Page 14 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
After ten minutes of Philippe’s droning superiority, Bayard gently interjected. “Phillippe? If I may? I thought the group might enjoy the traditional origin story of Roquefort cheese.”
Philippe looked momentarily annoyed at the interruption, but waved a hand in permission and stepped aside.
Bayard strode slowly to the podium, already telling the story as he walked. His cane tapped out a lyrical cadence to his tale.
“There’s a charming local legend,” Bayard began, his voice warm and engaging in contrast to Philippe’s lecturing, “about a young shepherd who brought his lunch to work with him. A nice sandwich of bread and fresh cheese. He set it down in one of these caves while he went to tend his flock. But then suddenly he saw a tall, athletic, beautiful woman walking in the fields below.”
Bayard paused here and cast a long look at Exandra. Long enough that the agent blushed.
“Naturally, the young shepherd couldn’t resist her. So he dropped his crook…” Bayard made a show of dropping his cane to the ground, causing at least a couple of the guests to startle. Phillippe frowned. Bayard waved his hands animatedly and imitated running. “And he ran down the hillside to chase after her.”
Beside her, Zephyr nudged Minerva as if to say “Are you catching this?” Minerva smiled and slid her tiny hand into Zephyr’s much larger one as Bayard continued the tale.
“When the shepherd returned to the cave weeks later, having forgotten all about his lunch, he found the sandwich was stillthere, but the cheese had transformed. Blue veins ran through it now, and the taste was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.”
“The mold spores were already in the cave,” Jasper said, clearly fascinated. “They just needed the right conditions to bloom.”
“Exactly.” Bayard smiled at him. “The samePenicillium roquefortithat grows here naturally, that’s been cultivated and maintained for centuries. But I like to think that part of the magic is in the story itself—the accident, the patience, the discovery that sometimes the best things come from letting nature take its course.”
His eyes found Exandra’s again as he said this last part. She was looking at him, too, and for a moment something passed between them. Recognition, longing, and perhaps the acknowledgement of their own long patience.
“I have a question.” Wren raised her hand. “What happened to the girl?”
“Well…” Bayard hemmed as he considered his response. “The story doesn’t relate, but I like to think…”
Philippe cleared his throat loudly, interrupting. “Yes, well, although the romantic folklore is charming, it’s just a silly story. We should move on now. Let me show you the actual process.”
THE (CHEESE) WHEEL OF FORTUNE
Phillippe had them all don white lab coats, shoe covers, and hair nets before leading them into the production area where workers were piercing finished wheels with long golden needles, creating channels for air to reach the interior of the cheese.
“These holes allow oxygen to penetrate,” Philippe explained. “ThePenicillium roquefortiis aerobic—it needs air to grow. Without the piercing, you simply have a mild white cheese. With it, you haveRoquefort.” He spoke the name of his beloved cheese with passion and reverence.
They all watched as the workers moved with practiced precision, each wheel receiving exactly forty-two pierces—no more, no less.
“That’s so cool,” one of the passengers commented. “I’ve always loved blue cheese. Have you ever tried a bacon gorgonzola burger?”
Phillipe froze, a look of sheer horror on his face. He spun on his heel, turning to face the passenger.
“What was that you just said?” he hissed. The passenger cowered, unsure whether or not to repeat himself. But before he even had a chance to respond, Phillipe went on. “Gorgonzola. You dare to mention this cow filth in my caves? This paste that is so awful they name it after monsters? You know what? I think it is parfait you should combine it with something as terrible as a ‘burger,’ which is quite possibly the least refined sandwich, from the least refined continent!” He was indignant and only just getting started, Minerva feared. “How dare you even say the name of this inferior cheese here in my temple!”
“I, uh… I’m sorry?” the passenger stammered.
“I think,” Bayard intervened, attempting to deescalate the situation, “what my tour group member was trying to say was that your blue cheese is so superior to anything else he’s ever tried.” He shot a quick look at the passenger, who nodded vigorously, taking the ball and running with it.
“Right, that’s exactly what I meant. Gorgonzola… Feh! I would never touch the stuff. I can’t believe it’s legal to even sell it.” He breathed heavily as Phillippe stared at him.
Phillipe flicked a speck of imaginary dust off his jacket. “Yes, well, we all know that the American Ordinaries will eat anything. I cannot say I am the least bit surprised. Rest assured we will not be serving up any monstrous cow products here. Here we have only two types of genuine Roquefort. The regular, and the Yule Cru.
“Would you tell us more about your Yule cheese?” Wren asked, her notebook out again. “What makes that one so special?”
Philippe’s entire bearing shifted, becoming even more pompous if that were possible. “Ah. The Yule Roquefort is producedexclusively from the milk of ourmagicalsheep. They are the ones you may have seen on the hillside on your way in. These creatures graze exclusively on wildflowers pollinated by magical bees. The result is a cheese with subtle honey notes that perfectly complement the bold blue veins. The flavor infuses the coming year with both a sweetness and a depth that is intoxicating.”
“Will we have a chance to taste it?” Wren asked hopefully.
Philippe looked at her as if she’d asked to borrow his crown. “Heavens, no! Absolutely not! The Yule cheese is reserved for magical royalty and certain distinguished families on our worthiness list. It is far too rare and precious for casual sampling bytourists.” Phillippe looked around the room, eyes lingering a bit too long on Exandra who was openly glaring at him now.
“Worthiness list?” Minerva asked, her tone carefully neutral.
