Tonight I Took Myself to France on a Plate
Tonight I took myself to France.
Not the airport version.
The cheese version.
Which is considerably cheaper and involves fewer people removing shoes.
Dinner Was a French Cheese Board
Not for guests. Not for a dinner party. Not because I was entertaining.
Because it was Tuesday and I felt like it.
If you’ve never served yourself a proper cheese course, consider this your permission slip.
The Firm Cheese: 180-Day Comté
My firm cheese was a 180-day Comté.
I spent years underestimating Comté. Comté is what happens when butter goes to finishing school, develops excellent manners, and learns how to discuss hazelnuts without sounding pretentious.
It is subtle. Civilized. Deeply French. And irritatingly good.
The Soft Cheese: Délice de Bourgogne
My soft cheese was Délice de Bourgogne.
This cheese arrives in its own clear plastic support structure because it cannot be trusted to maintain its shape under normal conditions. It has the structural integrity of an emotional support cloud.
This is not a cheese. This is whipped cream, cultured butter, and poor decision-making wrapped in a bloomy rind.
If Brie spent six months at a luxury spa and came back with a trust fund, it would be Délice de Bourgogne. If you’re a fan of triple-crème cheeses, you might also enjoy reading about why Brillat-Savarin is the baddest mother of all cheeses.
The Wild Card: Roquefort
Then came the Roquefort. The king. The monarch. The blue cheese that ruined all the other blue cheeses.
Salty. Peppery. Complex. The sort of cheese that raises one eyebrow and silently judges lesser dairy products.
If you don’t like blue cheese, Roquefort is unlikely to convert you. If you do like blue cheese, Roquefort is where the rabbit hole begins.
The Supporting Cast
A warm ciabatta baguette. Seville orange marmalade. Trader Joe’s grilled olives, which I continue to believe deserve more public recognition. A few slices of bresaola. Some salami.
Because this was dinner. And I answer to no one.
The Wine: A $9 Muscadet That Had No Business Being That Good
In the glass? A $9 bottle of Muscadet from Trader Joe’s. Which had absolutely no business being that good.
Muscadet is one of those wines that gets overlooked because it isn’t loud. It doesn’t taste like vanilla. It doesn’t spend eighteen months inside a barrel trying to develop a personality.
It’s crisp. Mineral-driven. Fresh. Citrusy. The sort of wine that quietly makes everything around it taste better. If you’re curious about other white wines worth drinking right now, I have thoughts.
The Muscadet cut through the richness of the Délice. Balanced the saltiness of the Roquefort. And let the Comté do its thing — which is quietly run the entire room.
The Point
The entire meal took maybe ten minutes to assemble. No cooking. One cutting board. One knife. Minimal cleanup. Maximum atmosphere.
And that’s really the point.
People think these experiences belong to vacations. Or anniversaries. Or dinner parties. They don’t.
Some of the best meals I’ve had were assembled with absolutely no occasion whatsoever. A wedge of cheese. A good bottle. A loaf of bread. A comfortable chair. And two uninterrupted episodes of whatever I’m currently pretending is “research.”
Life is the occasion.
And if you’ve ever wanted to build your own accidental trip to France, Spain, Italy, Britain, Greece, or even suburban Tennessee — that’s exactly why I created Sip, Slice, Repeat.
Three cheeses. One wine. Very little effort. A surprising amount of joy.
Because Tuesday deserves better than standing over the sink eating crackers.
Want the Guide?
Sip, Slice, Repeat: A Region-by-Region Guide to Pairing Wine, Cheese, and Calling It Dinner.
Five regions. Fifteen cheeses. Forty-five wines. One extremely opinionated Baroness.
