Emily in France 🇫🇷 Cheesy Adventures in Savoie

I'm over the moon for this cheese

I am no stranger to the trends in online self-publishing. Before Substack, I wrote a blog; before a blog, I wrote copious fan fiction (and no, I won't tell you where it is). While the form has changed, a few things haven't, including the guilt that surfaces when you miss posting – despite the schedule being self-imposed – and the seemingly requisite apology to follow.

You didn't get a newsletter from me last Tuesday. (Maybe some of you were happy not to have quite so much clutter in your inbox as usual.) But I promise, for those who did miss me, that I had good reason: I was in the midst of planning a trip to a remote town in France, to report on the country’s rarest cheese.

Bleu de Termignon is a naturally-veined cheese, one of the only ones of its kind. Today, it’s made by just four producers in the Parc de la Vanoise, which is so remote it doesn't even have cell service, thus the difficulty of planning this particular adventure. Cheesemakers there are also fairly skeptical of outsiders, particularly journalists, as the two who finally agreed to meet with me shared when they decided, after taking in my outfit of cargo pants and hiking boots and my willingness to get my hands dirty, that I wasn't the prissy Parisienne they had feared.

This time last week, I had been on the brink of a panic attack for about six days, driving everyone, including my poor, long-suffering girlfriend, positively batty. I missed events I had been really looking forward to, including my friend’s business’ ten-year anniversary, in favor of staring at my phone for hours on end, willing it to ring. I slept fitfully. I couldn't focus on anything except how badly I wanted this trip, this story, to work out.

Once I finally made it to Savoie… it was all worth it.

You're not allowed to drive in the Parc de la Vanoise without special permission, so I parked my rental car in the parking lot conveniently located at the base and hiked, breathing in the crisp air and marveling over the views of snow-capped mountains in the distance.

I spent the night in a refuge, a small inn – almost like a hostel – called the Plan du Lac. I was the only guest aside from a class of 11-year-olds, whom owner Juliette told me were there as part of a departmental effort to ensure each 6th grade class gets to spend some time in the mountains. You pay a pittance for a comfy bunk bed for the night (I got one in a room all on my own), as well as access to shared spaces like a cozy living and dining room.

Not only was Juliette a kind and welcoming hostess; she went above and beyond when my SD card suddenly bricked, lending me one of hers so that I could report the rest of my story.

I spent a day with each of the cheesemakers who agreed to meet with me, learning not only about the process of making this rare cheese but of the challenges they face and the stakes for the cheese’s very future. Above all, I was able to witness their intense passion for their craft, which to me seemed completely antithetical with their surprise that anyone would want to tell their story.

This, perhaps more than anything, is the part of this experience I’m so grateful for: a reminder of the very reason I began writing about cheese in the first place. Unlike other much-mediatized sectors of the food industry, like pastry and wine, cheesemakers often, in my experience, don't even know they have a story to tell. I’ve met countless cheese professionals who, in the face of my excited questions, furrow their brows, asking with their faces, with words, But who would want to know about that?

I do. And I think you do too.

Some who know me well would say my perfectionistic nature was what made me so stressed, as I tried to make this trip happen. But in reality, it was more than that.

As someone who writes for a living, it’s an unfortunate truth that I care more deeply about some stories than others. Don't get me wrong: I find something to like in every project (even when it’s just anonymous copy that needs to pass AI checkers). But there are a handful that feel like they're going to make a difference.

A wise journalist friend of mine claims that if there are three pieces we’re truly proud of in a year, that’s a success. And while this story has yet to come out, I can feel that flicker of promise in it. I know this is one of my three. In fact, it may well be once in a lifetime.

Cheese of the Week

Bleu de Termignon is a naturally-veined blue cheese and the rarest in all of France. It’s made by just four producers in the Vanoise Massif, part of the Alps. Unlike most other blue cheeses, the blue veining in Bleu de Termignon is entirely spontaneous, paving the way for a relatively mild-mannered blue that has flavors more similar to other uncooked pressed cheeses like Salers – or other spontaneous blues like Castelmagno in Italy. Depending on the producer, Bleu de Termignon may be more crumbly or creamier. What unites them is their faint cellary bitterness and touch of barnyardy funk.

To discover more of my favorite cheeses, be sure to follow me on Instagram @emily_in_france, subscribe to my YouTube channel, and tune into the Terroir Podcast, where Caroline Conner and I delve into France's cheese, wine, and more one region at a time.

What I’m Eating

Rice often seems to take a secondary role in Westernized Asian restaurants, relegated to mere side dish status. But at Horiz, brothers Alexandre and Olivier Lin have put it center-stage. Here, rice is the star of every dish – and most of the drinks. More on the blog.

Where I’m Going

1. To Festival America, a literary festival in Vincennes, to hear a panel discussion about the role of women in novels.

2. To William Artigue, a new chocolatier in my neighborhood, to discover how he crafts his seasonally-driven chocolates.

3. To the American Library in Paris, to hear journalist Simon Kuper discuss his new book, Impossible City: Paris in the Twenty-First Century, with fellow journalist Pamela Druckerman.

What I'm Writing

1. Charles de Gaulle probably didn't say that it was impossible to govern a country with 246 kinds of cheese, but even if he had, his estimate would have been way off. France is home to an estimated 1,200 cheeses. Asked to cite her favorite among them, cheesemonger Nathalie Quatrehomme of Fromagerie Quatrehomme desisted… at first. And yet I got French cheese experts to narrow things down to the 14 you must try. For Mashed.

2. Paris is a dream destination… which is why it welcomes 30 million tourists every year. Luckily, if you need to get away from the hubbub, even just for the afternoon, there are loads of options at your disposal. Whether you want to hike through one of the region’s most majestic forests, visit an ornate cathedral or step into the shadow of some of France’s most famous artists, dreamy day trips are well within your reach. Here are seven of the very best. For easyJet Traveller.

3. From the archives: Marie Antoinette never said “let them eat cake,” but for better or worse, the French are obsessed with what their people of power eat. For Life & Thyme.

FAQs

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What I'm Reading

1. There's something about the sheer plotlessness of Rachel Cusk's work that I find endlessly fascinating. Here, the Cusk stand-in moves to London following a divorce and buys a fixer-upper so terrible she is forced to send her two children to live with their father while it is renovated, much to the dismay of her downstairs neighbors. As is often the case in Cusk's work, everyone she encounters seems out to get her, and Cusk herself is forced to armor herself against the world in the black clothing most of her interlocutors remark, as well as the coat she herself admits to nearly never taking off. Each chapter is a nearly self-contained account of one of Cusk's interactions with someone else – a builder working on her home, the other authors on a panel on which she is speaking, a friend-of-a-friend who proves to be a date. In each one, Cusk comes off as both preternaturally calm and preternaturally judgmental, a combination that makes her difficult to love and yet incredibly enthralling to read. Despite very little actually transpiring – and very little change for the narrator – I couldn't seem to put this one down.

2. This lovely tale of midnight crumble as warming and comforting as baked fruit. In Vittles.

3. This intriguing look at what happens when the more environmentalist choice is to eat animals. From Alicia Kennedy.

A bientôt !