Road Trip

Gorges d'Ardèche

French people love to brag about their country. Their favorite claim is that France has everything that America has, just in a much smaller area: mountains (Alps, Pyrenees, etc.), sea and ocean (Cote d'Azur, Biarritz, Normandy, etc.), rivers (Seine, Rhône, Dordogne, etc.), a world capital (check). But dig past these obvious ones, and one does discover amazing variety. In our recent 10-day vacation, we saw the chateaux forts perched on the rocks of Périgord, the deep gorges in Southern Ardèche, and the crowded Rhône river valley at Vienne, a town I had never heard of before arriving. 

In addition to memorable sightseeing, nice walks, and a big-time bike race that leapt up out of nowhere to surprise us in the hills around Vallon Pont d'Arc, we learned a lot about food and our children's ability to handle life on the road. 

Our French adventure started in December 2013 in Sarlat. We stayed with the family that hosted me in Paris in 1995-96. They closely monitored the way we fed our children -- aged 3 and 8 months at the time, who had just left the only home they had ever known, all their routines, all their extended family, their native language -- and found it woefully lacking. Our hosts deemed an innocent chicken sandwich as backwards as broccoli for breakfast. "Why are they eating dinner at 5:30pm? Children eat at 7:00pm." You get the idea. 

Now, back at the scene, our boys had mastered the schedule and were happy with their breakfast of cereal and chocolate milk, family lunch at noon, the nationally-mandated afternoon goûter at 4:00 or 4:30, and dinner before their parents. I confess I was a little proud of them.

Warmth for Lunch

Sometimes, lunch is just food. It gives your body fuel for the rest of the day, each bite forgotten as soon as it swallowed. Sometimes, lunch is an eating marathon, the principle activity of one's day. Sometimes, lunch causes personal injury. And sometimes, lunch is a time to warm up.

It has been cold. Not cold like in my US hometown, where it was recently -22 in the sun, but cold for Burgundy nonetheless. A wind was whipping through the streets of Beaune at noon, and it was time to seek shelter and food. I stood in front of an Italian place I had been eyeing for some months and decided today was the day to take the plunge. 

The windows tipped the scales for me on this visit. As I stood on the frozen cobblestones, the glass panes of the restaurant were fogged by the breath of patrons, the steam of cooking, and, no doubt, the hot air of conversation. I went inside and told the hostess I was alone. "Mais pas dans la vie," I was quick to assure her. Not alone in life.

She said she had a table for me, but I would be next to other people. Would that be ok? Naturally. 

I sat and perused the menu, deciding that a thin-crust 4 Seasons pizza would be just right (artichokes, olives, prosciutto cotto, and mushrooms). After ordering, I looked around at the other customers. There were men in business attire, finishing their meal with an espresso. Young couples corralled their children the best they could. A table of lunching ladies worked their way through beautiful salads.

The hostess noticed my table was wobbling and brought over a shim. When I asked if I could have some of the breadsticks that were on neighboring tables, the couple next to me quickly offered their own, one of those little restaurant moments where they weren't eavesdropping, but couldn't help but overhear and just wanted to be helpful. The breadsticks were Italian and divine, dotted with salt and brimming with rosemary. The chill was gone, the red Santenay in my glass was opening up nicely, and everywhere around me was a symphony of French. (There are not many tourists in Beaune on a Wednesday afternoon in early February.) 

Luncheoning alone in crowded restaurants is under-appreciated. This day was a wonderful chance to observe: no book, no phone, no distractions, just looking and listening to the world around me while I waited for my food.

Saint Vincent Take Two

As the police officer walked away from me I said, "I'll see you later, Monsieur le Gendarme." 

He gave a hearty laugh and I told him not to worry, I had taken the train to the 71st Saint Vincent Tournante festival. This year's version of the celebration of the patron saint of winemakers was held in Vougeout and Gilly-les-Citeaux, the former known for, well, one of the most famous wines in Burgundy, and the latter for being next to the former. 

