Most cheeses are content to just sit there, minding their own business, being delicious. And then there's Langres AOP — a cheese that stared at its own dimpled face one morning and said, "You know what this divot needs? Champagne." And the French government agreed.
Named 2026's Best of the Best by culture: the word on cheese, Langres comes from the Champagne region of France — and it wears its heritage on its literal crown. This small-format cow's milk cheese features a pronounced concave top, a crater so perfectly formed that it functions as an ersatz chalice. Pour a splash of local bubbly into that dimple, and you've got an edible shot glass that pairs with itself. It's the only cheese I know of that doubles as tableware.
Langres belongs to the washed-rind family — the same pungent lineage as Époisses and Munster. But unlike those barnyard bruisers, Langres is surprisingly delicate. The paste is dense, fudgy, almost spreadable, with a mild funk that won't clear a room. The ochre rind, washed in brine and annatto during aging, gives it that Halloween-orange complexion and a subtle tang. Pour in the champagne and the saltiness blooms, the yeasty brioche notes come forward, and suddenly you're eating cheese that tastes like a celebration in a cheese shop.
This isn't some gimmick engineered by a modern marketing team, either. Langres has been made in the Langres plateau since at least the 18th century. It earned its AOP (Appellation d'Origine Protégée) status in 1991, meaning every wheel is made according to strict rules in a specific region using traditional methods. The dimple? That's not carved in — it forms naturally as the curd settles and the cheese is flipped during aging. Nature gave it a crater, and the French, bless them, decided to fill it with alcohol.
You can eat Langres without champagne — just slice off the top, scoop out the creamy interior, and spread it on crusty bread. But that's like going to a wine bar and ordering tap water. You have the opportunity here. The dimple is an invitation. The AOP is a promise. And the champagne is a command.
Find a wheel, chill a bottle of brut, and pour directly into the crater. Let it soak in for thirty seconds. Then attack with a spoon. You'll taste the terroir of Champagne — the chalky soil, the centuries of tradition, the sheer audacity of a cheese that demands to be paired with something that costs more than it does.
Langres isn't just the best cheese of 2026. It's the most fun cheese of the century.