Tag: wine

Immersed in Wine (and Food)

Our wine week ended on Sunday by celebrating Leah‘s birthday with a day trip to a fabulous winery and a tour of the medieval village of Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, which is officially one of the most beautiful villages in France. We had tried to visit it five years ago but couldn’t find a place to park. The commune of 250 residents hosts roughly 800,000 visitors a year. It makes Traverse City seem almost unvisited by comparison.

A path in Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert. Not easy to get a photo without humans!

But I shouldn’t skip too far ahead.

The last chapter in my travelogue was the visit on Wednesday to Chateau l’Engerran, and if the week had ended there, it would have been more than enough.

The best was yet to come. And I can’t even decide on the best. Was it Thursday? Was it Saturday night? All are winners here.

Thursday was the day of the hike for which I had been “training.” And first, there was wine, which was a visit to two wineries in the Pic St. Loup appellation, the most northern and eastern of the Languedoc region.

We started at Domaine de l’Hortus, and this was a winery I was eager to visit for personal reasons, the explanation of which would require a digression from my narrative so I have it on a separate page if anyone is interested.

We were greeted with the equivalent of a royal welcome at the domaine, probably because we were accompanied by the eminent wine writer, Andrew Jefford, a lovely person who gave us a master class on Languedoc wines on our bus ride to the domaine. Two of the three sons who run the winery took us on a tour of the gorgeous vineyard and modern production facility, and we were surprised and thrilled to be joined by their father, estate founder Jean Orliac, who was beyond charming and generous.

And the tasting presentation was simply the best I’ve ever experienced, and y’all know I’ve been to a few. Monsieur Orliac presented his wines by discussing his philosophy, the estate’s history, the growing of grapes and the making of wine. We sampled all of the current offerings as they should be, served at the proper temperature, decanted when appropriate and poured by the dashing Yves Orliac. Everyone in this group of serious wine connoisseurs and professionals was overwhelmed. And that L’Ombrée? It was undoubtedly the best wine John has ever enjoyed with his spaghetti.

Andrew Jefford (l) translating for Jean Orliac’s presentation of his wines.

Our next stop was radically different in style and presentation. I’ve never visited one of those cult-favorite California wineries that operates out of a garage or warehouse, but this was perhaps a similar experience.

We drove up to a nondescript building across a parking lot from a Purina pet food factory. No vines in sight. Maybe we were at the wrong place? No, this is it, Andrew assured us. We entered a small room that was perhaps a tasting room. Bottles of wine were visible. A young man was clearing some things up and would be right with us. Meanwhile, I observed through an open side door one of the largest cats I’d ever seen making its way across the street from Purina.

Then the young man, who was our host, Guilhem Viau of Bergerie du Capucin, started pouring his wines. They were incredible. This winemaker began his career selling grapes to a local cooperative and has been bottling his wine only since 2008. He says he’s still experimenting and learning to be a better winemaker. I think he already deserves his PhD.

Lunch followed at Le Pic St. Loup restaurant in the village of Les Matelles. More delicious wine and food.

Andrew, we hang on your every word.

Most of the group took a sensible approach to the hike that followed. They skipped it, taking the bus back to Montpellier. But I had been training! And I brought my hiking boots all the way to France! So on to the mountain I went.

I was probably on the trail for about half an hour when I was confronted with an incline of what looked to me like boulders in the shape of enormous horizontal razor blades. I was to climb that? Maybe, but how would I ever get back down? I decided to turn around and wait at the bottom. Three hours later, when the five who were braver than I returned from the “two-hour hike,” the first thing I heard was, “Sharon, you made the right call.”

So, if you ever want to climb the Pic St. Loup, John tells me the views are magnificent but it is the most challenging climb he’s ever done, and we lived in the Rockies for a year.

Friday we rested.

Saturday night was the grand party at the home of Princess & Bear founders Carol and Steve. At least three winemakers were in attendance, including John from Kentucky. This American married a French woman and agreed to move to her tiny village near the Pyrénées and buy some land and make a little wine. You mean, that’s hard? One of his reds I wanted to drink all night, but that bottle emptied fast. Seriously, people, if you can get the Princess & Bear to ship to you, order some Clos du Gravillas. You can thank me by inviting me over for a drink, although I might just drain the bottle.

That’s John from Kentucky on the right, arriving with his terrific wines. Those in front from Vignoble Puy were very good also.

We also met Colin Duncan Taylor, author of two books about the region, who the very generous Carol and Steve invited just to meet the two other writers on their guest list (that would be me and John). We immediately recognized a kindred spirit in Colin, and we bought both of his books even though I spent the summer trying to purge books and said I would buy no more. I’m already reading his Menu from the Midi and I love it. Last night I was reading a chapter on the Lucques olive, which is only grown in the Languedoc and is called the green diamond. This morning, I walked over to the outdoor market right outside our apartment and purchased some. I definitely need to finish his book before I leave France to avoid frustration.

I’m almost 60 years old. I’ve been to a lot of parties in my life. I’ve never been to one as magical as the party for the Princess & Bear’s Mediterranean Club.

As for the bus ride back to Montpellier, those of you who know John (from Michigan and North Carolina), ask him about the karaoke. He’s now a legend.

On to Sunday, which was Leah’s birthday, so she joined us for our last day of wine week.

We had only one winery to visit that day, but it was sufficient. We rode through the lovely country north of Montpellier to Terre des 2 Sources, which is in the AOP of Terrasses du Larzac, a relatively new appellation established in 2014. The owners greeted us. Kirsten, a New Zealander who was a “flying winemaker,” (she traveled a lot to make wine), and husband Glen, an American viticulturalist (he tends the vines), showed us around the place, treated us to a tasting, and then served lunch. Kirsten made the lunch. She’s an overachiever, not content just to make great wine, she has to be amazing in the kitchen also.

