Hip Tastes Blog

In this last installment from my Postcards from Provence series I'd like to touch on some of the highlights of my trip that didn't make it into other entries, for various reasons. Some are small things, like my opinion on why French ATMs are more sophisticated than ours; some are extravagant and colorful, like my account of hitting the entire St. Tropez social circuit in 24 hours (whew!); and some are so seemingly insignificant you may be wondering why I bother to write about them at all (cue my philosophy on French tans).

But I think that these things especially - the random, the small, the almost unnoticed - are what really tell the story of a place. This is especially true for the last stop on my Provencal journey, a little town called Vence in the south of France, about 20 minutes north of Nice. Vence is where it all ended, but before I get to that let's focus for a while on other odds and ends from the trip - the best of the stuff that happened before we got there.

For starters, let's talk about St. Tropez. We worried on our way there for a single night (just after leaving Beaucastel & the Rhone) that we might not be able to effectively "do" the town in that time. Our worries were quickly assuaged, however, when our impromptu research on "must do" items (read: a quick email to our know-it-all pal Lesley in New York) revealed that everyone does the exact same thing in St. Tropez every day: Drinks at Hotel Byblos, then clubbing at Les Caves du Roy downstairs, brunch the following day at Club Cinquante Cinq, then more drinks at Nikki Beach down the street. It's fantastically simple, actually, and every day everyone just repeats the same circuit all over again.

Traffic getting into St. Trop was beyond bad, and this, I now understand, is to be expected on the first "official" weekend of summer there - the first weekend of August, when all of Europe seems to descend on the Riviera for a few glorious weeks of excess. Note to self: next time take a yacht. Here are some pics of us shopping for said yacht down in the harbor by day, then partying it up at night.

Brunch at Le Cinquante Cinq the following day was a welcome relief from the excess of the night before (don't get me wrong, 30,000 Euro bottles of Cristal aren't bad if you can afford them!), and this very cool band came around and sang for us. The place was full of beautiful people, decked out in more pairs of Chanel shades and Hermes scarves than I could be bothered to count. Ann Hathaway even made a cameo by the bar, where we sipped Pimm's cocktails made with fresh mint - yum!

The last stop in our St. Trop circuit was famous (infamous?) beach club Nikki Beach for early evening drinks after "lunch" (which was really at 3pm so that we could make a smooth transition to Nikki Beach afterward). Pam and Kid Rock had just gotten married there a few days before, a fact we were well aware of as we'd managed to pick up the French equivalent of Us Weekly, called Public, on our way into town. Funny: No matter where you are in the world celebrity gossip is just a convenience store away.

Nikki Beach was, if possible, a more outrageous display of excess than was Les Caves du Roy the night before. Girls wearing tiny bikinis and heels standing poolside were assisting a bevy of jubilant men in tearing open bottles of champagne and spraying the contents all over each other. One table I saw had at least 40 or 50 empty bottles of bubbly on it, evidence of said excess. They weren't even drinking it, they were just spraying it. To do otherwise would be so practical, after all! And as I know now, practical has no place in St. Tropez.

About this time we became weary of St. Trop (or maybe we just couldn't afford to stay another night, I forget which it was) and decided it was time to move on. And so we hopped back into our trusty blue Peugeot and drove off into the sunset (literally) towards St. Paul de Vence, the quiet little medieval village on top of a hill near Nice where my family had rented a house. With St. Trop in recent memory we were ready for some R&R, and that's thankfully exactly what we got in our cozy new home. Quite a change from St. Trop, certainly, but we vowed to get back out there into the club circuit within a few days, which we did successfully at Monte Carlo's Jimmyz shortly thereafter.

Speaking of which, here are some snaps from that gorgeous city. Whereas St. Tropez at least LOOKS like a quiet Provencal town, replete with village square, tiny boutiques and plenty of lazy terrace dining, Monte Carlo is an all-out visual homage to luxury. Take this sign, for instance, announcing the boutiques that can be found nearby: Gucci, Valentino, Hermes, Lalique, Prada. (Lalique?) You get the picture. Although we thoroughly enjoyed strolling the yacht-strewn harbor, hitting up the casino for some roulette and drinking on the terrace at the Cafe de Paris, we had the distinct feeling this was also a one-night kind of town.

And so, of course, we made the most of it. We had a riotous dinner sitting outside at a restaurant that had, amazingly, a sign on its awning calling itself "Trendy-Bar." Although I strongly objected to the place based on its cheesy bravado, my sister and the rest of the crew won out and we ate dinner there. It actually turned out to be, well, rather trendy, eventually attracting a lively young crowd. Better yet, our waiter seemed to like us quite a bit, as he sent out many drinks we didn't order, and, thankfully, weren't asked to pay for later.

After dinner it was off to very hip lounge Zebra Square for drinks, where giant pics of Grace Kelly and Brigitte Bardot hung on the walls above throngs of impossibly well dressed internationals (think very tan men with giant Rolexes and collars turned up), then finally to famous club Jimmy'z, where we spied more Ferraris and 18 year-olds wearing couture than most people see in a lifetime, and where we enjoyed extraodinarily priced cocktails and fantastic music. All in a Monte Carlo day's work, I suppose.

Back at the ranch, we followed less high-end pursuits. One of them was learning to play Boules, or Petanque, the simple Provencal game involving metal balls, in short. For everyone's amusement I found this funny video advertisement of young people playing Petanque while drinking Pastis and eventually getting so hammered they have to abandon the game. Definitely worth a look-see if you're wondering what the game's all about. We observed real Frenchies playing it in village squares all around Provence and, too embarassed to commit to learning it in their midst (some of them were annoyingly good), we bought our own set and learned at home. I found that my best strategy was to keep a chilled glass of rose in my hand at all times during play. As I'd hoped, this improved my game and I got better the more we played.

What else? We shopped and went to the beach in Cannes, where I scored a great deal on a pair of pumps at Missoni, Claire fared similarly with a Chloe pair, and we all discovered that not everything in France is in good taste, as evidenced by this rather tacky sand castle creation. But the real adventure from this point in the trip was discovering the charm of the local villages, especially St. Paul de Vence and nearby Vence.

Just a quick aside for some celebrity gossip: at our first lunch in St. Paul de Vence (a ginormous tourist trap due to its infectious cuteness) we saw this woman who, at first glance, we swore was Rod Stewart. Now, I know that sound a little cruel, but it was just when we first saw her, you see. The hair and all. So we of course went right home and bragged about seeing Rod Stewart in St. Paul de Vence, much to eveyone's amusement at the house. Then, impossibly, my parents REALLY DID see Rod the next night at a local restaurant when they were out with their friends! He was there with his new main squeeze Penny Lancaster and outfitted in a characteristically garish blazer, so they knew it was him. Now what are the chances of that? I guess not so tiny given the throngs of celebs who come to Provence at this time of year, but still.

