I don't know if I have mentioned my love for cheese, but it is deep. It is the kind of unconditional love that would make me run into oncoming traffic to save it. If it is stinky, I love it. If it is melting, I love it. If it is filled with delicious moldy blue chunks, I really love it.
Chef and I saw many fromageries while in France but when we came across Marie-Anne Cantin near Rue Cler, we knew this was, as the kids say, the shit. Just take a look:
Did I mention that they age the cheese in caves beneath the shop? I was like a kid in a candy store. Overwhelmed with smell and stimulation, we still managed to narrow it down to three cheeses. The selections were, the 11 year aged Comte (I have never seen this cheese offered with such wisdom), a goat cheese with an ash rind and a classic French creme cheese. We picked up a bottle of Pomeral, mouth-watering pate and a baguette and headed back to the hotel.
Baby hold on to your Beret because:
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I will bet you are drooling a little right now. The cheese had been in my bag all day ripening while we were sight seeing and was at the perfect temperature. This is naughty food that makes me feel so good in my core that it should be illegal to publish this. The creamy cheese tasted like the best, slightly salty, butter you have ever had while the Comte had a sweet but tangy flavor and crumbled in our mouths. The goats cheese was firm but soft and the rind was so incorporated with the cheese that we didn't even notice it.
We did have a twinge of guilt that sent us searching for a salad - which is really hard to find in Paris believe it or not. Yin and Yang was in effect because we both had the most disgusting salads imaginable this night.
I dreamed about baguettes anyway......
