In a fit of pique and pre-emptive depression after the Brexit vote, I decided there was only one way to cope. As an Anglo-Australian woman living in France, I needed cheese. Thankfully, it was the Friday market, and my favourite cheeseman would be there.
I have a bit of a special relationship with my cheeseman and his sidekick – let’s call her the young cheeselady – or at least I like to think I have a special relationship. I see him at least once a week and he recognises a fellow cheese lover. Every Tuesday – and frequently Friday – I waltz up and ask the same question “what’s good today”. And they respond “everything is good”. With a laugh. They’re both honest about their likes and dislikes, and they have a fine memory for what I’ve tried and what I’ve not. It has become one of my favourite weekly rituals – the waltzing, the asking, the tasting, the eventual purchasing of pretty much every cheese they suggest, generally in larger quantities than I really need.
When one thinks of French cheese, brie is generally the first thing that comes to mind. But there is so much more, particularly in the Alps where Beaufort and fondue is about all anyone things of. Instead, there is a wide range of soft and hard cheeses, from cow, sheep, and goat’s milk, most of it raw.
As I stood before the cheese counter yesterday, I found myself suddenly uninspired. I selected a local tomme de chèvre, a creamy St Felicien, a buttery Morbier, and truly vile St Nectaire. Perhaps “trop fait” would be a more diplomatic term. When I tasted it at the market, I grimaced and mumbled that it was strong. But I purchased it anyway because I like a challenge. And I refuse to be defeated by a cheese.
Clockwise from top left: St Felicien, Tomme de Chèvre, Morbier, St Nectaire
After that introduction, it is worth starting with that one. The smell, as soon as I open the fridge, is overpowering. It only gets stronger as the St Nectaire sits on the shelf, warming before lunch. I slice a side off the wedge and remove the rind. Sometimes I eat the rind on the cheese but in the case of these Alpine varieties it is neither obligatory nor generally recommended. It is hard to describe the smell. Sometimes when cheese is a little over, it has almost a mouldy smell as if it has lost its flavour. Other times, you get that sour, acrid scent that burns into the back of your nose. As I write this, I am waving the cheese to my nose in an effort to narrow down the stink. It is almost rotten, like the durian of the cheese world. Like old gym socks left in the bottom of the washing basket, only to be discovered 3 months after a particularly sweaty soccer match. Played in the mud. it smells like a sweaty saddle pulled off the back of dying horse. I am rarely defeated but this is too much. I pair the cheese with a slice of ripe summer heirloom tomato and bread, which helps it go down. Perhaps in the end, the bark is worse than the bite.
Generally, when I find the cheese not particularly to my liking, I hide it in a quiche or tartiflette, where melted its flavour is more tolerable. Or if the cheese is especially boring, I might also use it to cook. But in this case, I am not quite sure what to do with the odorous offender.
But perhaps I simply had a particularly bad example of the St Nectaire, which may well be quite pleasant. The cheese itself comes from the Auvergne region in central France. The smell – sometimes more pungent than others – is described as straw and mushrooms, the fragrance derived from an ageing process in an old cellar. A classic ‘farmers’ cheese, it should be buttery and soft, with a slightly sour taste. The cheese has a long and rich history, having been apparently served to and admired by King Louis XIV. Anyway, if you see it, give it a go, but perhaps have a couple of glasses of wine first if you can smell it from across the room.
The second cheese, the St Felicien, is the opposite. A crowd
St Felicien is hard to stop eating once you start…
pleaser with its creamy texture, while raw milk makes it just interesting enough to place it above brie on the adventure scale. It doesn’t have a rind like the bries or camemberts of French cheese fame and it is absolutely delicious. It melts in your mouth, spreads perfectly on fresh bread or toast, and has a far more complex flavour than I expected.
Apparently, it was originally made from goat’s milk in the 13th century but now this Rhone-Alps cheese is made from raw cow’s milk. It is related to the particularly pretty St Marcellin, which is about half the size and served in little terracotta pots at the local cheese shop to preserve the shape. Left out, the cheese will ooze over the counter as the flavour improves. If you are a soft cheese lover then keep this one on your list.
The next cheese, the Morbier, has an interesting story if not a particularly exciting taste. The Morbier is from modern-day Jura, north of Geneva and was originally a layered cheese. The dark line splitting the cheese comes from the original way it was produced. When farmers reached the end of the day, they often did not have enough curds to make a new cheese so they poured what was left in the mould and covered with ash to preserve it. In the morning, they poured a new layer of cheese on top. Today the cheese is generally made in one sitting.