Perched atop the entryway to the village of St. Paul de Vence is this copy of Rodin's famous Thinker statue. It sets the tone perfectly for the gallery-clogged village, or hamlet, I guess I should say - it's a tiny place. The entire place is surrounded by a medieval wall that's still largely intact. The inside is a short stretch of tiny cobblestone pedestrian streets, all lined with ridiculously good-looking shops, art galleries and restaurants. It's also packed with tourists for most of the day, and could quite possibly be the most touristy place on the planet after Disneyland. You get the vibe nobody actually lives there - it's all just for show. And it's a great show, don't get me wrong.

But I really preferred the larger village - nearly a city, really - of Vence up the road. Vence is so large it actually has a supermarket and adequate parking for the still rather large numbers of tourists who visit. But it's also got the trappings of a regular town, with regular people who actually spend more than just store hours there each day. It has a charming farmer's market in its square and a cute old town in its center, also surrounded by still-intact Medieval walls. We ate lunch here several times and I must say I'm hooked on Vence. It's touristy for sure but also has the heartbeat of a place full of life: where people live above their shops, where local kids whip through the cobblestone streets on bikes, and where the guy at the cheese counter at the market remembers what you had last time, as he does for the person before you in line and the person after you.

In spite of fabulous high roller-type experiences in St. Tropez and Monte Carlo, I've got to say the best part of the entire trip was a rock concert I attended with my sister in Vence just before we left. Part of a mid-summer concert festival called "Nuits du Sud" ("Nights of the South"), the mid-week show featured fantastically entertaining act Brazilian Girls (their sound has been described as "electro-pop") followed by aging French rocker Louis Bertignac, whose songs everyone knew, young and old, male and female. I got the feeling Bertignac is sort of like our Tom Petty, or a lone member of the Rolling Stones. The entire village seemed to be out to see the show, and we enjoyed it from an al fresco table where we enjoyed - AGAIN - a bottle of rose and a pizza while taking it all in. Leave it to the French to perfectly combine outstanding (even avant-garde, with Brazilian Girls) entertainment and outdoor dining.

A few more random thoughts on Provence before I wrap things up:

ATMs - Nothing really moves quickly in the south of France (esp. lounging pets, lunches and traffic), and even the ATMs seem to have caught on. When my mother tried to retrieve money at an ATM in St Paul de Vence the day before we left she came out of the booth empty handed but chuckling. What gives, we all asked? The ATM was out of order, turns out, and indicated as much by telling my mother it couldn't give her cash because it was "indispose" (indisposed). Leave it to French ATMs to make running out of money seem like a sophisticated illness.

French tans - The inhabitants of the Riviera, during summer months, are all this amazingly brown color that comes from tons of tanning in the gorgeous sun down there. It's remarkable - this color transformation so many of them undergo - and I recalled on this trip wistfully that I, too, once got that brown when I was here at age 17 for a summer. I logged an insane amount of time sitting poolside that summer (several weeks, specifically), and not much else, which is how I accomplished it.

This trip around we were too busy going here and there to see and do things that we didn't do the one thing the French do so well: nothing. Quite simply put: they have the TIME to get that tan. Their brown sugar tans, I realized on this trip, are like a merit badge for relaxation. It takes TIME to work up a tan that dark. It taskes LEISURE. Leisure, as I am acutely aware, is luxury. We don't take enough of it. Heck, most of us couldn't afford that much leisure time even if we wanted it. But that fascinating coming-together of time, leisure and luxury that the inhabitants of the Riviera seem to possess in spades is summed up, quite simply, in their tans.

As the summer winds to a close and folks go back to the office, kids go back to school, and fall starts to be felt, fewer and fewer people will be sporting their merit badge tans, whether here in SF or back in Provence. But before we turn our focus completely to cooler months, I offer you a few more pics of Provence. Enjoy, and I promise to return my attention to wine from here on out. Back to work!

ps I almost forgot - GOOD LUCK to JC at Harvard Business School, which she starts on Monday! tx for being an outstanding partner in travel crime. Future charter member of the HBS Wine Club, I hope. ;)

Posted by Courtney at 01:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Alright, alright, so it's not what you think! For those in the know out there, Chateau de Beaucastel, one of the most famous estates in France's southern Rhone Valley, is known for having enormous stones in its vineyards.

So large, in fact, that standing amongst them feels sort of like what I imagine being in quicksand would be like. "Like quick sand, but quick stones," is the way the operation's sommelier, Fabrice Langlois, explained it.

He was totally right! When I first stepped into the vineyard I toppled precariously this way, then that, grabbing at the crisp air around me as if I might find something to steady myself out there. Instead, I only found the Mistral, that crazy wind that blows like there's no tomorrow everywhere in the Rhone, although nowhere more powerfully than at Beaucastel, amongst all those blasted rocks. Once I'd gained my foothold, I decided it was all very fabulous and apros pos.

We arrived late for our appointment at Beaucastel after much bickering in our rented Peugeot, so Fabrice's humor was appreciated. Beaucastel was our last winery appointment of the trip (much to JC's relief, I'm sure!) and the first to which we were late.

I'm not sure which cosmic forces aligned to cause our tardiness: Perhaps it was the fact that we had to pack up all of our belongings and check out of the hotel that morning before the tasting, or maybe it was my inability to find a parking space outside our hotel that morning and subsequent need to re-circle the entire old town portion of Avignon in AM traffic (yes, there is actually rush hour traffic in Avignon!) to get back and find one; or it could have been the fact that the main autoroute (A7) to get from Avignon to Beaucastel seemed to have up and disappeared that morning, and we were forced to take surface streets all the way.

Or maybe it was just the plain old fact that we got lost. Again. As we had nearly every day of our trip thus far. Good times!

Regardless, once we'd finally arrived we were whisked out into the vineyard by hospitality guru Fabrice, who, because he had another appointment immediately after ours, proceeded to give us a tour of the vineyard and the insides of the winery at a fast-forward clip, so that I had the surreal sense that the entire thing was happening to someone else, and we were just sort of watching it happen. Very fast. It was quite a counterpoint to the five hour-plus visits we'd had at Moulin de la Gardette and Montfaucon the two previous days! But no matter: we still got to taste a ton of great wines, and I took a bunch of great snaps I'm able to share here in the blog.

Our rocks are bigger than your rocks
And so, into the vineyard! As the title of this entry hints, there are lots of stones in the vineyards at Beaucastel. In fact, the property is pretty unique in the Chateauneuf du Pape appellation for its large stones - they're not all like this. In fact, driving from Beaucastel after our tour to the village of Chateauneuf du Pape I was struck at how much the terrain varied from vineyard to vineyard.

Some of the others had noticeable stones, and some just didn't. I had expected the entire appellation to be filled with giant stones like Beaucastel's (which are constantly photographed and therefore pretty well known in the wine world). But, in the end, Beaucastel's got by far the biggest rocks on its 240 acres, 2/3 of which lie in the Chateauneuf du Pape appellation, with the remainder in the Cotes du Rhone. Turns out there are four types of soil in Chateauneuf du Pape: clay, stone, sand and limestone. Clearly, Beaucastel's got the lion's share of the stone!

