? Translating as a desire to cut an hour off une soirée sans fin, or is it a conscious effort to eat less? In either case recent offerings have been greeted with polite, “Non, merci” et ” Moi non plus“. Before, inevitably tucking into dessert…
And what for tomorrow? I can hear the siren call of Dijon’s Fromagerie Porcheret, but will my guests pass over my fermented whey? I can fight through the cheese for the next week, but an ageing Maroille or a fermenting Epoisses soon becomes a mighty challenge.
So to all my gallic friends and guests, a svelte, early to bed Macronista is one thing, but ne négligeons pas France’s second greatest treasure…and preferably accompanied by the first. (And that would be white rather than red…)
Skip pudding, not cheese.