Lunch at Terre des 2 Sources, with winemaker Kirsten talking about the wines and her neighbor’s delicious food products that went into our meal.

Kirsten’s pavlova, one of two desserts she made for us. I told ya: overachiever.

The group. Winemaker Kirsten (holding Luna, her puppy) and master grape grower Glen (brown jacket) in front of their domain.

After that, we toured Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, which brings me back to the beginning of this post, and then we went back to Montpellier to collapse in exhaustion for the past two days.

So I’m caught up. The food and wine extravaganza is over. From now on, it will be just normal life in Montpellier. Reading, writing, flaneuring, and figuring out what it means to be “retired.” Or are we?

Stay tuned.

This One is All About Wine

(Come back tomorrow if you’re here for the food or the travel, or just to find out where we are).

Terre des 2 Sources wines. A typical line-up.

What a luxury to have so much time here in Montpellier that I can– without any guilt or fear of missing out– spend an entire day in my pajamas. I can’t think of when I’ve more needed a day of rest. We’ve had a week of almost non-stop activity and indulgence in fabulous wine, food and conversation.

The past week has been astonishing and exceeded my expectations, which were high. I hoped we would enjoy some good wine and food, learn more about the region, see lovely places, and bask in the Mediterranean sun.

All of that happened, but to an extent I never could have imagined a few months ago when I RSVP’d “oui” to a wine party in the south of France.

We’ve been in numerous wine clubs over the years, nearly all loyalty programs from Michigan wineries. As I mentioned previously, my neighborhood shop, Lake District Wine Co., has a membership club curating wines from around the world, and I highly recommend it. All of the wine clubs I’ve been in generally have a pick-up party, where you collect your quarterly wine package and are treated with nibbles and wine tastings.

And then there’s Princess & Bear, a niche Franco-Seattle wine club which overachieves with the membership perks. The owners, Carol and Steve, are an American couple who refocused from their careers as lawyer and surgeon to establish a home in the south of France. They fell so in love with the wines and the people who make them that they started a business to bring these artisan wines — generally with not enough production to attract an importer — to their friends back in the States.

How did we find it? That’s a story we’ve been asked to tell many times this week as we were the only members from Michigan — and from anywhere outside the greater Seattle metro area — at the annual fête.

Because I live within a five-minute walk of an excellent wine shop, I never considered joining a club that ships wine to my door, even when huge discounts were promised. I like to walk over to the shop and pick up one or two bottles at a time to accompany whatever I’m cooking that night, always getting excellent advice from the shop owners. I had no interest in a random selection of “wines we know you’ll love” from someone–or a robot– who’s never met me.

Until a few years ago when this club specializing in wines from the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France caught my eye.

We vacationed in the Languedoc in 2018 and I loved the region and the small, family-owned wineries we visited. I wanted to keep drinking those wines and imagining myself back in the south of France during the long Michigan winters. My neighborhood shop, excellent as it is, had only a small inventory of wines from the Languedoc, primarily because the region does not enjoy the market demand of Bordeaux or Burgundy or even the southern Rhone.

Then one day on my Instagram feed appeared a beautiful fairy tale-like map of the wines of the Languedoc. I was enchanted by this watercolor, and I’ve had it as my phone’s screensaver ever since. (Two nights ago, I had the pleasure of meeting the artist, Nicola Blakemore.)

Anyway, back in 2019, or maybe it was 2018, when I first saw this image, I clicked the accompanying link and discovered Princess & Bear. I could have four bottles of wine from small producers in the Languedoc shipped to me four times a year. I imagined one of the boxes including the delicious wine we enjoyed at one of our favorite stops on our 2018 trip to France: Domaine La Tour La Pagèze, which is unobtainable in the U.S.

Four bottles wasn’t much of a commitment, and I could quit the club at any time, so I decided to try it out, only to learn they couldn’t ship to Michigan. I forgot about it until the pandemic hit and circumstances made me worried I wouldn’t be able to get any wine at all from the Languedoc. So I tried again, hoping rules had changed. Sadly, still no shipping to Michigan, but then I asked: “do you ship to Chicago?” They could. I would not be defeated by protectionist Michigan laws!

So my dear son has been smuggling the wine to me from his home in Chicago for the past three years, except in the winter when I receive it in North Carolina, which despite being in the Bible Belt and legalizing “liquor by the drink” (the ability to order a cocktail in a restaurant) in my lifetime, has more lenient wine-shipment laws than Michigan. Go figure.

The first bottle I opened, a white from Chateau Pech Redon, blew me away with its freshness, depth of flavor, minerality and harmony. It was exactly the taste I love the most. But what really struck me as a sign from the universe is that shortly after drinking that delicious wine, I was walking passing Raduno, where the owner and chef extraordinaire was taking a break on the terrace with a couple of her friends. I saw the label on the wine they were drinking and it was Chateau Pech Redon! “Are you in the Princess & Bear wine club?” I asked the visitors. No, they had brought that bottle back from their recent trip to France and loved it so much they wanted to share it with their chef friend.

So that first bottle was a brilliant confirmation that I’d made the right choice to join this little wine club, even if it means driving to Chicago to fetch it (a 10-hour round trip, but we get to see our son and daughter-in-law). Every bottle since has been additional confirmation. They have all been a pleasure to drink, and I have particularly enjoyed the whites.

Last spring, I switched to P&B’s high-commitment club, the Mediterranean, which is 12 bottles, four times a year. Obviously, I’ve really loved the wine. And as I was soon informed, the Mediterranean club came with a special perk: an invitation to an annual party in France. I couldn’t take advantage of it last year, and I thought at the time I probably never would, but as fate would have it, this year the timing was good.

The princess and the bear in their beautiful lair.

More to come.

