Tartiflette

Eastside Road, December 28, 2009—

HENRY IS STAYING with us a few days. I asked him what he'd like for dinner: well, he said, eyeing me familiarly—
Tartiflette, I said. Yep.
A little over a year ago Henry and I walked, with our friend Mac, from Geneva (well, nearly Geneva) to Nice, a five-week walk up and down over a hundred thousand feet of elevation change. In the first three weeks we had tartiflette nearly every night: it's a specialty of Savoie. Neither of us had really had it since, but every time we've been together we've recalled it fondly.
Trouble is, it's made with Reblochon, a fresh cheese, no more than a few weeks old, made with unpasteurized milk. It's no longer legal to import it into the United States, hence unavailable.

We peeled a couple of pounds of potatoes and cooked them in water until half-cooked; then sliced them as thin as we could. I made a soffrito of one onion, chopped, and a couple of handfuls of bacon cut into small cubes. We layered the potatoes and onions in a go-to-oven terrine. Over the top I put half of a fromage de Jura, as close as our local cheesemonger could give us to Reblochon. I cut it in half, crosswise, and laid the halves rind side up on the potatoes; then added a small glass of white wine and say half a cup of crème fraîche.
This went into the preheated oven, say 350°, for half an hour or so, until done:

it was delicious. A few scraps of leftover grilled lamb; broccolini, green salad.

Cheap Pinot grigio