You thought you were completely fulfilled with your home, two cars and 1.2 children? Hrmph. Just wait until you try some French cheese. The cheese here is unbelievable. Ah, fromage. If you love it, you must come to France. And when I casually mention "cheese", I am not referring to the sanitary, pretty cheese of the US of A, but the cheese of France. Cheese that demands attention. Where appreciation of flavor and mold are obligatory. Where the cheese will reach out and grab you by your collar. Some fromage may flow when you cut into its center. Others are hard and demand a sharp knife. There is hard cheese, soft cheese, fresh cheese, old cheese, new cheese. Some fromage is only available in the winter. Most, however, can delight you three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. There is Chevre. Made from goat's milk. Heaven help me, there is Chevre. Like Chabichou du Poitou, Fromage de Chevre Soignon, Petits Chevres de l'Ardeche, Picodon Rians, Chevre du Saint Maure. There's the black-mold-covered Valencay Fermier, the Selles sur Cher AOC, the Le Chevrot au Lait Cru. Oh la la. Yes chevre brings me great joy, whether it is fresh, dried, spiced, or warmed. But the bliss doesn't stop there. There are other varieties of fromage that will bring you to your knees. Let yourself slip away. Revel in the satisfaction a fine cheese can bring into your life. Try Roquefort, Bleu d'Auvergne, Pave d'Affinois, Emmental, Raclette, Le Saint Aubin, Rocamadour, Brie, Camembert, and Abbey Citeaux. Savor Tomme de Savoie, Perail de Brebis, Chamois D'Or and Cantal. And don't get me started on Comte. Or Morbier. They overload my senses, these 360 varieties of fromage made to tempt my tastebuds. Who knew milk could turn into something so magical, something so extraordinary.

Enter a fine French cheese shop. A shop whose owner prides himself on its variety, his knowledge, and his fair prices. Look around. Inhale. Pay attention. Is any of the cheese moving? You're not quite sure. Note the pungent, heady aroma that envelopes you. That practically assaults your orfactory senses into overload. Regard the hundreds of varieties of cheese that surround you. You may feel a bit dizzy; a bit overwhelmed. But don't let that stop you. Take another step, another sniff, and enter an arena of tastebud desire. Notice how each cheese has its own place, its own story. Notice how the propreitor is not smiling, but is waiting to answer any questions you may have. Which cheese is best with a '97 Givry Premier Cru? Is a Rhone or a Burgundy best with Reblochon? He will know. That is because cheese is a serious business in France. A SERIOUS business. And when you make your selection, and the propreitor nods his approval, note the flash of excitement behind his hard, intelligent eyes. Ah yes, Fromage. Are you sure you don't want another? Go ahead. You only live once.

When you're able to leave this haven of bliss with your wedges of glory, go find a rustic, crusty loaf of bread like only the French make. Go to that quiet place only you know about. Sit down, uncork a nice Burgundy, break a piece of bread from your still-warm loaf, and enter heaven my friend. Cheese, glorious cheese. Enjoy the dance in your mouth, the festival of flavors. Are you eating your fromage with the fresh, hot baguette? Or do you find yourself glancing guiltily over your shoulder before you slip the forkful of cheese into your mouth, all by itself? It's all good. All you really need in life is a fork, a fine wine, and that wonderful, delightful fromage. Vive la France. Vive la Fromage.