We had been to the 70th version of the event last year in Saint Aubin and 365 days in Burgundy had taught us an important lesson: LEAVE THE KIDS AT HOME WHEN YOU GO TO A WINE FESTIVAL. We hired a babysitter, put on eight layers of clothing, drove to Beaune, ditched the car, and got on the 11:33 train to Vougeout. As the mass of humanity boarded, one girl already in the train said, "What's going on? I take this train every Saturday and I've never seen so many people." Burgundy wine festivals will do that.

Upon arriving, we purchased our pack de dégustation, which included a commemorative glass and its carrier, a map, and seven tickets for different tastings. Our first stop was for a grand cru red, made exclusively from Pinot noir grapes. The local winemakers had pooled their supply for this unique event, creating an assemblage of different grand cru wines that would only be available for this weekend. On Monday, it would be impossible to find this particular wine ever again. The man pouring it gestured to the falling snow and said, "Try to warm it up with your hands."

The weather had made this the opposite of the ideal tasting conditions. Instead of a controlled environment, the wind was bitingly brisk, and all the wines were served al fresco, far from their optimal temperatures. The air was crowded with odors competing for the wine's aromas: roasting hams, cigarette smoke, melted cheese, French fries, and more than enough BO to go around. We cupped our glasses in our hands, trying to warm it, but the effort was wasted. It was like defrosting a snowy windshield with your breath. And yet, that first wine...well it was magic.

Marsannay la Côte Food Festival

Just a little bit south of the city of Dijon is the wine village of Marsannay-la-Côte. For 31 years, in the heart of grand crus, the town has invited locals and tourists alike to their “Gourmet Days.” Over a March weekend, dozens of vendors congregate in the town gym to showcase food from here and from there. The mayor speaks, the local Confrérie plays host, and, of course, the wine flows.

Food and photos always bring the politicians

From the ceiling hang giant kite-like dragons, butterflies, and other colorful beasts. It is difficult to decipher if this is part of the food day or just happenstance. Regardless, on the ground, the objectives are clear as a mountain morning: Tables sag under the weight of caloric treasures. 

Two men from the Jura sell sausages as thick as a forearm and cheeses in wheels that could fit a tractor. The artisan charcutier is doling out samples of his jambon persillé three ways: original, with mustard, and with foie gras. The latter is a taste sensation, and results in more than one billfold shrinking. Back by the entry, a woman and her teenage daughter are offering slices of horsemeat sausages. 

Across the room, a team is peddling dozens of types of…lasagna? Yes, lasagna. With mushrooms, snails, scallops, sausage, vegetables, bacon, tuna, smoked ham, or salmon. You kind of shake your head, wondering how they stay in business selling nothing but lasagna, but also applaud their audacity and their passion.

Lasagna ten ways

Sweets are also front and center. Along with a chocolate fountain, there are homemade pâte de fruits (jellied fruits), macarons, colorful lollipops, and even some French attempts at classic American cookies. An artisan was dipping perfect little squares of crunchy wafers into a dark, melted pool of delicious, extracting them with tweezers before placing them on wire racks to cool. The transformation from rustic simplicity to classy elegance was breathtakingly quick.

The people were passionate about their products, dedicated to their work, and eager to share their quality with consumers. As this festival clearly has staying power, it is worth checking out if you are in the region.

What: Journées Gourmandes Food Festival

Where: Marsannay-la-Côte, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: March weekend

How Much: Entry is a couple/few euros

Goat Cheese

On a hilly farm in the tiny village of Blancey, Sébastien Roussel, a 30-ish guy, owns and operates a goat farm. With his herd of a couple dozen goats (plus the necessary bucks), he makes cheese, yogurt, fromage blanc, and other little tidbits from goat milk.

Fresh cheese in molds

He grew up an hour or so away from Blancey, but has no roots there, no family, no traditions. It is strikingly courageous in rural France to find anyone (much less a young bachelor) who has the desire to move away from the comforts of home into a new place and start something as audacious and back-breaking as milking goats. He admits he works all the time. It is a one-man show, with the exception of an intern. He sells at markets in the region as well as a couple of conveniently accessible supermarkets, and welcomes visitors/consumers to the farm every Wednesday evening.