And here they are. Check out this one that's bigger than my shoe! Walking amongst the vines I had, much as I had at Spring Mountain's Pride earlier this summer, the satisfied feeling that these cami shoes were finally helping me blend into my environment. Above you can see me pictured with Francois, and also a snap of a tiny young vine that's just been planted. I loved the contrast with the other big vines around it, which are comprised of a combination of 13 different grape varieties that Beaucastel blends into its wines. Most of you probably know this, but Beaucastel is one of the only Chateauneuf du Pape estates that still uses all 13 of the classic permitted grape varieties of the appellation in its blend.

For you geeks out there, they are: Grenache & Cinsault (warmth, color, roundness); Syrah, Mourvedre, Vaccarese & Muscardin (structure, aging capacity, depth of color & flavor); Counoise, Terret Noir, Clairette, Picpoul, Picardin, Bourboulenc & Roussanne (taste & bouquet).

So where do these stones come from, you must be wondering? They were deposited over the years by the mighty Rhone River, which at times ran over this very spot (and was much bigger, I might add), where it deposited rock fragments from the Alpine range above. The stones are key ingredients in the Beaucastel terroir, since they retain and radiate heat up into the vines at night, helping to mitigate the rather significant day-night temperature swings the region experiences. They also provide amazing drainage, allowing water from the top level to seep down to the roots far below.

"Chemicals and Fertilizers are like junk food."
This is how Fabrice explained the operation's aversion to using chemicals in the vineyards. Fabrice was a bit of a bard, with a really funny and oftentimes totally right-on simile for just about everything we talked about. When presented that way, YES, I had to agree that chemicals are bad. Bad, bad, bad! Organic since 1954, Beaucastel, Fabrice explained, only uses copper sulfate and sulfur in the vineyards to counteract problems. And those sparingly. Keeping artificial treatments to a minimal level increases the natural nutrients in the soil, improves the vines' physiology and increases their resistance to diseases. Equally important, these positive results mean that Beaucastel can avoid the escalating need for chemical remedies that invariably follows their over use. Bravo!

Let's go into the winery now to similate our mega fast tour. I was impressed by the hyper clean and very modern looking equipment at the receiving and processing end of the winery. This was in marked contrast to the much more ancient looking barrels and foudres on display near the back. In the middle were a bunch of tile-lined concrete fermentation vats that represented, I thought, a nice middle ground between the steel at one end and the old wood at the other. This was my third winery visit in the Rhone and the third at which I'd seen concrete fermentation vats. Seems to be de rigeur around these parts.

"A breathing box, not a flavoring box."
This is how Fabrice explained Beaucastel's philosophy about the oak they use. Much of it is old, and this is just fine for them: the purpose of the oak is to allow the wine to slowly breathe through its porous surface as it matures and improves. It's not to enhance or flavor it. Fabrice then cued up another totally appropriate simile when he announced, "it's the story that must carry a movie, not the special effects."
I completely agree. For the ladies out there, Fabrice offered a more feminine comparison as well: "It's also like plastic surgery. It can be used to ENHANCE, but it should not BE." Enough said.

Here's a pic of a tile-lined concrete fermentation vat. Fabrice explained that the enamel lining from the tiles allows them to more precisely control the temperature in the tanks. For making whites, this is critical because, again, a simile: "making whites is like making pastry: it's very precise, and you don't have much time to goof."

"Wine, food & love punctuate the best moments of our lives."
Another Francois gem. And so, you must be wondering - what did we taste? Perhaps I should say, what DIDN'T we taste?! Fabrice and Beaucastel were - and this seems to be a trend in this region - really generous with the amount and range of wines they allowed us to try. We tasted a total of 8 wines including selections from the Perrin family's (owners of Beaucastel) various ventures and vineyards, including some Cotes du Rhone offerings, appellation-specific Rhone reds including two excellent offerings from Vinsobres and Gigondas, their celebrated second label Coudoulet de Beaucastel, and three different vintages of Chateauneuf du Pape ('04, '00, and '90).

Here are some brief notes I took on the wines:
- 2004 Beaucastel Blanc (80% Roussanne, 15% Grenache Blanc, 5% other white)
banana, peach, some refreshing honeysuckle, macadamia nuts & flowers. Good.
- 2004 Reserve Perrin Cotes du Rhone (various Rhone reds)
pepper, ripe plum, raisin, earth; tastes like Cotes du Rhone should. Good.
- 2004 Vinsobres Perrin & Fils "Les Cornuds" (50% Grenache, 50% Syrah)
*Vinsobres is a small semi mountainous village in the northern Cotes du Rhone that produces firm reds
Smells like black olives!; pepper and black fruit as well; lots of pepper. Good to very good.
- 2004 Gigondas "La Gille"
* Gigondas is a village with its own appellation further north in the Rhone; mountainous
Very fine and lighter in color. Smells like a bunch of herbs, including lavender; black fruit as well. Very good.
- Coudoulet de Beaucastel (red blend akin to Chateauneuf du Pape)
* made from a single vineyard owned by the Perrin family just outside Chateauneuf du Pape appellation
Sorry, forgot to write down the vintage on this one! Up front fruit, licorice, caramel, nutty; subdued and mellow on the palate, with a Sherry-like essence on the finish. I really like this wine. Good to very good.
- 2004 Beaucastel Chateuneuf du Pape (red blend of 13 varieties)
This was bottled a week and a half before we tasted. It was really up-front with its fruit, and drinking pretty well given the limited bottle time. Good.
- 2000 Beaucastel Chateauneuf du Pape (red blend of 13 varieties)
Madeirized-seeming and nutty. Lovely perfume! Thyme, plum, blackberry, leather and saddle leather. Very good.
- 1990 Beaucastel Chateauneuf du Pape (red blend of 13 varieties)
Same as above, only with more depth: leather, pomegranate, earth. Excellent.

Although I didn't get to meet the family behind the Beaucastel operation as I had on my two previous Rhone area visits, I sensed the same passion for the region's wines paired with an undercurrent of humility that I had perceived on the other visits. Besides Fabrice's obvious passion for the place, I sensed this on reading, of all things!, the Beaucastel corporate brochure Fabrice handed me when I was leaving. The last page features a picture of members of the Perrin family in the stony vineyards outside the place along with the following really lovely copy:

"We want to preserve the spirit of craftsmanship in our business. Behind the wines of Beaucastel lie human beings, as they make the wines.
By respecting the traditions of our fore-bearers, Beaucastel is a noble and honest wine, made from grapes that are grown in a natural way. One cannot make good wines without having good grapes, but one also needs experience and talent to be a successful winemaker."