Wine Week Begins

We’ve been in numerous wine clubs over the years, mostly from our local northern Michigan wineries, and all have been good. Our neighborhood wine shop, Lake District Wine, does an excellent job of curating wines from around the world for its club members, and I highly recommend it to my friends in the Traverse City area.

But the wine club I can’t live without is the Princess and Bear, a Seattle-based importer that specializes in wines of the Languedoc-Rousillon region of France, where its founders, the delightful Carol and Steve, have a second home.

I discovered this club by accident after a previous visit to France when I was obsessed with all things Languedoc. (Actually, I’m still obsessed with all things Languedoc). I was intrigued that a U.S. company imports wines solely from the region I adore, and I tried to sign up for their club only to learn they could not ship to Michigan. Alas.

At the onset of the pandemic, events transpired that caused me to query P&B again, and while they still couldn’t ship to Michigan, I learned they could ship to Chicago. So for the past three years, our son in Chicago has been our wine smuggler, so to say.

As John began thinking about retirement, I mentioned to him that the P&B club had an annual party in the south of France and this year’s was scheduled for early October. Maybe we could go? Signing up for P&B wine week put a timeframe on our plan to launch the post-retirement period with travel. Had we not reserved this trip, I’m certain John would have either delayed his retirement because AP couldn’t do without him or we would’ve stayed indefinitely in North Carolina because our family couldn’t do without us.

Wine week is based in Montpellier, where as fate would have it is also home to some of the best and least expensive French immersion programs. Leah had long wanted to take a deep dive in learning French, so she took advantage of our trip to travel with us and enroll in a four-week course through Accent Francais, which has housed her with a French family.

After depositing Leah with her new French mommy, John and I began the activities of P&B wine week, and they have been spectacular.

First up was a welcome dinner at a tiny Montpellier restaurant, La table des poètes. We met other members of the wine club, all of whom are from Seattle. We are the only Michigan representatives in attendance, which is not surprising considering that Michigan doesn’t allow the shipments. (Protectionist state laws might foil most wine lovers, but I am undaunted).

The evening began with a Vegas-style casino game featuring wine tasting and a testing of one’s wine knowledge.

The sommelier who was our master of ceremonies was entertaining and extremely lenient about awarding points for correct (or vaguely correct) answers. No Jeopardy rules of getting it exactly right. Which means, of course, I won.

My prize was a bottle of Champagne from Gosset, the oldest wine producer in the Champagne region, making wine (although not champagne) since 1584. When my wine guy Ric explained the bargain of European wines in relation to American wines as “they paid off their mortgages centuries ago,” he could’ve been referring to this place.

Wine casino was followed by a multi-course meal featuring so many delicious little bites paired with wine, and also great conversation. I spent much of the evening learning about the joys of living in Montpellier from Ann, an American who makes her home here now and organizes a weekly coffee meeting for other Americans in the city.

I shouldn’t be surprised that, despite being in another country and among strangers, John managed to find someone with whom to talk shop. Seated across from him was Jim, a retired attorney who was involved in an endangered frog case John covered. It’s a small world! Jim and his wife, Pat, live in part-time in Montpellier and, like me, Pat loves knitting and books. If we ever live here, we’ll have friends.

Yesterday we took a walking tour of the city followed by a tasting of P&B wines at the top of Montpellier’s Arc de Triomphe. It was a steep climb up a narrow, winding stone staircase, but the view at the top was an ample reward (as were the wines).

From the top of the Arc de Triomphe we could see the Pic St. Loup, which we will climb tomorrow.

Today’s activity was unbelievable. We had a private tour of the vineyards and house of Chateau l’Engerran, whose wine maker, Diane Losfelt, was voted France’s winegrower of the year in 2021 by the prestigious Guide Hachette.

Our tour began in the small tasting room, where we received glasses and set out for the vineyards. The morning was foggy – our first clouds of the trip so far (the sun soon returned). Matthieu, our excellent guide, gave a master class on the chateau’s terroir, growing methods, history and local wine-making rules. Each stop of our tour through the Chateau’s history was accompanied by a tasting of one of its excellent wines.

We learned about one previous owner of the Chateau of whom Alexandre Dumas must have never been aware of else he surely would have penned a novel based on his exploits. Laurent Quetton Saint George was a monarchist who escaped the guillotine in the French revolution by emigrating to England, which didn’t like having all those French royalists about so suggested some of them go on to Canada. It was in Canada that he made his fortune, which he later used to acquire the Engerran estate near his birthplace of Montpellier. He also acquired a wife, and he died soon after marrying her. The story, as Matthieu told it, is that St. George was poisoned by someone in his new family, who were concerned about sharing his wealth with children from a relationship he had in Canada. He is buried in the estate chapel.

After our tour through the chateau’s tangled vines, we adjourned to the lawn for a delicious lunch accompanied by more wine.

The first course of the lunch. I stopped taking photos after this because I was too busy eating.

Incidentally, one fascinating tidbit we learned is that the chateau recently hosted a film production crew. Which film? A new adaptation of The Count of Monte Cristo! It’s to be released at the end of next year.

The universe seems to be signaling that I’m currently where I’m meant to be.

Moving in day, Montpellier

The tourism part of our European sojourn is taking a back seat to the living in France phase.

We’ll still be seeing the sights, but mostly we’ll be resuming our writerly occupations along with daily chores such as going to the grocery, cooking dinner, and tidying the apartment we’ve rented for a month.

John trying out the French cooktop, energy efficient induction.

Directly under our apartment is a small organic market, very convenient for purchasing our daily bread. I saw the bread truck arrive this morning and waited a few minutes, then headed down for a pain de campagne (country loaf), a tub of goat yogurt and a tomato. A couple of blocks away is a full-service Carrefour, the Harris Teeter of France but with much more reasonable prices. We’ve heard French people complain about the cost of groceries, but so far, we’ve found food items to be less costly than in the States, sometimes significantly so.