Kids go for 3-4 euros each to other farmers

On a recent visit, he gave an extensive tour of the operation, including the milking parlor (which holds 12 goats at a time); the chicken coop, whose population was recently reduced by a dozen thanks to a local fox; the cheese making room, an immaculate white ode to cheese; the different aging rooms, whose temperature is controlled by old-school oscillating fans); and of course the goats, for whom he whistles. 

They come bounding down the hill towards the trough he has just filled. Sébastien points out that, unlike cows, goats are curious and will come right up for a nuzzle or a pat. Because there is not a lot of goat cheese production in the region, the locals have been more curious than threatened, a change from another region he has spent time in, where competition was fiercer and the welcome decidedly cooler.

And now you know where goat cheese comes from

Back in the store, he dips a mi-frais into a Tupperware of garlic and fine herbs, just one of the several options available. Coupled with some yogurts, the astonishingly beautiful countryside, and the kind of conversation one can only get from a young guy who works all day on a farm by himself milking goats, it is a great afternoon and a little treasure in Côte d'Or.

What: Goat cheese farm

Where: Blancey, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: Wednesdays from 6-8pm at the farm; at the Pouilly-en-Auxios market Friday evenings and the Saulieu market on Saturday mornings

How Much: Cheeses are 2 euros

Pig Farm

At the Ferme des Levées, about 15 minutes west of Beaune, you can get an up-close look at how to raise organic pigs. It is a great place to bring children as they can get right up close and personal with the pigs in an unthreatening, largely unsupervised environment. (As is frequently the case in France, you are on your own to survey your kids. Farm staff are happy to let you roam the "pig parks" without a guide.) 

The pigs roam around vast expanses, chewing all the while, looking for treats in the mud and grass under their feet. They look simultaneously cute, happy, and healthy. They eat organic cereals with no genetically modified ingredients. The run, cavort, and snort with great regularity. They stay on the farm for about a year before, well, before it ends.

When you have sated your curiosity about porcine life, you can go to the small store to check out the porcine “afterlife.” Fresh boudins noirs, rillettes (perfectly-spiced minced and shredded pork, wonderful on morning baguette or tartine), roasts, chops, terrines, pâtés, saucisson sec, pig feet, even little plastic tubs holding a single brain (about 2 euros each). 

The female employee says they ship 2 to 4 pigs a week to the Beaune facility, and then do all the butchering themselves on site. Very on site, as the man in the kitchen behind her saws through a bone. With genuine pride, she discusses the quality of the meat. It is tasty, with a luxurious texture, so different from industrial stuff. She goes on that many customers are now planning ahead, ordering a roast or some chops several days in advance and then coming to pick up the cuts later in the week. A wise strategy.

Buying or not, this is a fun producer to visit and a great way to get in touch with the roots of the food you eat.

What: Organic pig farm

Where: Lusigny-sur-Ouche, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: Open Tuesday and Wednesday from 3:00pm-7:00pm and Fridays and Saturdays from 10-12 and 3-7.

How Much: Up to you

Le Fournil d’Antigny-la-Ville

A lot of people have had a lot to say about bread over the years. Rightfully so. Bread is good, and, like beer and champagne, it kind of goes with everything.

In the tiny village of Antigny-la-Ville, about 20 minutes from Beaune, a young baker is doing his best to add his tale to bread folklore. In the middle of “town,” he built a little bread laboratory with a brick oven, and has been churning out organic loaves of brioche and sourdough for three years. 

Brioche (top) and other loaves ready to bake

In three more years, he confides, it will be even better because the oven will be paid off, giving him and his family a little more to live on. He confesses that it has been hard starting out, but he always believed in himself, and believed in his ability to make the project work. His friends from growing up thought him crazy; who was going to buy his organic bread? He explains that, initially, many clients bought almost out of kindness, one of his littlest loaves just so that the poor guy had some income. But now, as dedication and experience have improved his bread (“les clients ont vu que je m’améliore”), they are buying 1 or even 2 kilograms a week. He is quick to point out that, contrary to the local baguette, which is brick-hard within 24 hours, his bread can last a week.

