Melting Point: Megève’s Fondue Legacy and the Road to Toquicimes
- James Massoud
- 11 minutes ago
- 5 min read
This October, Megève hosts the eighth edition of Toquicimes, France’s premier mountain gastronomy festival, but the journey begins months earlier, with a fondue competition unlike any other. The Knife’s James Massoud travelled to Megève this summer to witness the judges at work and uncover how this Alpine village became the birthplace of the French fondue.
The morning mist had only just begun to lift over Megève when the smell hit me – that unmistakable alchemy of dairy, wine, and woodsmoke that drifts through the fresh Alpine air. The square was already humming: chefs in whites rolling up sleeves, copper cauldrons glinting beneath the sun, and locals craning for a glimpse of the judges' table where half a dozen discerning palates prepared to decide which fondue would melt its way into history.
I’d come to this mountain village in August to witness the semi-finals of what might be France’s most convivial culinary contest – the Concours de la Fondue, a prelude to this weekend’s [17-19 October] Toquicimes x Megève le festival de la cuisine de montagne, where mountain cuisine takes centre stage. What began as a humble local tradition has, over the years, evolved into something much grander: a celebration not just of melted cheese, but of Megève itself, a town that, in many ways, can claim to have invented the French fondue.
Where It All Began
If Switzerland likes to think it owns the fondue, Megève could politely (and proudly) beg to differ. Perched on an old mountain pass that once linked Savoie to Piedmont, the village was a natural rest stop for weary travellers. As far back as the 19th century, they’d gather in what is now the heart of the village to share something called matouille – a rustic concoction of reheated cheese scraps poured over potatoes, devised by the Grosset family at their inn, roughly where Le Chamois stands today.
It was hearty, simple, and social – the kind of dish that brought people together after long days in the snow or saddle. Over time, that bubbling matouille evolved into something silkier and more refined. By 1946, fondue savoyarde had officially appeared on a French restaurant menu – in Megève, naturally – marking the village not only as a ski destination but as the birthplace of France’s most iconic winter dish.
And yet, for all its history, fondue in Megève has never been static. It continues to evolve, much like the town itself. A place that balances Alpine charm with Riviera glamour, cowbells with couture.
The Judging Table
On the day I arrived, the six judges stood shoulder to shoulder like a panel of gastronomic statesmen. There was Michel Rostang, the two-Michelin starred maestro whose Paris restaurants helped define modern French dining; Jacques Dubouloz and Pierre Gay, both crowned Meilleurs Ouvriers de France for their mastery of cheese; Jean-Luc Combaz, Grand Maître of the Confrérie de la Fondue Savoyarde; Christophe Bougault, Megève’s deputy mayor and resident gourmand; and Julien Estrangin, journalist for Le Dauphiné Libéré, whose notebook filled quickly as the tasting began.
There are subtle differences between each pot as the contestants — a mix of local restaurateurs and ambitious amateurs — present their creations. Some fondues lean towards the classic, a heady blend of Beaufort, Comté, and Emmental kissed with white wine and garlic. Others can be more daring: with truffle oil, another tinged with smoked hay, another laced with gentian liqueur from a nearby distillery.
Each competitor has just minutes to explain their blend and technique before the tasting begins. There was reverence in the silence as the judges dipped their cubes of bread, swirled, sniffed, and savoured. Conversation was minimal; a murmur about texture here, a nod at balance there. When Rostang spoke, it was with the quiet authority of a man who’s eaten thousands of good things and remembers every one.
"The perfect fondue," he mused, "isn’t just cheese. It’s memory, warmth, and conversation."
That, I realised, was the essence of Megève itself.
Beyond the Cauldron
Megève’s relationship with food has always been about far more than sustenance. Since the early 20th century, when the Rothschild family transformed this quiet farming village into France’s first luxury ski resort, gastronomy has been woven into its DNA. The Rothschilds brought sophistication and investment, building hotels, chalets, and the first ski lifts, but they also attracted chefs, vintners, and artisans who saw in Megève a chance to marry rural produce with refined technique.
Today, the village boasts around 125 restaurants, spanning everything from traditional Alpine chalets serving tartiflette and raclette to destination fine dining led by chefs who have trained in Paris and Tokyo. It’s a microcosm of modern French gastronomy, rooted in terroir but unafraid of reinvention.
In that context, the fondue competition feels both nostalgic and subversive. Here, haute cuisine gives way to humble pots of molten cheese. Yet the craft, precision, and pride are no less intense. Watching the judges, I noticed how even the smallest details – the cut of the bread, the sheen of the surface, the temperature of the pot – were scrutinised. You could feel centuries of Alpine know-how distilled into every bite.
The Road to Toquicimes
The winners that day earned not just bragging rights but a coveted spot at Toquicimes, Megève’s three-day mountain gastronomy festival, which returns this weekend for its eighth edition. Under the patronage of Chef Emmanuel Renaut, the three-Michelin starred visionary behind Flocons de Sel, Toquicimes has become the beating heart of Alpine cuisine.
Since its launch in 2018, the festival has embodied everything that makes Megève’s food culture so distinctive: authenticity, conviviality, and a dash of creative rebellion. Renaut, often called the "guide of the mountains," sees it as a platform to champion local producers and reimagine mountain cuisine for a new generation.
Joining him this year is Norbert Tarayre, the exuberant Top Chef alumnus whose wit and warmth make him a natural fit for the role of festival patron.
Toquicimes now draws over a hundred chefs, dozens of producers, and thousands of visitors, all bound by a shared love of Alpine gastronomy. Between cooking demonstrations, tastings, and friendly competitions (eight in total, from fondue to pastry), the event buzzes with energy. Students from the Groisy Campus man the stalls, learning from masters as they serve everything from freshly baked brioche to artisan charcuterie. The whole village becomes a living stage for culinary exchange.
The Spirit of Megève
As I left the square that clear August day, the light had turned golden over the cobbled streets. Locals sat at terraces sipping vin blanc, chatting about which fondue might triumph come October. I wandered past boutiques, fromageries, and the rhythmic clink of cowbells echoing from the hills above.
It struck me how seamlessly Megève’s glamour and tradition coexist. For every five-star hotel, there’s a farmhouse still making Tomme the old-fashioned way. For every chef chasing innovation, there’s another preserving a grandmother’s recipe. And in the middle of it all, the humble fondue – that bubbling, communal pot – remains the dish that unites them.
Because in Megève, fondue isn’t just a meal. It’s a metaphor for generosity, for warmth, for sharing stories across a table. Watching the judges deliberate that day, I realised that what they were really measuring wasn’t technical perfection, but connection.
This weekend, as Toquicimes returns and the finalists take up their ladles once more, Megève will again become the epicentre of French mountain cuisine. And somewhere in the air, just above the chatter and the clatter of cutlery, that familiar scent of melted cheese will rise – a reminder that some traditions, like fondue itself, are best served hot and shared with everyone.