|Day 1 Route|
After the aforementioned wedding, we rented a car with the plan of driving around France looking for adventure and cheese and wine. We left Paris and headed for the number one place I wanted to go to. Epoisses. The actual town where the cheese is made.
The first time I had this amazing cheese was at Artisanal, a cheese-centric bistro helmed by Terrance Brennan. The stank of a thousand cheeses kick your teeth in the second you arrive. The first time I ate there, someone at the table ordered this cheese. As it made its way around the table, a pattern started to emerge. Take a bite, eyes roll back in head, moaning. By the time it made its way to me, it was being called 'The Orgasm Cheese'. One bite later, and I pretty much had made a new friend-with-benefits for life.
And now I get to meet her parents...
If you want to know how serious this country is about cheese, I shall simultaneously present to you Exhibit A, and my closing arguments, in the form of a single picture:
The above picture was taken at a GAS STATION off of a highway. A GAS STATION. Have I mentioned that you can PURCHASE GAS AND EPOISSES at the SAME FUCKING PLACE. I wish I had taken a second picture so you could see that this place looked exactly like a GAS STATION. There were refrigerated units with the usual array of softdrinks, pre-packaged sandwiches, maps, potato chips and, oh yeah, intricate, complex and downright funky cheeses that if you opened up in the confines of a car would surely kill you.
I digested that experience for about 45 minutes, before we finally arrived in Epoisses.
|Epoisses. Population: Om Nom Nom|
Turns out, Epoisses isa sleepy little hallow. And not so much sleepy as it was completely. closed. I mean it. Only signs of life were these fine ladies:
|Cows in Epoisses. Let's Pretend Their Milk Makes Epoisses.|
|The best piece of Epoisses I have ever eaten.|