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Château de Valençay

"Each sort of cheese reveals a pasture of a different green, under a different sky," writes Italo Calvino.

I like to think of his words as I curl my fingers around a dusky, mellow rind of French cheese.

Whether we are conscious of it or not as we grasp the knife, slicing into such a fromage lays open the world in miniature.

Here is the placid scent of chamomile, the chime of cow bells, the sun illuminating the French countryside through wisps of cloud—all the redolent remains of the day when the cheese was born.