I really like that they included this, and I left my visit feeling, although it had been somewhat rushed, extremely satisfied with my wine visits in the Rhone and already looking forward to coming back. Only next time I'll make sure to allow plenty of time to find the elusive A7 en route to Beaucastel.

www.beaucastel.com

Bonus: some pics of the village of Chateauneuf du Pape

Posted by Courtney at 11:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Ok, I admit it: this entry is totally self gratuitous. Maybe it's because I miss Tasha Petunia. Maybe it's because I'm just a sucker for pets. Regardless, here you have it: PETS OF PROVENCE!!! My sister and I have been snapping some amazing pet pics throughout our travels and really want to share the best of them with you. I assure you: these are the cream of the cream of Provencal pets! That is to say, la creme de la creme, pour vous qui parlez francais.

Without further ado! Here is the mystery dog from the Vence farmer's market. Looks pretty relaxed, doesn't he? A theme we observed time and again with Provencal pets. Check out this next pic which shows le chien from a wider view: as you can see he is just kicking it, on his back, in the middle of a Provencal farmer's market. He was completely unphased. We loved it. We bonded with him. We took his picture. And then we left. On to more Provencal pets!

Like Bebe, pictured here on the stairs. Bebe and his buddy, Caramel, live with "the Cat Lady", as we've begun calling her, a charming older woman who runs a shop in the old town part of Vence, a Provencal village near where we're staying (and about 30 minutes from Nice, for those of you searching for recognizable coordinates). We bought lots of Provencal wares from her, especially little lavender pouches for friends back home, in large part because we loved coming to see her and her cats. The last time she saw us she gave us all these extra little lavender pouches as gifts. We loved her, and she loved us. But really, we loved her cats the most.

On to St. Paul de Vence, the very very cute (insanely cute, too cute, really) village right near where we stayed on this trip. It's a tiny medieval village perched on top of a hill between two dramatic gorges, as you see here, hence the swarms of tourists who descend on the village every day. We arrived at the beginning of August and are about to leave; we've noticed that the tourists have become more and more numerous as the days go by and the "high season" here in the south of France inches towards its climax. Despite the hordes, we found two very cute pets to photograph here.

The first is this tabby who, we swear, must be secretly related to the dog in Vence because it also had a proclivity for spreading itself out right smack in the middle of a busy pedestrian way. For those who have been to St. Paul de Vence you'll know that this tiny village only has one main drag, as we like to say stateside, and this chat was unabashedly spread out in the middle of that main drag. Never mind trying to pet it: passerby found out quickly this cat was the king of the road: he was cute to look at but would scratch anyone who tried to pet the "cute little kitty."

Shortly thereafter we spied this other chat nestled up under a car for a nap, clearly not concerned about the prospect of imminently being run over. This was a common theme amongst pets here for sure - this complete relaxation in the face of oncoming activity. In a way, it's like a metaphor for Provence itself. Things move slowly here! It's silly to worry about the future or anything serious!!

Next, we encountered yet another tabby in St. Paul de Vence just outside the city gates, next to this cute kid eating a cotton candy. The kid and her companion were content to check out the cat from several feet away. I found out later upon trying to pet it that it, like its friend over in the centre ville, really didn't want any attention from humans. It wanted to see and be seen, but not touched. Touche! Ok, I get the message. Provencal pets have a little attitude.

Still, that didn't stop me from trying to pet still another cat, pictured here, in Vence again. I thought this cat, named Mossimo, was adorable. Yes, he was, but not to touch. I got a swipe, what can I say? I'm a sucker for cats, especially Provencal cats. Like all the museums in these parts, though, it turns out these chats are better for looking than touching.

Coupla more dogs, finally, including Rocky, who was at dinner at the local pizza joint near us one night, and Aumandine's dog. Aumandine is the adorable French seamstress/designer who custom made a skirt for my sister in her studio in Vence. She has a husband and child in addition to this dog but I really think the dog the cutest of the bunch. Biased towards pets? Absolutely!! Can't wait to get back here to see more on my next trip.

Oh yes, and the wine has been very good too.

Posted by Courtney at 02:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Ever since I arrived at the house here in St. Paul de Vence I've had an intense sense of deja vu. It's probably because I came here and stayed with a French family on the Riviera for a summer exactly 10 years ago, in a little village called Mougins right next door to Cannes. Everything - from the Boules players in the village squares to the yacht-clogged harbors of the port cities to the ubiquitous glasses of rose wine - reminds me of a time past. Fortunately, one slight deviation from the past is that I'm now able to drink much more of the fabulous pink wine than I was permitted to as a teenager the last time around.

There's a new book out that's completely dedicated to pink wine that's become something of an anthem for this trip. It's called Exremely Pale Rose and was first brought to my attention by The New York Times' wine columnist Eric Asimov not long ago in his blog. I've not actually read the book myself yet, but two of my travel companions are currently in the thick of it, and report it's very good. Personally, I've preferred to do "real" research on the subject while on this trip, saving the actual reading for foggy San Fran when I get back.

Back to wine, then. The quintessential beverage of these parts, rose is downed here in copious quantities, and my companions and I have taken it on as a personal mission of sorts to blend in with the locals by way of consumption (in other words, the American way). But because, logistically speaking, it's impossible to just drink wine - pink or not - all the time, I've devised the following three-step strategy to help us achieve our goal:

Recipe for drinking Extremely Pale Rose All the Time:

1) drink rose in a tumbler, NOT a wine glass
The locals drink rose at lunch, mid-afternoon, dinner - whenever - in what some people might call water glasses, or tumblers. Regardless, they're stemless, so they seem more daytime-appropriate. Plus, they're easier to balance as you sip in precarious locations like poolside or, say, on board a moving yacht. And finally, they're much easier to keep hold of while playing a fierce game of boules or ping pong.
2) add ice
It's not lost on me that adding ice to your wine in most civilized societies is akin to driving on the wrong side of the road or, worse, admitting that you prefer fast food to a proper sit down meal. However, it's tolerated here because a) it's so freaking hot, and b) it necessarily dilutes the wine a bit so that you can lower your alcohol intake without actually slowing your speed of consumption. You see, the point of drinking Extremely Pale Rose all the time is not to become intoxicated. Doing so, in fact, would be incredibly un-chic. Rather, the point, as you will hopefully recall, is to FIT IN. Becoming drunk would impair your ability to speak a foreign language and Faire comme ils font en France, therefore leading you further from your goal and nearer a late afternoon hangover, which is never fun.
3) when all else fails, dilute with straight water
Obviously you want to avoid this option at all costs, but it's been known to present itself as the only viable option to keep drinking Extremely Pale Rose all the time. I also don't think it needs explaining, but all the same I'll offer this tip for maintaining a satisfactory appearance while drinking diluted rose: don't overdilute the already pale pink stuff so that it looks like you're - gasp! - just drinking water. I don't think any readers of this blog would actually make this error, but it's worth mentioning for the random surfers with less vinous expertise who may navigate to this page randomly.

Rose Pong: Taking it to the next level
After drinking lots of rose one afternoon I got into a heated ping pong match with my dad. The guy actually beat me (21-19), an incredibly annoying accomplishment given the 10+ years of professional tennis lessons I had growing up. Aside: He also beat me in tennis back then, too, in spite of never having any professional training himself. All this, and I'm in (or at least near) my physical prime, while he's...well, you do the math.