When asked if his neighbors in the village purchase his products, he says no. Complex layers of tradition and loyalty prevent that radical of a move. He laughs a little, and says he never included local purchases in his revenue projections.  

Flour dust before baking

As the oven heats, he drinks Heineken (surely a sign of genius) and offers his thoughts on organic food, poverty, elevated local housing prices, why the Portuguese and Poles are the primary labor force in Swiss vineyards, and the magical powers of travel. If your mind’s eye conjures a baker in small-town France with utopian ideals, your mind’s eye is probably right on. But sometimes the smell of the bread overpowers whatever he is talking about, and you just enjoy it.

The bread is available at three area markets during the week (Saulieu on Saturday, Chagny on Sunday, and Bligny-sur-Ouche on Wednesday), but the freshest and most fun way to enjoy this bread is to place an order a day or two to  before he “attacks the bread” Thursday afternoon. You can pick from standards (sourdough, rye, whole wheat) or just let him make whatever he feels like, a not-too-risky dance with chance. You can then go to his workshop to pick up your loaf, still warm, ready for your love and affection. Spread it with good butter and you may be moved to add your voice to the world of bread literature.

A quick brush of the finished product

What: Bakery

Where: Antigny-la-Ville, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: Thursday afternoons

How Much: A small loaf is 3 euros

Salon du Chocolat

People will come, Ray, people will most definitely come.

There are many different kinds of love in the world. Puppy. True. Unrequited. Dangerous. Platonic. Romantic. Maternal. But few affairs are more torrid than the one between the French and their chocolate.

Gerry Cheevers or Hannibal Lecter

Dijon's inaugural Salon du Chocolat was a poem to chocolate lovers everywhere. At dozens of stands, the cocoa bean was dressed to kill. It was shaped into dolphins, owls, frogs, and cows; made into flower bouquets; sculpted into shoes; turned into edible art.

People tasted and bought it in countless shapes, colors, and textures. There was white chocolate with plump hazelnuts popping out; sublime squares scented with ginger, cinnamon, or salt; ganaches of every flavor; slabs of Ugandan, French, Swiss, and Ecuadorean goodness. It covered candied fruit and was turned into lollipops. The artisans wore rough gloves to prevent it melting as they broke, weighed, and sold it to adults and the kids who were everywhere, riding every part of the sugar wave.

A Michelin-starred chef offered free samples of pumpkin soup flavored with a chocolate cream. He rolled foie gras in cocoa powder, which he served, dusted with a little orange zest, on top of little toasts. These latter had been slathered in the grease from the foie gras, because, as the chef reminded his audience, “one should never waste anything in the kitchen, so why not use that grease? It would be a shame to throw it out!”

In addition to the chocolate, there were fine wines and liqueurs to accompany the sweets. The “World Champion of Jam” offered demos, samples, and a vast selection of products. Nougat, doughnuts, and “bretzels” all made an appearance. And, of course, there was a foie gras salesman in the middle of the chocolate show.    

 Two hours before the show ended for the weekend, the line to get in was several hundred yards long. It seems there is little more attractive than a chocolate feast on a Sunday afternoon in early spring in the heart of Burgundy’s capital city.

What: Salon du Chocolat

Where: Parc des Expositions (Tram: Auditorium), Dijon, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: Early spring (the first version was in late March; 2015 dates TBD)

How Much: 4 euros

Montbard Market

France can make the simple complicated. What could be easier, one asks, than buying food? A steak is a steak, strawberries are strawberries, right?

Wrong.

In a culture where food is more important than income, centuries of infatuation have made selection and preparation of victuals a complex endeavor. This market, featuring 60 +/- vendors in a warehouse-type building in the center of Montbard, is a prime place to learn the importance of quality products and artisanal work in the culinary world.

