I used to say that if I got to choose my last meal, it would be primarily composed of brie (plus a few perfectly ripe kiwis and a bean burrito). But since I got here, I’ve changed my tune. The artisan fromager (Chèvres de St. Vrain) at our market (Place Maubert, Saturdays and Tuesdays) sells a Roquefort that can’t even be classified as food. It’s practically sex. Ingesting it results in a decidedly When Harry Met Sally and Meg and the pie in the deli moment. But real. Good thing you can’t witness it. And the cheese guy, Nicloas, is adorable (say it in French). He’s hunky and wholesome and rugged and boyish. If you picture him holding a baby goat you’ll buckle at the knees. Total Far From the Madding Crowd action. Saturdays and Tuesdays, girls.

But I digress. The US government, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to punish the European Union because the EU won’t import their vile, hormone-riddled beef. As part of the punishment, the US has tripled the import tariffs on roquefort. Poor Nicolas! Quick! Rush out and buy some Roquefort, no matter where you are! Help protect the artisans fromagers from the unjust retribution of the evil corporate country.

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