Knowing I was looking for a way to redeem myself, my sister suggested we start up a game of rose pong - an adaptation of the eponymous beer pong tournaments played at college campuses across the country. The premise is simple: two people stand on opposite sides of the ping pong table with a glass of rose on each side, in the middle of the table. You try to get the ball in the other person's glass - which is partially filled with rose - at which point that person has to down the entire thing in one gulp. Guess what? Turns out I'm one heck of a rose pong player: I beat everyone in my family, meaning that everyone had still MORE rose, while I got to feel like a fat cat and the ultimate champion. Here, a pic of my dad drinking up. Cheers to that.

Purchasing advice & word of caution
I don't have any specific brands to recommend, as I've not been paying attention. That's not the point of Provencal rose, after all. It pretty much all tastes the same to me, although I do, like, I suppose (again, I haven't actually gotten around to reading it yet, so I can't be sure) the authors of Extremely, have a preference for the palest roses of the bunch. They tend to be the most traditional (read: evocative of this region) and the lightest on their feet. Just what you want when you're on vaca. Speaking of which, it's time to get back to that.

CAUTION: Drinking too much rose can lead to a loss of focus in other areas of your life as you spiral further and further into your obsession with drinking Extremely Pale Rose all the time. Case in point - this snap of a bum in Vence sitting on the other side of a fountain, waiting for his rose to chill in the water. On the up side, apparently bums in France get to drink Pellegrino in addition to chilling their wine in public spaces - not a bad place to be a bum.

www.extremelypalerose.com

Posted by Courtney at 09:39 AM | Permalink

Ok, so I know that Bordeaux isn't technically in Provence, but I'm really liking the Postcards from Provence motif I've got going on here so I'll appreciate everyone's suspending their disbelief for one more entry. I'm in Provence NOW, while writing this recap of our fantastic stay in Bordeaux, so hopefully that's geographic rationale enough for all of you.

Speaking of Bordeaux, I was beyond pleasantly surprised at the city and our winery visits. A staunch Burgundy fan who's visited that amazing region several times, I've got to say my expectations of Bordeaux were rather low given its reputation for being a region full of large, corporate-run impersonal estates. I'm happy to say we found the estates - even the big ones, yes - welcoming, the people warm, and the city a surprisingly fun place to hang out. Seriously!

Pictured: us amidst vines at Chateau Lascombes

I wouldn't have believed it before I came, but yes - Bordeaux's got it going on. Granted, it lacks the subtle charm of Burgundy's completely personal family-run wineries, but it makes up for that in grandeur and a sense that HERE is the epicenter of much of the wine world's richest history. I wasn't able to get an appointment at Latour or Lafite due to timing issues (we were there on a weekend - the first weekend of August of all times, when the big summer holiday begins for much of Europe). BUT, as I was standing outside the Latour gate to snap this pic of the famed property I really felt like I was at the wine world's ground zero. "This is IT," I thought.

The moment didn't last long, however, as JC was adamant that we eat something before the next and final appointment of our Bordeaux sojourn, at Chateau Lascombes in Margaux. We'd been to Lynch-Bages earlier that day, in Paulliac, where we learned that just about NOTHING is open in terms of shops (read: foodstuffs and provisions) on Sundays in small villages in France. I think the sense of complete inactivity in the tiny town was amplified by the fact that most people have vacated areas like Bordeaux for sunnier regions this time of year; but all the same it was quite eerie and, as you might imagine, we were extraodinarily hungry.

Lynch-Bages, by the way, was very nice. We had a group tour - our only group tour of the entire trip - so it was also the least personal visit of our sojourn. But, our guide, shown here with us and a GIANT bottle - a Nebuchanezzar (20 bottles' worth), I believe - was very sweet and knowledgeable and spoke at least three languages, which was impressive (there were also some Spanish people on the tour with us). She showed us all the same things we saw at other estates - meaning the barrel rooms (there are usually 2 in Bordeaux chateaux, one for the current vintage and a different one for the previous vintage, so they don't get mixed up), the bottling line, fermentation vats, and sundry other items.

Notable things about Lynch-Bages include its total production - nearly 500,000 bottles altogether (a LOT) between the chateau's first and second wine (350K of the former and about 150K of the latter, called Lynch-Bages Averous), the artwork its owner commissions each year and which can be seen throughout the chateau, and the fact that the owner has recently bought up much of the adjacent hamlet of Bages, a tiny pseudo village that was previously abandoned.

The so-called "ghost town" of Bages is now being rehabilitated by the owner, who has already installed a shiny new brasserie, boulangerie and wine shop (selling only LB wines, of course) right in its center. The effect was a little Disneyland-ish, to be honest, but I'm sure it's better than allowing the gorgeous old buildings of Bages to be further run down. Also pictured: the gravelly soil characteristic of this part of the northern Medoc.

Here are some more snaps inside Lynch-Bages, including one of JC trying to make off with the Nebuchanezzar. I thought the tasting and touring experience here was by far the most like those in Napa, where things can be quite commercial and professional. In other words - they're used to receiving visitors here. This was in stark contrast to our experience at Margaux, where I had the fabulous feeling I was creeping around in areas I shouldn't be, and seeing things that ought not be seen. Perhaps that's the difference between a fifth and a first growth: accessibility.

We tasted the 2001 Lynch-Bages, which showed aromas and flavors of coffee bean, tobacco, kir, nutmeg, toast and plum in a - I thought - rather commercial blend. The structure was, rather like the surroundings, a little too soft, too round; the tannins especially were too soft. It wasn't a wine that would ever challenge me - not now, and not in 10 years. When I read the review of LB at wine-journal.com I found it interesting that its author felt the same way about their wines on recent visits. Hmmm.

Onward! We arrived at Lascombes for our 4:30PM appointment relieved it was the last winery visit we'd be making for at least 40 or so hours. I'm still grateful to Geraldine at Lascombes for receiving us at that hour on a Sunday - unheard of in France! Geraldine gave us a lovely tour of the Margaux property and even let us poke around in the castle, a real treat. Highlights of the visit included seeing the fantastic DISCO BARREL ROOM, bathed in this very cool blue light, the UCLA-hued interior of one of the chateau's rooms (sorry, die-hard Bruins here), and the fact that Lascombes has the first (and one of the only!) pools in the Medoc.

Turns out Lascombes is in the midst of a brand rejuvenation and there are lots of exciting things going on there. Among them is the hiring of Michel Rolland, the famous wine consultant maligned in the documentary Mondovino. Geraldine insisted that he's really not a jerk like he was made out to be in the film and that he's helping the property rebuild its image after a disappointing run during the second half of the last century.

New owners took over in 2001 and they've begun to reinvest in the vineyards (quality's on the rise) and equipment at the 84-hectare (about 200 acres) property first established by the knight Antoine de Lascombes in the 17th Century.

