A Pit Stop at Roquefort

On our return from Nîmes, we planned a lunch time stop at the small village of Roquefort, home to the king of cheese, the cheese fit for kings. (Forget the cafeterias along the auto-route. I suffered through that on the drive south. Though I must say-- the French version of the NJ Turnpike Clara Barton rest stop is a highly civilized affair. Three-course meal with cheese, goblet of house wine.) Situated 25 kilometers south of Millau, the village is surrounded by high plateaus, deep gorges, and grassy meadows.

It was cold there in the higher altitudes of the Massif Central mountains. The nearby Millau Viaduct, its delicate steel pillars soaring 340 meters above the Tarn Valley, is the tallest road bridge in the world. We grabbed our jackets and raced through the steep, narrow streets looking for the Papillon caves. The air was pungent, reeking of cheese. Mmmmm.

I loved the tour at Papillon because of the video screening where they contrasted Papillon's original cheese-making methods, back in the 1930's, with today's process. The Old School images-- husband and wife teams hauling carts of cheese, sprinkled with salt-- were fantastic. But we were disappointed not to see the anticipated bounty of Roquefort, white wheels of cheese packed away on shelves, maturing in the caves. Apparently, the presence of so many visitors disturbs the process. How exactly does the metamorphosis take place, from ewe's milk into the royal deliciousness that is Roquefort?

Legend has it that a Larzac shepherd forgot some sheep's milk curd on a slice of rye bread in one of the region's caves. When he came back weeks later, he found the cheese was covered with mould. (And I wonder how he decided to pop the thing in his mouth?!) The blue-green mould is actually very special mushroom spores, now called "penicillium roqueforti." Not the same thing as the antibiotic, our tour guide assured us. Furthermore, our faithful leader explained, good luck trying this experiment at home. The unique conditions of the Roquefort caves are conducive to growing this specific mould.

Deep within the Montagne du Combalou, the underground labyrinth of caves is perfectly ventilated by long faults called "fleurines," which channel air from inside and out and maintain constant humidity and temperature. Today in the Papillon Roquefort cellars, the famous "penicillium roqueforti" is cultivated on loaves of rye bread baked in a wood burning oven. Then, in the shade of the ripening cellars, the curd from the Lacaune ewes is sprinkled with the mould. This is the beginning of the famous Roquefort cheese. It then takes at least 90 days to mature. This particular cheese production is limited to the "Rayon de Roquefort;" whole, unprocessed sheep's milk from some 750,000 ewes of the Lacaune breed is collected throughout the counties of Aveyron, Tarn, Lozère, Gard, Hérault, and Aude. It was in 1411 when Charles VI granted exclusive Roquefort cheese-making rights to the village. And in 1666, the Parliament of Toulouse issued a decree to prosecute the merchants selling counterfeit Roquefort. Today, Roquefort has the status of AOP by the E.U. (Appellation of Protected Origin).

Somewhere deep within the cellar labyrinth, I lost a flip flop on one of the flights of steps. This prompted the entire crew of tourists to poke around in the cool damp dark, searching for my stinky shoe. Hilarious. The best part of the tour was the tasting, of course. Papillon's brochure states, "Your papillae will fly away during the free sample of our Roquefort at the end of the tour." Pierre and I snuck back for seconds. Back at home, we fashioned a Roquefort dinner one night: a baguette slathered with pieces of the organic Roquefort we purchased at the cave, accompanied by glasses of chilled, sweet Montbazillac wine. I always thought Roquefort should be paired with red, but not so! counseled our tour guide.