Blessed be the cheese-makers...

Yesterday I was enjoying a sunny breakfast when an older Frenchman, a bohemian - white pony tail, beret, cardigan - stopped to talk to me. He came out of the café again a short while later to offer me a slice of local cheese. He said it was alive - I assumed in the sense that yogurt and yeast are alive. I ate a bit - inoffensive. Then I noticed that the rind was moving in the sun - it was covered in tiny pullulating grubs, the size of sand grains. It's called 'fromage aux artisons' and the grubs give it flavour, apparently. The French!