Something special Lascombes does that's rather rare in the Medoc is cold maceration for the reds, a process that contributes to greater color extraction and a smooth-tasting finished product. They also use something called OXO barrels, which are really nifty and allow for lees stirring, effectively, without the risk of oxygenation. Instead of traditional battonage, a process that requires exposing the good stuff to air while the mixture inside the barrels is stirred around, these barrels can just be rotated in place, a process that mixes their contents easily, quickly, and air-lessly. Nice! Very modern of them.

We tasted the 2005 Lascombes, which was showing incredibly nicely given its young age. It was dark ruby-colored and coated my glass thickly the way California Cabs do, a comparison that was echoed on the nose and palate. The wine had a BRIGHT (I wrote that down in my notebook in all caps) fruit-forward nose with raspberry and blueberry fruit dominating. It also smelled of cinnamon stick, toast and a little alcohol. The palate was supple and round and quite nice, with flavors of more ripe fruit and toast. Geraldine explained that when you pick very ripe grapes at just the right time, as happened in 2005, you can get Bordeaux that's this approachable this young.

It's not that I don't believe her, which I do, but rather that I also recognize that this wine is made in a very friendly, approachable (and dare I say: commercial) style. Which is completely fine. Unlike the Lynch-Bages, which just left me rather neutral, I really enjoyed the Lascombes. There's nothing wrong, after all, with making an approachable wine that drinks well really young. When you release 300,000 bottles a year I'm sure it helps when they all taste great right away.

But, I WILL say that it was a very different wine than the '99 I drank at Chateau Margaux, where the wine was what I think of as REAL Bordeaux: developing beautifully, with promising and complex aromas on the nose but a still rather rigid palate calling out for at least 6 or more years in the bottle. Impractical? Absolutely. But typical Bordeaux? - at least, what I've always been taught is typical Bordeaux - very much so.

At the end of the day, I enjoyed both styles. I think Margaux is a fantastic reminder of what top old-school Bordeaux always has been and should always be, while Lascombes is a good example of the controlled modernization in this area that can be done sensibly and with good taste.

After our whirlwind day at the "L" chateaux we made our way - slowly, getting lost several times, naturally - eastward into the Entre Deux Mers region where we were staying in this gorgeous fairy tale castle (Chateau Camiac) for the evening. I absolutely LOVED our stay here, brief though it was, and found Entre Deux Mers a total blast to the past. The region, known for producing large quantities of mostly forgettable wine (especially when compared to its more illustrious neighbors on either side of the Gironde estuary), is full of tiny villages that evoke a sense of centuries past.

Crumbling walls and centuries-old churches coexist next to modern housing while organized rows of vines abut thick forrests reminiscent of places Robinhood and his Merry men would lurk waiting for passerby to rob. Plus, the landscape is dotted with gorgeous old castles like the one we were staying in. There are also tons of horses and farm animals, fields of sunflowers, and friendly people going about their lives amidst all this beauty. By far the prettiest part of France I've seen (and I've seen LOTS of this country) and a total pleasure to visit.

Just a quick note for future visitors to the castle: the CHATEAU of Camiac is not in the VILLAGE of Camiac. Don't have a blonde moment like we did and wander around in the village looking for it. It's further down the road! Best part about the castle: the fabulously mis-translated dinner menu, where we divined that a dish called "tunny" was really tuna, and the warm broth it was served in was described, unattractively, as "tepid." Appetizing? Not exactly. But charming? Certainly.

Pictured: JC attempting to ride a plant sculpture bike in the middle of a roundabout in Creon, a little village near Bordeaux (excellent aside: I drove away and left her here for some time, much to her mortification and the amusement of passerby. Tee hee!).

Posted by Courtney at 07:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

For those of you who've been reading my posts about very cool GREEN winery Medlock Ames FYI there is a tasting coming up at SoMa's Vino Venue where you can meet some of the folks from Medlock and - of course! - taste their wines! The focus will be on biodynamic and organic farming methods they use and you'll also get to sample their '02 merlot, '02 cabernet, and '02 red. Learn more and sign up at Vino Venue's site. I'll still be in France but hope those of you who are able to make it enjoy. Cheers!

$10 to taste plus 15% off Medlock wines

Posted by Courtney at 03:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Everyone, meet Rodolphe de Pins, current winemaker-owner at Chateau de Montfaucon, a southern Rhone estate that's been around for just about a Millenium. Davis-educated, world-traveled, and totally down-to-earth, de Pins is in the process of rejuvenating his family's ancient estate and turning out some really excellent wines. In the process, he's beautifully marrying new methods with old locations and philosophies, as evidenced in his outfitting the estate's 500-year-old winery with new equipment and barrels. The result is a totally functional and appealingly harmonious coming-together of old and new, all situated just beneath his family's 1000-year-old chateau on the hill.

What's old is new, but better
As we approached the village of Montfaucon for our appointment JC exclaimed "wow! do you think the family owns that castle on the hill?" "No way," I said emphatically. "Castles like that are all national monuments now." Hmm. Definitely not the first time I've been wrong, and boy was I wrong: The de Pins family most certainly still owns the chateau, which has been in their lineage for about 300 years.

The place itself is closer to a thousand years old, erected originally to guard the border between the Royaume de France to the west and the Holy Roman-German Empire to the east, and later to guard the passage of trade on the adjacent Rhone River. Quickly, a little history trivia: the region to the west has long been Protestant while that to the east Catholic, hence the popes making nearby city Avignon the papal seat for about a century during the Middle Ages. So as you can imagine, this made for lots of potential conflicts over the years and, clearly, the need for an imposing castle/fortress to guard the boundary.

The castle of Montfaucon was one of a series of such castles built along the Rhone river to guard the boundary. Much later, Rodolphe's grandmother, a Countess, convinced the invading Germans not to blow it up before they retreated from France after one of the world wars. Rodolphe has named one of his wines in her honor, as a way of thanking her for her savvy negotiating skills.

Even more fascinating, Rodolphe's parents still live in the castle, which we had the pleasure of touring shortly after our arrival. Wow! It's old! Here are some snaps of us on the roof, looking out at the surrouding countryside. The chateau is old-school indeed, complete with ramparts and gargoyles like this one. Nearby are the villages of Tavel and Lirac, and across the river is the Chateauneuf du Pape appellation, where the region's most famous wines are made. This proximity bodes well for Montfaucon's wines!

Vineyards alive!
Rudy, as Rodolphe's Davis classmates called him, also took us into the fields for a closer look at the vines. I was immediately aware of how alive the fields were - Rudy uses a natural grass cover crop and doesn't use any incecticides or pesticides - because there were grasshoppers and other insects literally jumping all over. There was a low hum from all the bugs, and they kept running into me - I would hear little a little snap and feel a subtle jolt on my sleeve and realize a bug and I had just had a collision - literally. Rudy explained that he thinks of the vineyard as an organism that's alive in many ways - the bugs just being one example of that. If he were to excessively spray his vines he would lose something in the process, he believes.

