OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY

Fresh air and exercise make everything taste better. But in the Auvergne—a remote region of central France—the volcanic terroir makes for spectacular food and wine, and even more spectacular hikes.

- Christine Mublke

IT WAS A LONG WAY to go for a cheese sandwich. But what a sandwich! True, I'd just climbed the Puy de Sancy—90 minutes of huffing to the top of an extinct volcano—so anything would have tasted good. This was a special one, though: made with the renowned St.-Nectaire, bought outside the town in central France that gave the cheese its name. Tucked between slices of house-made bread pilfered from the hotel breakfast and savored with views of hawks drifting on mountain currents, it was better than anything I'd eaten in Paris on the first leg of my trip—and I'd eaten a lot.

This was the moment I'd traveled for: a perfect bite on a stunning hike. In northern Italy's Dolomite mountains last summer, I'd discovered that the pairing of heart-racing views and happy exhaustion make every meal memorable—especially when the food offers a chance to both taste and explore the terroir. “Hike to eat” became my new travel mantra.

A horse grazing near the Puy Mary.

I had chosen Auvergne, a region in France's Massif Central mountain range, as this year's destination, because I'd been told by a trusted friend that despite the landscape's beauty (UNESCO declared the Chaîne des Puys, the region's emerald necklace of 80 extinct volcanoes, a World Heritage site in 2018), it's a long train ride from Paris, and thus largely overlooked by tourists.

Friends who work in the world of food and natural wine had also raved about a hotel, Auberge de Chassignolles, and, in particular, its restaurant. The volcanic soil, they said, makes for magic on the tongue.

Soup made with foraged mushrooms at Auberge de Chassignolles.