The cheese itself is semi-soft with a buttery, delicate flavour. I find it almost a bit like a havarti, which is probably a sacrilege. Anyway, it is delicious if in my opinion a little unexciting. Or perhaps only in comparison to the first two.
The final cheese was what I almost treat like a comfort cheese after over two months in the Alps. A Tomme de Chèvre – indeed any Tomme – is always delicious, easy to pair, and agreeable to almost anyone. It is mildly adventurous without being too overwhelming. And I always find it satisfying. In fact, I often just slice it off and eat it alone, without bread. I find its substance satisfying. Perhaps this is what I like most about the local semi-soft cheeses. The sheep’s ones are a little more delicate while the chèvre is, for want of a better word – a bit squishier. Sometimes they have air bubbles that somehow just make it more fun. If you really want to piss off the French, this is a good cheese to play with … if you dare.
It also tastes fabulous with tomatoes, fig jam, honey, and pretty much anything else. The longer I live here, the more I can appreciate the subtle differences between them, and delight at finding a new one from the Aravis or the Bauges.
In terms of the climb itself, the first two kilometres are tough. As soon as you hit the base of the hill, the 11 – 12% grade claims its first victims and it is not uncommon to see a few miserable souls walking their bikes. From here, it settles into a more steady 7 – 9% for the remaining 11 km. There is an unfortunate lack of bollards reminding you of the distance and gradient on the way up but the confusion really begins when you think you’ve reached the top. The tacky ski station at the top has no summit sign and only hoards of cyclists milling about in cafés. To reach the veritable summit, just keep cruising up the hill and following the Tour de France signs. Then the real fun begins as you battle the traffic all the way down to the bottom.
But be sure to stop at one of the classic bikes in the median strip on the way down and get your Alpe d’Huez pictures. It’s a classic climb and one that should be done if you’re ever in the area. But living in the Alps has spoiled me. On the plus side, the kind of climb – 13 km at an average > 8% would once have seemed intimidating. Now it’s just another col. Enjoy!
11% average but otherwise, it’s a steady climb.
the bike path, it will be clearly signposted at Versonne. The climb is only 9 km,
There are many reasons why this is my favourite – the winding road up through the forest, the relative quiet and the good road surface – but the most important is perhaps that it’s simply the quickest way to the top. From the roundabout at the old hospital, you’re looking at a 17km climb to the summit, with helpful bollards at each km reminding you of the gradient and distance left. The first half is the easiest, and includes a decent false flat past the school at kilometre 6. And things kick up after the Quintal intersection with a steady 8 – 9% on the final 7km. There are some views out over the valley to the west with you hit 5km and when the climb starts to feel more like a “real” col – think hairpin bends – before you reach the ski statio
If you’re unsure whether your fitness is up to the summit, or if the mountain weather is looking grim, Col de Leschaux is a great intermediate way up. Also, if you’re training for the longer alps climbs such as the Grand and Petit Saint Bernard, then Semnoz via Leschaux is the closest you’ll get around Annecy. Sévrier to Semnoz via Leschaux is approximately 26 km. Regardless of which way you climb, you will be rewarded by stunning lake views on the way up. Or enjoy the views on the way down after toughing it out on the Annecy or Quintal routes.
– and a great introduction to Annecy. It can even be done on a mountain bike or hybrid, and you will be rewarded with lake and valley views.
The Time Megève Cyclosportive, now in its 13th year, is the first sportive on the Alpine calendar Like other cyclosportives in the region, it attracts a varied crowd. From British cycling tourists, to serious racers, to people who are just in it to finish (including one tandem team). Yet in response to safety concerns in the wake of the death of a cyclist in 2010, the organizers decided to neutralize the descents, making this race a little different. As the feed zones are generally within the neutralized zones, there is ample opportunity to hang about between the climbs, though most of the serious riders choose to move through pretty quickly in the hope of having company for the final 8km into Megève.
relatively easy start.
er neutralized – and fabulous – descent to Flumet – we hit Col des Saisies but via an alternate route without the reassuring bollards that indicate the number of km to the summit and the gradient. In total, the climb was around 13km and I would estimate the gradient at 6%.
Frouleur 