Not completely organic - Rudy said he likes to reserve the right to use the necessary means to combat diverse environmental problems if and as they arise - Montfaucon's vineyards all the same reflected this healthy philosophy of "less is more." There are a total of 11 Rhone grape varieties grown on the estate's 100 hectares, including (for the reds) Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre, Cinsault, Carignan, Counoise, and (for the whites) Viognier, Clairette, Marsanne, Bourboulenc and Picpoul. Each variety brings a unique element to the estate's several wines, and this blending is a hallmark of wines from the region, which are almost always made from a blend of at least several grapes and sometimes as many as thirteen.

Here we are in the estate's barrel room, where wine was being made 500 years ago on the castle farm, which was auto-sufficient since there was no organized market at that time. Besides producing all of the residents' food and other necessities, the farm produced their wine - bien sur! Can you imagine waiting out a siege without sufficient stocks of wine? I mean, puhleeze. What a drag.

Inside you can see the old winery's ancient press and a trough (pictured) where the juice would flow after pressing. Just next to these old pieces is the estate's recent vintages in barrels. What was most interesting to me about the cave was its temperature - a balmy 20 degrees Celsuis, or about 68 degrees Farenheit - which Rudy said was quite typical for Rhone barrel caves. This warm temperature helps the wine evolve while in barrel, although Rudy is worried about the effects of global warming on his cave. Without artificial cooling systems the temperatures keep creeping up, which won't be good for the good stuff. This wasn't the first time the effects of global warming were brought up during my visits, yikes.

The best way to taste = over an excellent lunch
Now, what you really want to hear about: the wines. Rudy was really generous with his wine, allowing us to taste more than a half dozen during the course of the day and over a really lovely French country lunch. Besides the fantastic tuna and dill tart we sampled, we had some really nice wines, including the 2005 Comptesse Madeleine, a white named in honor of his savvy grandmother. Made from usual Rhone suspects Viognier, Marsanne, Clairette, Bourbelenc and Picpoul, the wine had lovely aromas and flavors of apricot, peach, green melon, flowers, baking spices and orange marmalade on the finish.

My favorite wine of the day was the 2003 Cotes du Rhone red, which at about $10 in the US is a total steal. It has aromas and flavors of bright cherry and is just beautifully balanced and pleasant to drink. It's a wine that, I think, will be pleasing even to staunch Pinot Noir drinkers, who tend to look for finesse and mellow tannin in their reds. I wasn't surprised, then, to learn that Rudy's favorite cooper is Burgundy's Francois Freres, which is known for producing "gentle" wines. Rudy says it's been sold out in the San Francisco area for some time but that more is on the way this fall. Eeeeexcellent.

Montfaucon's flagship wine is a cuvee called Baron Louis, named in honor of another relative who refurbished the castle during the 19th century to its current excellent state. It's made from a blend of Grenache, Syrah, Cinsault, Carignane, Mourvedre and Counoise. The 2005 was really pretty, with notes of red and black berry fruits, dark plum, char, corn, cinnamon, potato, cocoa powder and pomegranate. It also had a - good although it might not sound pleasant! - barnyard aroma I find often in wines from the Rhone. Altogether I think the wine beautifully captures the essence of the area and is a real pleasure to drink.

The 1995 Baron Louis confirmed all this, and was particularly special to quaff since it was Rudy's first vintage after taking over the family estate. I was tickled to find the same aroma and flavor of Jolly Rancher Cinnamon stick in it I encountered in the 2005; evidence, I believe, of a special terroir here at Montfaucon. After a decade the wine was still fresh and - not surprisingly - beautifully balanced with acid, tannin and fruit harmoniously cohabiting in my glass. Notes of aniseed, crushed roses, coffee and toffee rounded out the experience and left JC and me completely sated.

Then, in the true French way, Rudy's companion Mari brought out still more food - this time in the form of goat cheese of six different ages. Here's a pic of JC just moments before she had a Pretty Woman moment cutting the cheese. Like the escargot that Julia Roberts catapulted across the resto in that film, JC sent a wedge of the VERY hard to cut 6-month-old frommage to the far side of the table. We all sort of held our breaths for a few moments after that happened, unsure of how to proceed, but alas the awkward moment passed and we continued on our merry eating and drinking way. When Rudy did the exact same thing shortly thereafter we knew we should all be at ease.

We were in La France, after all, and, as when in Rome, we had just done as they do here: catapulted some old cheese across the table, laughed, and tipped up our glasses once again. What more could one want?

A castle on a hill, perhaps.

Posted by Courtney at 09:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

"It is a very good day. We got a new tractor and the cicadas didn't start singing until 9AM."

So began our wonderful day at Moulin de la Gardette, a small family-run estate in the Gigondas district of France's southern Rhone Valley about 45 minutes from Avignon. We spent a total of about five and a half hours with Jean Baptiste Meunier, the jovial owner and winemaker, during which time he showed us the grounds, the vines, the winery and the surrounding village before hosting us at a lovely luncheon in the town square. JC and I left with a feeling of total contentment and a conviction that if we are ever reincarnated as grapes, we'd like to be some of Moulin de la Gardette's.

The day started with a warm greeting as described above at Moulin de la Gardette's very cute tasting room on the town square. About 200 people live in the village of Gigondas (jee gon dahs) proper, with an additional 500 or so in the outlying area. So as you can imagine, the "town square" is a tiny but lively place. If you're visiting Gigondas, the square and the Gardette tasting room are terrifically easy to find. This was fortuitous for JC and me, as we've discovered that navigating in France is definitely not facile (see upcoming entry "Blonde & Blonder").

JB made us feel immediately at home, whizzing us up the nearby hill for a breathtaking view of his family's vineyards, a local ruin and, beyond, the entire Rhone Valley.

At the top of this little mountain is a circular indicator called the Belvedere Table d'Orientation instructing visitors on what can be found in the nearby countryside. Here's a pic of JC locating the Palace of the Popes in nearby Avignon, where we're staying. The giant mountain in the background is Mont Ventoux, the famed peak of this region and, apparently, a very windy place.

The first pic in this entry captures the "Mistral," the famed wind that whips through the area and temporarily took JC back to the big hair days of the 80s. It's also apparently blown some people off of Mont Ventoux to their deaths, eek!

Some more gorgeous pics of the Rhone!

After our sojourn on the windy peak we ventured into the vineyards, where we observed three different colors of soil - white, gray and orange - indicating several unique terroirs on the 9 hectare estate (about 22 acres).

The vines are a mix of Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre and Cinsault. The most interesting was the Cinsault, a blending grape with bigger berries than the others.

They were big, indeed! They've got, conversely, weaker stems than the Grenache, leading JB to make an amusing and, I must add, very French observation that the stems are "rather feminine" while the grapes "masculine." I had to chuckle to myself at that remark.

Here's another pic of some old vine Grenache (the property has vines up to around 100 years old, planted by JB's grandfather) and a middle aged vine with a gorgeous bunch on it undergoing veraison, the conversion of the grapes from green to purplish colors.