My former Traverse City wine merchant, when I asked him why European wines were less expensive than U.S. wines, told me “the Europeans paid off their mortgages centuries ago.” The view out our apartment window is a daily reminder of how many centuries have passed in this human settlement.

The aqueduct of Montpellier, constructed in the style of the Romans.

Before we checked into our apartment, we left Leah with her French host family. She’ll be immersed in la langue française for the next four weeks, taking classes at Accent Français and speaking only French at her residence.

Tonight, we begin wine week with an opening dinner at a nearby restaurant, where we will meet the founders of the Princess and Bear wine club, which imports wines from artisan producers in the Languedoc region of southern France. I highly recommend this club if you are able to arrange the shipping. Michigan has weird laws that prohibit it from being shipped to us there, so we send it to our son in Chicago or to North Carolina for the winter months.

À plus tard !

Je parle d’Arles

I once had a jigsaw puzzle depicting a picturesque French city. The puzzle showed a cafe with a menu board and sidewalk tables, a woman peddling her bicycle down a narrow cobbled street, a man walking a dog, and potted flowers hanging from the balconies. Arles made me feel as if I stepped into that scene.

Prior to our arrival, the primary thing I knew about Arles is that Van Gogh cut off his ear here. The motivation for that act must have been internal; this city could not have inspired it. Arles seems about as perfect as a place can be.

Before I get too poetic about it, I’m compelled to inject a small dose of reality into this travelogue.

La belle France has its share of ugly, just like everywhere else.

For sure, France is an exceptionally beautiful country, and the places that tourists are most likely to go can make it hard to put the camera down. But on the slow train from Marseille to Arles, we passed some areas that reminded us that France is an industrial country which comes with industrial blight.

Granted, not far past the industrial area, the scenery shifted to olive groves, farm fields and hilltop stone villages. Plus, the slow train in France is faster than what passes for high speed in the U.S. (not that I would know, since it only runs between D.C. and Boston), so I spent the ride envying the French of their transportation system regardless of what I saw out the window.

Now on to Arles.

On the banks of the Rhone River in Provence, Arles is an ancient city that was a major commercial hub during Roman times, as we learned at the Musée departemental Arles antique. Today it is popular with tourists, who come to get lost in the winding, picturesque streets while enjoying the delicious sun-kissed cuisine of Provence and walking the footsteps of Van Gogh legacy (hopefully with their ears intact).

Arles is possibly the most pedestrian-friendly city I’ve ever visited, although I may update that opinion when we return to Montpellier, which previously held the title.

We are staying in a chambre d’hote (French version of a bed and breakfast) that feels like a fairytale manor. If you ever come to Arles, I highly recommend La Vagabonde, which has a warm and welcoming hostess and is ideally situated for exploring the city.

A suite fit for Sleeping Beauty, a.k.a Leah.

The Arles vibe is so relaxed. Each narrow street seems to end in a small plaza encircled by restaurants and shops. Central tables are occupied all day and into the evening with people enjoying their coffee, lunch, aperitif, or diner, simply sitting with their friends or family as they share conversation and the pleasure of each other’s company.

Wine in the pleasant plaza near our inn.

This evening, as we enjoyed the aperitif hour (I ordered a pastis, which may be a cliché of Provence, but I had to do it), we were amused by a group of children running around the square with ice cream cones and trying to keep their dog from following two other dogs who were leaving the square. People at nearby tables were leisurely sipping their drinks. One glass of wine to be savored for an hour. We saw no one reorder or get refills. One drink is enough and takes as long as you wish it to take. No one will rush you or push you to order more.

Pastis.

Some random observations ahead.

The Roman amphitheater, or arena, is one of Arles’ top attractions, and Roman sites are thick on the ground here. Not well-preserved is the cirque, which was a chariot racing course. We saw a diorama of it in the museum and it occurred to me that humans haven’t changed that much in 2,000 years; we now just equip it with motors and call it Nascar.

Chariot racing, a.k.a. ancient Nascar.

France is a quiet country. My husband has a small hearing problem and loud noises bother him. In recent years, eating out in U.S. restaurants has become generally unpleasant for him due to the volume of music and other diners. Here in France, whether we are at a table inside or out, we can have a conversation in our soft voices. We don’t hear the conversations of nearby diners, who also speak quietly. And music, when it is present, is low enough to be barely detectable. However, motorcycles, which are among the loudest forms of transportation, are more common here, particularly in Marseille, but at least they pass quickly.

The highlight of the day was meeting up with our northern Michigan friend Madeleine, who lived in France for nearly 20 years and hosts small private tour groups in her beloved Provence. We joined her at the Arles market and had a delightful few hours browsing the stalls, sharing a delicious lunch and visiting with her ex-husband, a chef and cooking instructor. Madeleine knows a lot of people in Arles, as she lived here for 12 years. I haven’t had the pleasure of taking one of her tours yet, but another friend who enjoyed one last winter said it was the best trip of her life and an outstanding value. You can find out more at Cuisine Provencale if you’re interested.

Your future tour guide? And those olives, wow.

Another favorite moment was getting close to a large olive tree in the garden outside the ancient Arles museum. Just the smell of the olives in the market this morning (Madeleine was buying lots of them for her tour guests) made me want to toss my U.S. passport in the bin and stay in France for the rest of my days.

Can you see the olives? Unfortunately, a sign said not to pick. Of course, I know they only taste good after they’re brined.

A flat-bottomed boat raised from the bottom of the Rhone near Arles and painstakingly restored; now in the Arles antiquities museum.

I’ll leave you now with a few more photos of the beautiful city of Arles.

