Weekend food: Raclette - Valais, Suisse

link - becoming a raclett-eur in Sion:  http://www.rts.ch/video/info/journal-12h45/4873423-minimag-des-cours-de-raclette-existent-desormais-a-sion.html

It's best in the early evening, after a long walk up there, way beyond the noise and scents of the valley, maybe along paths you've gone on many times before but they're never the same, changing from hour to hour as the light shifts, as the clouds bring shadow, as winter snow melts or a hot summer sun makes the rocks more golden or bright or gray or sugar white. Then before night comes with all the light above, the milky way, the clear sky that you never get to see anymore unless you live up there or in the desert somewhere, the easy, sweet air, the bells of the Herens cows somewhere off where you can't see, place some rocks in a circle and light up the fire as the sun just begins its dip for the night. Have a drink or two once you've put the potatoes on to bake, fingerlings, maybe  slice of dry meat or chunky, rustic salami.

You don't need many words. You'll be feeling similar things, all of you sitting tired and serene after the paced hike, wether 2 or 5 or 8, it'l still be a deeply pleasing moment. Then once the potatoes are cooked you take the pickled onions and open another bottle of Fendant, the one Emile or Davide or Richard made from the small patch of vine on the mountainside below and out comes the half round of cheese, Raclette, a local one made from the milk of cows high up in their summer grazing grounds. It's a potent smell of leaves and fertile soil and flowers, a melange of odors waiting to come together wafting off the deep cream color, solid and heavy and rich. Set it down in front of the fire until a layer begins to melt away. Then lift the round and with a broad knife slush the melting, now harmonious mix into a plate and then slice gently back up for the slightly caramelized rind. Pass the plate to the first, who will grab a hot potato, slice it through and add a good bit of cheese, maybe grate some black pepper on top first. The cheese and tuber dissolve as he chews, nourishing and generous, as if the mountain itself were giving a quick massage, an approval of the day. Then he drinks a sip of wine and as the next plate comes for the the next layer of bubbling, melted raclette.

Soon enough it'll be your turn. For now, you can wait with serene patience. Like the mountain.