Taste-tested, Frenchwoman-approved

At the produce stand, there are three types of strawberries on offer: one from Spain that seems affordable, and two French varieties, from around $8 a pound to $16 a pound. A rapport qualité-prix battle rages (loosely, the relationship between price and quality, a national obsession).

Up go the antennae: a woman is flattering the stand operator about the quality of her strawberries. They are amazing. You ask the difference between those and the Spanish ones (which look tempting themselves, at a third the price). The customer wonders if perhaps the curious gentleman could have a taste? Sadly, no, counters the shopkeeper, because they are already weighed and sold by weight. So the customer reaches into her own container and proffers one to the neophyte. Juice, sugar, and aroma explode simultaneously (this is sexy food), and the choice is made. “Achetons français,” the woman says. “We should buy French.”

Now to the steak, which will surely be easier. But, lo! What are these cuts? And what does one do with them? Onglet. Jarret. Paleron. Collier. Roasts tied with lard in perfect cylinders. 

In the adjacent case, dozens of terrines reside: duck, liver, rabbit, country, and “grandmother’s.” Hesitation in front of such choice is normal, but not always appreciated at busy times. Stand back a couple feet and let the locals shop. Eavesdrop. 

Rabbit, rabbit

The woman behind the counter delivers the gem of the day: pork cheeks. Cook them in just-bubbling water, broth, or wine, flavored with aromatics, for at least 2 ½ hours. “Vous allez voir,” she tells her customer. You will see just how good it is. You can have the leftovers, cold with mustard. Your hesitation is gone, and you take some, too.

The artisan explains that everything is made in house. Her husband, who deals with the meat while she focuses primarily on the terrines, explains that they are there to protect a certain quality of local products. When a tuberculosis outbreak affected Charolais cattle, some producers moved to the Limousin race. He continues to obtain the former, believing it is a true gem of the region, and worth celebrating. As his pride shines, one cannot help but get a little collier for some boeuf Bourgignon. A fine Sunday meal in the making, from two people who rise each morning at 4 and work 14 hours to bring pleasure to their clients. 

Even though it is Burgundy, you can find rascasse, essential for a bouillabaisse

What: Market

Where: Place Gambetta, Montbard, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: Friday mornings year-round

How Much: Your choice

Délissime

In a place where thousand-year-old churches dominate villages, where there are theme parks dedicated to Gallo-Roman history, where towers are labeled “12^th Century,” and people still discuss the Dukes of Burgundy, finding something “new” isn’t always easy.

In Dijon, however, a new food festival has taken root. Délissime marked its second year in the capital of Burgundy in March 2014. Housed in the Parc des Expositions, right off the tram line, it is a celebration of all things culinary.

Spicy

Taking place over three days, visitors can dip their toes into the warm waters of French gastronomy and viniculture. Armed with a tasting glass, the entrant can voyage around more than 80 stalls offering food delights from Burgundy and other parts of France. There are specialties of the southwest (duck legs, duck breasts, duck in duck fat, duck bolognese, the inside bits of duck, including duck hearts, duck gizzards, duck liver) and the sea (ocean beans, fish soups with their accompanying jars of bright orange rouille). A woman hawks spices from around the world, from Hawaiian black salt to smoky paprika. The Provencal vendor offers forth bites of Camargue beef.

Duck fifty ways

The assault on the palate inevitably leads to a craving for drink. Happily, event organizers have anticipated your need and invited winemakers from Provence, Alsace, the Loire Valley, and, of course, Burgundy to help slack your thirst.

The organizers have also taken a few chances. In the middle of prideful Dijon, a gastronomic city, an Italian vendor is peddling his specialties. Here is mortadella big around as a telephone pole. There is porchetta cut straight from a pig laid out on the table, golden and delicious, with a knife standing at attention in its back.