Provence

Provence has not been off the beaten path for decades, if ever. This sun-soaked land of artists, dreamers and rosé is France’s most popular destination for foreign tourists outside of Paris. Renderings of its idyllic landscapes hang in galleries all over the world. Its food is iconic. The life-in-Provence memoir is so prolific as to almost be its own genre. It seems that every famous person who went to France in the last 100 years decamped to Provence for at least part of the time and wrote about it. The last 100 years? Let’s try the last 1,000. Provence has been a travel subject at least since the time of Julius Caesar.

We also went there.

Our Provençal itinerary begin in the charming town of Uzés, which may not technically be in Provence but is the source of the water used in the Roman aqueduct that includes what is arguably the region’s most celebrated masterpiece of antiquity, the Pont du Gard.

Uzés is a lively market town. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, several streets in the center of town evict motorized traffic for glorious vendor stalls to take over. Food, clothing, crafts, hunting knives — you can buy it all.

Uzés is also a nice base for day trips to natural wonders, wine-growing areas and the best-preserved Roman sites in the world.

If prehistory is your thing, the Chauvet Cave, or rather its replica for tourists, is a short drive from Uzés. From there, you can journey through time to your heart’s content. Orange, Nîmes and Arles have Roman temples and amphitheaters, some of which are still in use.

We drove from Uzés to Nîmes to meet our son, who had traveled from Paris on the high-speed TGV train. A short walk from the station is the Arena of Nîmes, which was built during an era of chariots.

On the way back to Uzés, we stopped at the Pont du Gard, a marvel of engineering in any time.

Our time in Provence was unfortunately limited. We managed a drive through the Camargue on our way to Montpellier, but we didn’t get to visit Marseille, Avignon or any of the hill villages. We will go again.

I can recommend some books for the armchair traveler. Much of Julia Child’s memoir, My Life in France, takes place in Provence. The second course could easily be Provence 1970, which provides another perspective of that time and the Childs’ inner circle. A somewhat bizarre memoir is Lawrence Durrell’s Provence, which may be hard to find but gives a deep, personal dive into Roman and medieval history.

My friend, Madeleine, offers small group tours of Provence during the winter months, pandemic restrictions permitting. I haven’t had the opportunity to go yet, but if her tours are as good as her chocolates, you will not be disappointed.

In wine, Provence is perhaps most associated with rosé. I haven’t tried them all, although if I live long enough, I may make that a goal. My favorite everyday rosé for the past few years has been the Galets Rosé from Chateau Mourgues du Grés. I usually buy a case of it when it arrives each summer at my local wine shop. I had the Chateau marked on my Google Maps for a stop while we were in Provence but unfortunately we ran out of time. Next trip!

What to eat with that rosé? Well, almost anything. Rosé is one of the most food-friendly of wines. It’s a nice accompaniment to the famous dishes of Provence such as bouillabaise (from Marseille, the oldest city in France) and ratatouille (a classic dish that predates the animated rat film). Make those if you have the time, but I’ll suggest an easy, weeknight dish from Provence that is perfect for all those late-summer veggies we’re about to lose: tian. Dorie Greenspan’s recipe will be just perfect with a bottle of rosé.

Next: Rhone-Alpes. I think there will be tartiflette.

Bordeaux, du vin

So summer sidetracked the project a bit, but let’s get back to it.

This week’s video.

As I mentioned last time, the northern part of the Aquitaine region is probably best known for Bordeaux, France’s most celebrated wine. Indeed, its global fame helps keep the premier cru out of the price range of ordinary mortals. For a fascinating film on this subject, check out Red Obsession, a 2013 documentary about the nouveau riche in China paying insane prices for the Bordeaux luxury brands.

Happily, all is not lost for the budget-minded wine enthusiast. Bordeaux has thousands of wineries and most of them are ignored by the Chinese. Not all of them produce excellent wine, but a good wine merchant can steer you to the values. My neighborhood wine shop stocks multiple wines we have enjoyed from Bordeaux for less than $20/bottle; for some vintages, such as 2015, he tells me that even mediocre producers had great success.

Most Bordeaux is red wine blended from several grapes, and the region is divided by the river Garonne, which creates the “Left Bank” and “Right Bank” subcategories of Bordeaux. Books have been written on the breadth and diversity of Bordeaux wine classifications, and I won’t attempt to write another one here. For a good, concise primer, check out these 10 essential facts from Vincarta. Easy! Now off to the wine shop.

The city of Bordeaux, which is supposedly the second most visited city in France after Paris, is a must stop for anyone wanting to explore the region’s viniculture in person. In 2016, the world’s most eye-popping wine museum opened in Bordeaux. La Cité du Vin is likely to be a premier cru destination for the wine tourist.

La Cité du Vin. Alice Veaux [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)]

Bordeaux is also a hub for booking tours to the area chateaux. Expect to be set back about $90 per person for a half-day tour.

If you take my advice and get into the Bruno books, you’ll undoubtedly want to explore the neighboring wines of Bergerac. These share roughly the same climate and soil as Bordeaux, but not the same prices. You may need to go to France to try some, however. They aren’t easy to find in the United States. Here’s a funny story about Bruno and Bergerac from California. My neighborhood wine shop, which specializes in French wine, had nary a bottle from Bergerac at my last visit.

In France, wine is an integral part of a meal and rarely consumed without food. In southwestern France, we have entered the land of duck, or le canard. Duck is to this region as lobster is to Maine. The most iconic dishes are duck confit and foie gras, but the French have probably prepared le canard in every imaginable manner.

Duck can be harder to find in the United States, and here in northern Michigan, it is expensive. We’ll splurge for duck when we explore Gascony. For our northern Aquitaine menu, we made chicken and potatoes.