Cicadas, the bizarre large insects that make noise by vibrating while in trees and shrubs, can be heard all around the vineyard. JB explained that they make the noise to cool themselves, and that this racket can be heard as early as 6AM sometimes. When that's the case, it's going to be a scorcher, he says. Good thing they didn't get going 'til 9 today - as it was still incredibly warm and I can't imagine what it must be like when scorching.

Random aside: while doing some follow up research on cicadas I was intrigued by the site My-bugs.com, which sells framed cicadas under the slogan, "No living room or study would be complete without one." Hmm, not so sure I agree, but whatevs - to each his own!

Cuvee de Mon Fils
Then, back in the car for a quick jaunt over to the Gardette's new winery, built just two years ago by a local architect we ran into later near the town square. The facility is small but efficient and, as you can see from the pic, quite striking against the bright blue sky. Inside we were shown the concrete fermentation vats, where only natural yeasts are used to conduct fermentation and where JB's son, Georges, fell in one time.

This is actually incredibly dangerous since fermenting grapes give off CO2 that can lead to unconsciousness and, in rare instances, death. Fortunately, Georges was salvaged and I was able to safely joke, "did you call the wine 'Cuvee de Mon Fils'?

We tasted several wines in the winery, including the recently bottled 2004 vintage of the winery's two main wines, the Cuvee Tradition (retails in the US for around $17) and the Ventabrun (about $27). Both were very good, and I found the Ventrabrum (which sees time in old oak barriques and undergoes a light filtration) particularly pleasing. 2004 was an outstanding vintage in this area, and the wine is redolent with flavors of plum and currant as well as an exciting collection of things found in the surrounding area: lavender, thyme, wildflower and sweet grass. There are also notes of cocoa, orange peel, cinnamon, flowers and licorice. Highly recommended.

We also enjoyed tasting a 1998 vintage wine JB created in honor of the birth of his daughter, Zoe. Zoe has personalized her wine with these very cute chalk drawings and signature. I told JB over lunch I think Zoe, who's learning to play the harp and enjoys philosophy, will certainly be his next winemaker. He looked reflective after I said this and simply said, "I hadn't thought of that." It'll be interesting to see what happens.

After tasting there was a smooth transition to lunch in the village courtyard, just a brief jaunt away in JB's car. We thoroughly enjoyed our meal of summer salad, tartine and a charcuterie/cheese plate along with some Moulin de la Gardette wine. The highlight of the day was JB's opening, at lunch, a really lovely bottle of his 1995 Gigondas, which was bottled unfined and unfiltered. It had a beautiful nose of nuts, figs, coffee, some gun flint and dates and had structure to go on aging for 10 or more years. Definitely a class act.

"It's a very nice place to be a grape."
I can't think of a more pleasant day than today. Jean Baptiste, who worked at famed estate Diamond Creek in the Napa Valley for some time in the 90s and is pictured here with his eldest son, put it perfectly when he described the land surrounding the village of Gigondas and his vines.

The pine trees, the rosemary and all the other things in the area contribute character to the vines and, in turn, the region's wines. "It's a very nice place to be a grape," he said on the drive back from the little mountain. I couldn't agree more.


www.moulindelagardette.com

Posted by Courtney at 09:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Things got off to a very good start today after I disembarked from my red eye from NYC. Amazingly enough, my good pal and travel partner in crime JC was right on time meeting me at the Bordeaux airport, our chosen spot of contact for this leg of the trip. After high fives and mutual congratulations on our improbable promptness, we set out in our rented Peugeot for none other than Chateau Margaux, one of the five illustrious first growths of this great region, and an absolutely gorgeous spot.

For someone who's never driven in France, I further congratulate myself wholeheartedly on getting the two of us to the property life and limb intact. For those of you who've never driven in France, the roundabouts are many and quite tricky. Add to the confusion a somewhat confused but vocally talented passenger/navigator screeching that every option you've just whizzed past was THE way to go and you've got yourself a rather hairy situation.

Being the more reflective partner in this twosome, I settled for calmy continuing to circle each roundabout until we'd clearly considered each option (often there are as many as five or six possible turns you can make, including the one you came from, which can begin to seem like all the rest of them and consequently becomes a "new" option as well). Then, when we were both finally in agreement on which was correct we'd make the turn, much to the relief of the drivers behind us. It wasn't quite as bad as the famous scene around the monster roundabout at Paris' Arc de Triomphe from National Lampoons, but close.

So, onward. Upon arrival at Chateau Margaux we were greeted by Tina Bizard, with whom we're pictured here.

Tina is studying to become a wine tasting professional much like I did with the International Sommelier Guild, and it was fun to chat with her about her curriculum and drive to learn more about the sensory appreciation of fine wines. She was a real pleasure to chat and tour with, and patiently answered my many questions - thank you!

Chateau Margaux's cellars are impressive, although not giant (at least, not by Burdundian standards, where they can house millions of bottles). Because Bordeaux is built around so much water (the Atlantic to the west and the Gironde estuary to the east) it's tough to dig caves here. Consequently, the property's largest barrel storage room and the only one underground was only built in 1982. The on-site bottle storage area, which boasts goodies from as far back as 1848, is actually situated partially above ground.

Tina explained that the storage area's temperature fluctuations that come with being partially above ground prove that good wine does not necessarily require permanently cool and non-undulating temperatures. Rather, she said, the most important thing is that most of the factors are constant - such as vibration, humidity and light.

Speaking of humidity, the "big barrel room" downstairs built in 1982 features state of the art humidifying mist that actually came on when I was down there. SO COOL. Even Jen, who didn't know what it was for, was totally impressed. The juxtaposition of old school-looking wall sconces like this one (from the barrel room) and the mist was a great explanation of modern Bordeaux's expert blending of these two worlds.

Cooperage time! Margaux is, I believe, the only Bordeaux chateau to retain a full-time cooper.

Their cooper (who'd just departed on vacation for the August holiday every Frenchman seems to take) makes about 30% of all their barrels. Here's another shot of some old school-looking equipment in there.

Tasting: we sampled the 1999 Chateau Margaux and it was quite good. I thought the nose was outstanding but the palate could - admittedly, as Tina offered - use 5 or 6 more years to really come into its own.

Still, the nose had this lovely banana aroma going on, as well as toast, cassis, ripe cherry, cinnamon, nutmeg, cocoa and coffee bean. The palate, despite the tannin's being a bit grippy (again, needs more time) had promising flavors that echoed the nose, including cassis, a touch of mint, cranberry and baking spice. What an experience!

Chateau Margaux welcomes annually about 8 to 10 thousand visitors, by appointment only. I highly recommend trying to stop by if you're in the area. It's not only gorgeous to eyeball, but the grounds, equipment and the whole operation evoke a sense of time gone by. That, combined with their attentive customer service and absolutely beautiful wines make them a total class act.

www.chateau-margaux.com

PS: meanwhile, back at the ranch (AKA the city of Bordeaux, where we're staying), JC and I are discovering some fabulous hidden gems in terms of restaurants and bars tucked into the old town near our hotel.

Here's a sneak peak at some of that action, with more on the way.

Posted by Courtney at 12:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)