Cécile’s Little Horrors. What a fantastic movie or book title this would make.

So far though, it is merely a sign in the window of a cheese store in Bergerac (Périgord), where we bought our tray of Cabécous. Handwritten on a thin circle of wood taken from the bottom of a cheese box, it is here to introduce a selection of extra extra dry — and I do mean extra extra dry — goat cheese (“séchons de chèvre”) of various origins.

A little freak show in its own right, a hodgepodge of brittle cheese flints, in camouflage tints of grey, blue, orange and white. Oh-so-touching in their utter lack of vanity, and the humourous way in which they are presented.

Humor. I like that in a cheese store. I also like that they have enough respect for their products not to throw out perfectly good pieces of goat cheese, just because they’re ugly and extra-dry. Ugly and extra-dry? Sharp and brittle? Some people will love them all the same, and welcome them wholeheartedly into their homes and mouths!

Sure, it’s also a very clever marketing scheme. But I like that in a cheese store too!

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[Plum Tomatoes with Pecorino]

The last tasty plum tomatoes of the season, a piece of pecorino cheese your parents brought back from their Florence getaway (oh how well they know you), five minutes of preparation, and here’s a pretty and tasty little appetizer to bring to your neighbor-friends’ place when invited for the apéro (pre-dinner drink).

Watch as people wonder how to approach the tomato quarters, venture two tentative fingers, pick one up delicately, realize the quarters are really attached together, reconsider their strategy and grab the four quarters together, lift their hand and pop the whole thing into their mouth quickly, to avoid droplets of tomato juice and olive oil. Watch as they appreciate the sweet freshness of the tomato, the flattering company of the olive oil and parsley, and the sharp contrast of the pecorino.

When there are no tomatoes left, watch how they take little bites of bread and mop the shadow of the dish, a delicious mixture of olive oil, tomato juice, parsley and pecorino.

Watch and smile, but don’t forget to do just the same as they, before it’s all gone.

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The great thing about bringing food souvenirs back from your vacation — besides choosing them, buying them, fitting them somewhere in your already overbulging suitcase, hoping and praying and crossing your fingers that they don’t break/shatter/squish/smoosh/leak — is that it prolongs the magic indefinitely as you savor your goodies, little by little, over the next days, weeks and months.

I have a definite weakness for all things sweet and spreadable (as some people who share cabinet space with me are painfully aware) and I always seem to lug back herds of jars from my peregrinations.

This invariably leads to private moments of breakfast happiness, as I sit on my bar stool, pop the jar open, discover the color and texture which I had so far only guessed at through the glass, spread it on toast, take a bite, and mmmh… relish the taste, congratulate myself on the purchase, and munch contentedly away.

What we have here is a jar of walnut jam from the Périgord. Walnuts there are taken as seriously as ducks and ceps, so much so that La Noix du Périgord is protected by her own personal AOC (Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée, a certification of origin). This jam is made of sugar (55%) and walnuts (45%), nothing else. And this is all it takes to get you this fabulous, grainy, dark and intensely flavorful spread, so fragrant it almost smells like liquor.

A sweet mouthful of Périgord to last me through fall, making up for the increasing darkness at breakfast time.

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Try spending eight hours in a car on a sunny day, with a tray of twenty cabécous in the backseat. It’s an interesting exercise in willpower and determination to bring home the magic. Not the most orthodox way to age fresh cheese for consumption at their optimal stage of ripeness, but it certainly works!

Ah, what one woudn’t do, for the love of cabécous!