The Cheese of Immortals and the Gripe of Death

I realize I'm a bit post happy today, but I'm trying to catch up. This next post is from the weekend of September 26-29.

Looking back over what I have just written, it seems more like a history lesson than a blog entry, but when I’m the author, it’s to be expected. Having said that, continue reading – I promise I didn’t make it too boring, besides, a little history, like fish, is good brain food.

This past weekend was yet another adventure. We all piled into a minibus and drove 3 hours to Averyon, another department in the Midi-Pyrenees. Averyon is an agricultural region - but then again, most of France is - and is most known for Roquefort cheese, brebis (sheep), and militantism. A winning combination. While the region has a long history of sticking it to the man, it is most recently known for demolishing a MacDonald’s built in the area. There was a lot that went into this event, but the short of it is in the late 90s, the EU refused to import US hormone treated beef and the US retaliated with a 100% tax on Roquefort cheese. Averyon’s farming community took it personally (and rightly so, the region’s breeders lost 14 million francs), and responded with a full out attack on a MacDonald’s. I’m sure I shock none of you when I say the movement has my fullest support and admiration.

Despite no militant uprisings took place, the weekend cannot be counted a complete loss. We stayed in a 16^th century chateau in a medieval, walled in city. The city was originally built in the 15^th century (ish) by the Templiers and the Hospitaliers, and its organization still reflects that. The Hospitaliers swore an oath to provide water to travelers, and the city is organized to accommodate travels seeking water. The area as a whole has no natural water source, all the water is deep underground and the wells in this town were a vital resource for the area. I learned all of this on the walking tour, which I found fascinating despite being deathly ill. Oh yeah, did I mention I caught le gripe while there? (Un gripe is a flu in French, but I prefer the French to the English – it sounds more dramatic to say “I’ve caught the gripe” than “I’ve caught the flu.”) There has been a nasty bug running around terrorizing each girl in the program in turn. This weekend I didn’t see its ambush and I fell into its snare. And so while I enjoyed myself, the details of the trip are rather hazy, obscured somewhat by my fever. With this in mind, the following is an account of what I remember:

Clearly I remembered historical details of the trip, but history aside, the trip included much outdoors activity, but the combination of deathly ill and freezing temperatures made the situation less than ideal. The first activity, however, was pre-illness and a lot of fun. We went on a hike through the region with a guide who told us about the significance of all kinds of things we found on our way: from the “butt scratcher” berries to the shepherding practices in the region. Averyon is a rugged area, lined with rigid low-lying rock cliffs enclosing planes of resilient plants and animals. There is a rustic, natural beauty to the land despite it seeming cold and inhospitable.

The next day, while everyone else got to go on a bike ride through the region, I rode in the minibus with our program director. I enjoy her company, so that wasn’t an issue; I just wished I could have gone with the rest. At that point, my flew hit hard and I was too sick to do much else but drool on my pillow as I watched the landscape pass by. Losing out on the bike ride wasn’t the only thing I lost on account of the cold. I also was fortunate enough to lose my voice. That was a lasting highlight of the weekend. I’m only now getting my voice back. Losing the voice was just what I needed, because not only was I mispronouncing the words, but I was doing it with an “I’ve been chain smoking for the past 40 years” voice, which was nicely complimented by my “smokers cough.” The image would have been complete if only I reeked of alcohol, spoke with a slur, and was wearing a dated cocktail dress with gaudy jewelry.

Mais retournons à nos moutons (currently a favorite expression). While the nature and all our tours were great, they didn’t compare to the dinners we were served. The chateau we were staying in is officially called a gite, which is sort of like a bed and breakfast. Ours was run by a rather young couple. I never met the wife, but the husband, Benjamin, cooked dinner for us each night and was one of the nicest people I’ve met since I’ve been in France…also one of the best cooks. He spoiled us with four course meals each night, each course toping the one preceding it. He was kind enough to give us some of his recipes, which will definitely be coming back to the States with me. What can I say? There will always be a special place in my heart for Benjamin d’Averyon.

Our time in Averyon ended with a tour of the Roquefort caves. You know, Roquefort…the really delicious, very strong bleu cheese made from sheep milk. The legend of Roquefort is pretty fantastic. Centuries ago, a young shepherd was tending his sheep and decided to take a lunch break in a nearby cave. While settling down to his déjeuner of sheep cheese and bread, he caught a glimpse of the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Deciding she was more appealing than his lunch, he instantly dropped what he was eating and chased her. Of course he was never able to find her, and eventually returned to his cave. A lot of time had passed, and when he returned his cheese had molded. He apparently was famished and decided a little mold never hurt anyone, so he ate it…and keeled over and died on the spot. Just kidding. The legend actually ends with him exclaiming something along the lines of, “Holy moly, this must be the cheese of the gods!” Whether or not the legend has any truth to it, the cheese is pretty amazing and the entire aging process is still carried out in the original, natural caves. Of course, they are pretty fancy natural caves now, but natural none the less.