I’m fortunate to own a copy of Paula Wolfert’s masterpiece, The Cooking of Southwest France: Recipes from France’s Magnificent Rustic Cuisine. Unfortunately, it’s out of print, so if you want your own (and if you have more than a passing interest in le sud-ouest, you should!), you’ll need to find one in the used book market, and I recommend doing it quickly as this classic is likely to become more elusive and expensive the longer it remains out of print.

For our meal from the upper Aquitaine, I prepared two recipes from the book, and I’ll share my edited version here. Both were simple and received effusive praise from our guests.

The chicken dish specified sour green grapes, which is a thing one can get in the Dordogne but not in northern Michigan, so I used green table grapes. However, Black Star Farms in northern Michigan sometimes makes verjus. And, if you’re in Traverse City, Maxbauer has duck fat.

Sarlat potatoes on left, chicken à la dordogne on right.

Chicken Legs with Sour Grape Sauce in the Style of the Dordogne

  • 4 lbs chicken legs, at room temperature
  • salt and pepper
  • 4.5 tbsp unsalted butter
  • 12 plump unpeeled garlic cloves
  • 1/3 cup dry white wine
  • 6 to 7 tbsp verjus
  • 3 cups unsalted chicken stock, reduced to 1 cup (I used goose stock because I had it)
  • 3 dozen sour green grapes
  • 1.5 tbsp chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
  1. Trim away excess fat from the chicken legs. Dry well and rub with salt and pepper.
  2. Set a large, deep skillet over moderately high heat. Add 2.5 tbsp of the butter, then the chicken, skin side down, and the garlic cloves. Brown for 1 minute each side, shaking the skillet to keep the chicken and garlic from sticking.
  3. Reduce the heat to low, cover the skillet tightly, and cook for 10 minutes. Uncover the skillet, tilt, and skim the fat off the pan juices. Turn the chicken over. Add the white wine; cover again, and cook slowly for another 10 minutes.
  4. Uncover the skillet; add 5 tbsps of the verjus and quickly cover the pan so that chicken pieces absorb all the aroma and flavor. Cook slowly for 5 more minutes.
  5. Add 3/4 cup of the stock and cook for 5 minutes. Raise the heat; add the butter and the remaining stock and verjus. Swirl over heat to combine. Add the grapes and just warm through. Season the sauce with salt and pepper to taste.
  6. Arrange the chicken, garlic and grapes on a warm platter. Pour the sauce over the chicken. Sprinkle with the parsley and serve hot.

Sarlat Potatoes

  • 2 pounds red potatoes (waxy potatoes are best)
  • 3 tbsps rendered duck or goose fat, or fat scraped from duck confit
  • 2 tsps finely minced fresh garlic
  • 1.5 tbsps minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
  • salt and freshly ground pepper

Directions:

  1. About 30 minutes before serving, peel and rinse the potatoes. Using a mandoline or food processor, cut into 1/8-inch slices. Do not wash the slices.
  2. Heat the fat in a well-seasoned, 10-inch cast-iron skillet over moderately high heat. Add the potatoes and let them brown for an instant. Cook, turning with a spatula to coat well with the fat and avoid sticking, for about 2 minutes. Reduce the heat to moderate. When some of the slices begin to brown, press down on the potatoes with a spatula to form a flat round cake. Reduce the heat to moderately low, cover the skillet with a tight-fitting lid, and cook for 7 minutes.
  3. Raise the lid to allow steam to escape. Wipe away any moisture on the lid. Toss the potatoes gently so the crisp bottom pieces mix with the rest of the potato slices. Gently press down again with the spatula; cover and cook for 7 more minutes, shaking the skillet to keep the potatoes from sticking.
  4. Repeat #3. Then remove from the heat and let stand without uncovering for 30 seconds. Remove the cover quickly so the moisture doesn’t fall onto the potatoes. Wipe the inside of the cover dry. Tilt the skillet and spoon off and reserve any excess fat.
  5. Cover the skillet with a plate and invert to unmold the potato cake. Return the reserved fat to the skillet and set over moderate heat. Slide the potatoes back into the skillet and cook, uncovered, until the second side crisps, about 3 minutes. The potatoes should look somewhat like a cake and be puffy, crisp and golden. Transfer to a heated serving platter and sprinkle with the garlic and parsley. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

s.

Wine and Food in the Loire Valley

First, apologies for the two-week delay in bringing you part two of the Centre-Val de Loire region. Real work forced this project to the sidelines. But now we can relax with a glass of very good wine.

This week’s video.

France is, by many assessments, the greatest wine producing country in the world, and the Loire Valley is one of its most lauded regions. It may not have quite the fame of Bordeaux or Burgundy, but that may have more to do with its diversity of viniculture. (No one says, “I’ll have a bottle of Loire.”)

This mind-boggling diversity makes me want to throw up my hands and acknowledge that the only possible way to get to know Loire wines is to go there for a very long time and tour the vineyards. Preferably on a bicycle. And there are many tour companies that will take you there.

I’m a wine drinker, not a wine expert. I’m still learning about wine, and I’ll undoubtedly say that 50 years from now, if I live that long. Is it possible to stop learning about wine? Just dipping one’s toe into this region of France makes the pleasurable task of wine exploration seem like a journey that will never end.

Wine is not a ladder to climb, as we’re so often taught. Not even close. Wine is a maze, a labyrinth, one we gladly enter, embracing the fact that we don’t know where it will take us and that we’ll never likely find our way out.

Jason Wilson, in Godforsaken Grapes: A Slightly Tipsy Journey Through the World of Strange, Obscure, and Underappreciated Wine

One area in which I do have expertise is research (former research director -not of anything wine-related, but skills are skills). And I can recommend an excellent, user-friendly and comprehensive guide in English to the wonders of Loire Valley grapes. If you want to learn more about wine, you will not regret bookmarking the Wine Folly site. The book is also nice to have on hand.

