The (Cheese) Ripening Cave

Cave d'Affinage

To be an affineur, is to be an expert on aging. Of cheese.

In St. Remy de Provence, cheese makers bring their cheeses to this shop, where the resident affineur will take their product and put it in the ripening cellar. An affineur is sometimes described as the "foster parent of the cheese," overseeing its development with a keen sense for when its flavors will peak.



Even better, when customers arrive at the Cave d'Affinage, or "The Ripening Cave," they can place full trust in the affineur to find a cheese that will be ripe for serving at exactly the moment it is needed—whether that very afternoon, or three days away.

And if it's lucky, the cheese will end up on a table, in a garden, comme cette:




For more information and a good discussion write Robert Reynolds at www.chefstudio.com.
I visited my first 'cave d' affinage' when visiting Robert in Noir, in the Charente back in 1994. Who knew back then, that every product has an expert. A taster. A Phd in the science of finer nuances of flavor.

One Night in Paris with 'friends of Ja..'

Some thought me silly to fly to Paris from Florence, destination Provence. To go from south to North to South did not compute. Some have no imagination. To glimpse the grand avenue of the Champs-Elysees, the Seine, or to sleep in the quaint haunt of Saint Germaine, is reason alone to visit the capitol of 'des artiste!' even for an overnight. To dine is another.

A Parisian friend had made a reservation for my friend Virginie and me, in a well-known Basque bistro in the 7th. Popping into chez L'Ami Jean was like being invited into a party of a bon vivant. Lively, old, preserved and raucous, we were squished into a two top so close to the other two tops that the metal Ark-like breadbaskets straddled the tables down the crack, it was confusing to know which one to chose from. The waiter said, 'boo, it doesn’t mat-ter!' He was the same waiter that answered me candidly when I asked, 'what is the most typical Basque dish on the menu?" He answered, 'Moi!'

Big fish eat little fish. Feeling like a sardine, I chose the sardines. The other dishes were interesting to say the least,veal cheeks, quail, a side of beef stacked on roasted potatoes, but the thought of sardines seemed simple.

The plate was presented like order in chaos, not unlike the bistro itself. Same, same but different. Rough, rustic, a little noisy, yet friendly and charming, the sardines fell onto the plate like silver torpedoes topped with a confetti of pickled red onions, thin leaves of tarragon and capers. A potato slice for a bed and a drizzle of fruity olive oil for sanity. Second course was simple. Grilled turbot. House white. Just one glass but it fit.

No dessert, but L’Ami Jean was ‘sweet’.
Stephane Jego

Paris Bound

It was a rather funny moment. I was sitting in Teatro del Sale with Fabio when his friend Marc walked in. "let me introduce you to a true socialist and well known journalist from Paris!" Said Fabio. I told his friend I was on my way. Fabio asked for a restaurant recommendation for me. He thought for a moment and called this restaurant straight away and made a reservation." Basque". Said Marc.

I love the underground.

L'Ami Jean
27 rue Malard
75007 Paris
33 47 05 86 89