Now, shall we open a bottle and find something to eat with it?

Fortunately, my neighborhood wine shop – which specializes in French wines and is a mere two blocks walk from my house – has a nice selection from the Loire Valley. An entire shelving unit is devoted to the region, nearly the same amount of store real estate given to Burgundy.

The Loire Valley section at Bon Vin

This past weekend’s free tasting included this delicious sauvignon blanc, which came home with me.

Val de Loire Sauvignon Blanc

And one of my favorites at last week’s mega-testing was a red Loire Valley wine.

What might you eat with one of these excellent wines if you were in the Loire Valley. Recall that this region is known as “the garden of France.” Apple and pear orchards are plentiful, as well as market gardens. Hunting was the lure that drew the French aristocracy to the valley, and game is still on the menu.

I was intrigued by a recipe for eggs poached in an herbed red wine sauce, mostly because of its name. Oeufs à la couille d’âne translates to “eggs with donkey’s balls.” I can’t explain. It has something to do with the color of the finished dish. No donkey parts of any kind are present.

Another simple recipe featuring something cooked in an herb-infused liquid- this time milk – comes from Patricia Wells in her Bistro Cooking.

Enjoy!

Pommes de Terre Solognotes

Ingredients:

  • 2 cups milk
  • 1/2 cup minced fresh herbs (tarragon, thyme, parsley, chives)
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 5 whole black peppercorns
  • 2 pounds baking potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
  • Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • 1 garlic clove, halved
  • 1/2 cup crème fraîche or heavy cream
  • 1 tsp fresh thyme or 1/2 tsp dried
  • 1 cup freshly grated French or Swiss gruyère cheese

Directions:

1.Preheat the oven to 375F.
2. Combine the milk, the mixed herbs, bay leaves, and peppercorns in a saucepan. Cover and scald over medium-high heat. Remove from the heat and let steep, covered, for 10 minutes. Strain the milk into a large saucepan, discarding the herbs and peppercorns.
3. Add the potatoes to the strained milk. Cover and cook until the potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste; set aside.
4. Rub the inside of an oval porcelain gratin dish with the garlic. Spoon the potato mixture into the dish. Dot with the crème fraîche and sprinkle with the thyme.
5. Bake until the gratin is golden, about 45 minutes. Remove the gratin dish from the oven, and sprinkle with the grated cheese. Return to the oven and bake until the top is very crisp and golden, about 15 more minutes. Serve immediately.

Pommes de terre solognotes

Healthy eating the French way

Americans have long entertained a mythology regarding the French and their dietary habits: our Gallic friends enjoy robust health and svelte figures, despite their addiction to cheese and cigarettes.

I was watching 60 Minutes that night in 1991 when Morley Safer shared what may have been the most welcome news ever in the history of health reporting. His iconic report called “The French Paradox” credited red wine as the French secret weapon in keeping heart disease at bay while feasting on foie gras and butter. Oui! Sign me up, said 99% of viewers. Maybe even vegans were intrigued.

Some context for those too young to remember the culture in which this report landed. America’s obesity epidemic was in its infancy (11.1% of adults in 1990 compared to 30.6% in 2017), and dietary fat was public enemy number one. Dr. Dean Ornish‘s prescription for reversing heart disease cast as arch-villain the saturated fat from animal products; his book was a best-seller. Americans were being nagged to ditch the bacon and eggs in favor of rice cakes and oatmeal. Fat-free manufactured “foods” such as Snackwells were entering the market.

So here came the French and their food-loving ways, with copious amounts of red wine washing it all down. Maybe that steak was no longer off limits if it came with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

Wine from Corbières

As the old adage goes, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. While wine sales surged in the wake of such positive press, so did American waistlines. Was it possible that a glass or two of red wine could not counteract the effects of camping in front of the T.V. every night with a bag of Doritos and Cheez Whiz? Color me shocked.

Unfortunately, follow-up stories detailing the entirety of the French way of eating did not attract as much notice. As it turns out, French and American dietary patterns differ in other ways that may be more significant. I’ve read about these differences, mostly in the best-selling French Women Don’t Get Fat advice book by the delightful champagne goddess Mireille Guiliano. (Stay tuned for more on the book, next post). And a year ago, I had the opportunity to see for myself.

Last May, I took my second trip to France. My first journey was in 1987 when I was young and concerned with nothing beyond adventure and romance. This time, I was worried my middle-aged flab would earn me jeers from the trim and fashionable French. But if the French were disdainful of my plump figure, they concealed their scorn well; every person we encountered treated us with generosity and warmth, even in Paris.

I was ever so observant to the French manners with food. I saw first-hand some of the practices I had read about, and when I returned home, I put as many into action as possible. This resulted in a 20-lb. weight loss in six months and improvement in all key health markers at my annual physical.

So what are those French ways I observed? Check out this slideshow I made for you!

  • French people don’t eat between meals, and meal times are strict compared to the U.S. In the south of France, we learned quickly that we needed to get lunch at noon, or soon after. Most restaurants stopped serving at 2 p.m. and didn’t reopen for dinner until 7 p.m. Drinks could be enjoyed at bistros in the late afternoon, but typically without food.
  • The French sit down to eat and drink, and they take their time. Want a coffee? Find a table, place your order with the waiter, and enjoy that tiny little cup for an hour if you’d like. But under no circumstances do you get it “to go.” Never did we see a French person walking with a beverage or an ice cream cone.
  • The French socialize while eating. They talk to each other – or at least their dog – instead of texting or watching television.
  • Portions are smaller than in the U.S. The servings are enough, not too much.
  • The French don’t make large grocery runs. Admittedly, we didn’t pass a Costco. But at the markets we visited, we saw people purchasing only what they could carry home in one bag, or often, a small pull-trolley. And in the grocery markets, shopping carts also tend to be petite.
  • Farmers’ markets abound. Larger cities have daily markets; smaller villages have market days. Produce, artisan cheeses, fresh-baked breads and quality proteins are readily accessible. By French law, a standard baguette can cost no more than one euro. That explains why one is sticking out of nearly every shopping bag in France!
  • The French walk it off. This is a function of design. European cities were built for people, not cars. It’s much easier to exercise when physical movement is necessary to accomplish daily chores.

Some of the French practices may seem daunting, even impossible to follow here. None of our businesses close for two hours at midday so employees can enjoy a leisurely meal. Food and drink “to go” is so central to our culture that cup-holders are standard equipment for cars. Work and social expectations have us checking our phones even when we do manage to dine with friends. Restaurants respond to customer demand for value with supersized portions. Most people live too far from a grocery to walk, and with long work hours and commute times, “stocking up” once a week seems the only viable option. And despite the popularity of farmers’ markets, many people (ironically, sometimes in rural areas) don’t have access to one.

But most of us can find one good practice to try. In my community, at least 150 people are committing to walk 100 miles this month in solidarity with our favorite butcher, who has started walking his way back from health problems. Norte, a local bike advocacy group that organizes all things awesome, has partnered with the equally awesome Mark to commandeer a support group around a fun, healthy activity. So, if you’re in the area, and even if you’re not (non-locals are welcome), lace up those sneakers. And if you want to celebrate the end comme les francais with a steak and a glass of wine, well, I think you’ll know where to get it.

Tomorrow: Do French women really not get fat? Let’s talk about it!

Pays de la Loire, du vin

We began this virtual tour de France nearly three months ago, and for the first time on our journey, we have arrived in wine country.

That seems hard to believe considering the importance of French wine in the world market and, bien sûr, to the French. However, wine has not been commercially produced in every part of France, and the regions bordering the English Channel – the focus of our first three months – are those traditionally without a wine industry.

This week’s video.

The wine map of France is expanding, thanks to the European Union’s liberalization of French rules that previously restricted where vines could be planted. Still, the regions with wines likely to be exported and available in your local wine shop are those from the prominent regions, with Champagne being the most northern of those.

French_vineyards.svg: *France_blank.svg: Eric Gaba (Sting – fr:Sting)derivative work: Sdaubert (talk)derivative work: Furfur [CC BY-SA 2.5 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)]

The Loire Valley is the area in neon green on the map above, and it happens to produce some of the best wine in France. With dozens of appellations (legally defined wine-growing areas), the Loire Valley is one of France’s largest and most varied wine-production regions. Diverse styles of white wine dominate, but excellent reds – particularly from the cabernet franc grape – are produced as well. Other grapes grown in the area include cabernet sauvignon, chenin blanc, chardonnay, and sauvignon blanc.

DalGobboM¿!i? [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)]

Link to the map above, for zooming in.

This is a big region covering two stops on our tour de France. This week, we’re in the Pays de la Loire, the lower river valley closest to the Atlantic Ocean. I wanted to try a wine from Saumur, mostly because I’m a book nerd and I previously read Balzac’s Eugénie Grandet, which was set in Saumur. As it turned out, the wine I purchased was an excellent accompaniment for the fish I prepared to celebrate the Pays de Loire.

First up, the main course, or le plat principal. I wanted to highlight beurre blanc sauce, which is a butter sauce invented about a century ago by a chef near Nantes and is now a classic of French cuisine. I baked some whitefish in foil to serve as a base for the sauce. The wine’s acidity was the proper contrast with the richness of the butter. It was as if the wine and the sauce were made to go together, and perhaps they were! This is why we often choose a wine from the same region as the food.

Many, many variations of beurre blanc sauce exist, with recipes readily available on the internet. We are a household of three adults, so the following recipe – which I adapted from numerous sources – was just right, although it was so delicious we all could have stuffed ourselves senseless with it.

Poisson au beurre blanc

  • 4 to 8 oz filets of whitefish per person
  • olive oil
  • sprigs of fresh herbs, such as rosemary
  • salt and pepper
  • foil or parchment paper
  • 2 tsp minced shallots
  • 1/4 cup white wine (I used the Saumur)
  • 1 stick butter, chopped into about 1-inch cubes
  • 1-2 Tbsp heavy cream
Beure blanc with some slightly overcooked shallots

Prepare all of your ingredients – mise en place (everything in its place). Heat the oven to 425F. Place each filet on a piece of foil large enough to fold into a packet. Brush or rub each piece of fish with olive oil, salt and pepper and a tablespoon or more of fresh herbs. Fold the foil or parchment over the fish and crimp the edges to seal, then place on a cookie sheet or roasting pan and bake for about 15 minutes. If it finishes before the sauce, keep it warm in the foil until ready to serve.

While the fish is baking, heat a little oil in a saucepan, low to medium heat, just enough to cook the shallots. Try not to let them brown too much, but if you get distracted like I did and nearly let them burn, don’t panic – the sauce will still be good. It has butter and wine in it, after all.

Add the wine to the shallots and let it cook down until almost completely evaporated. At this point, add the cream and cook a little more. Let it get thick but do not boil. Now turn off the heat and start whisking or stirring in the butter, little by little. You can put the pan back on the heat to help the butter, but you want to keep the sauce under 130F. Finally, add salt and pepper to taste, then enjoy over the fish.

Russian Salad coming together

Russian Salad

To accompany the fish, I made a salad that is definitely not traditional for France. But with all the references to Russia along the banks of the Loire from last week’s video, I felt inspired to make one of my favorite salads.

Again, many versions of this Russian salad are available. I used this one, with a bag of frozen peas (cooked in the microwave) instead of the canned.

And the finished meal is below. Trust me, it tastes much better than it looks. My food photography needs improvement.