Italians love pig as much as the French do

Though obviously still getting its legs (the festival was poorly advertised and far from "crowded"), and despite some small concerns that the group managing the festival is organizing them around the country (will it become cookie-cutter? Or will it remain unique, region-by-region?), this festival is worth the price of admission. Spend the Friday morning at the best market in the Côte d’Or (perhaps all of Burgundy) under les Halles de Dijon, treat yourself to a nice lunch, and head to Délissime in the late afternoon as people begin to get off work and start their weekend. Inside, raise a glass to Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy from 1467-1477, and celebrate the new.

What: Food festival Délissime

Where: Parc des Expositions (Tram: Auditorium), Dijon, Côte d’Or, Burgundy

When: March

How Much: Entry is 5 euros but the website offers reductions to 3 euros including a wine tasting glass.

An Introduction to Food Festivals in France

In a culture where food is part of countless idioms, pet names, political aspirations, and media coverage, food fairs, festivals, and competitions naturally occur. Sometimes, they are seemingly ubiquitous. (A recent weekend saw four prominent food festivals within an hour’s drive of each other.)

So how is the traveler to decide which one to visit? What should he expect? How much will she pay? And, most importantly, what will the traveler eat?

Music and Meat, together at last

First, embrace regionality. Festivals tend to focus on the specialties of the host region. If you tell a French person that you are traveling to a part of France, the odds are excellent that his first reaction will be, “You will eat well there.” He then ticks off several regional specialties you should be sure not to miss. The more pious among them may direct you to the cathedral. The amateur art historian may steer you towards the tapestry. But food recommendations are always part of the discussion. Because this is so ingrained in the French soul, it would be awkward indeed to find a food festival that didn’t brag about its own delicacies. So, in Burgundy, expect snails, cheese, wine, hams, and honey, among other victuals.

Second, prepare for some surprises from outside the host region. As proud as the French are of their own local grub, they are, above all else, insatiably curious when it comes to food. They crave new tastes, whether the briny zing of a Brittany oyster, the delicate flavor of Basque ham, or the odeur prononcée of Munster cheese from the eastern part of the country. Because food is a marvelous way to travel without a suitcase, food festivals will invariably showcase products from other areas of the country (and sometimes beyond). Vendors from elsewhere provide new tastes, different accents, and a range of personality traits too numerous to count.

Third, know the price of admission before going. One vendor recently complained that the entry fee of 3 euros was leading to fewer visitors. Imagine a group of four, she said. Already, they are at 12 euros before tasting a thing! Generally, expect a 2-3 euro entry. Sometimes, this includes a glass for tasting wine, sometimes that is a supplement. There are many festivals that are free, so do a little homework.

Fourth, a festival and a market differ in one critical way. At the latter, one can basically grocery shop. At the former, there is a paucity of fresh produce and meats. Rightfully or not, organizers have decided that processed meats, canned goods, vacuum-sealed products, and the like should fill the festival space. If the objective is to stock a picnic basket, one has no worries. If one wants to buy fruit and vegetables for that evening’s dinner, go elsewhere.

Fifth, booze flows everywhere. Taste the winemaker’s own nectars in dainty sips from a special glass and work on different ways to say, “Damn, that’s good.” Or just chug beer at the bar. Every festival has one. Don’t be shy.

Sixth, where there is food, there will be politics. The mayor will speak at one point, guaranteed. Media will be present. It has no effect on the consumer’s enjoyment of the festival, but it is worth knowing.

Seventh, salty or sweet, one can satisfy every craving at any reasonable festival. One without the other is a bit of a national tragedy in France.

Eighth, there will be cured meats: hams, sausages, even horsemeat.

Ninth, one can easily find a meal on the premises…provided one is dining at the nationally mandated (at least is seems that way) hours of 12:00-2:00 or 7:00-10:00pm. Maybe it will be seared foie gras. Perhaps it will be frog legs. Could that be tête de veau with the famous aligot potatoes? It could be and it is.

Tenth, and finally, go with gusto. Sample everything on offer. Engage the producers directly. This is their life’s work, and they are happy to discuss their methods and their philosophy. If one tries to upsell you, go on to the next stall without giving it another thought. Life is too short for petty crooks and pressuring salesmen.

Overall, food festivals allow the traveler to explore and experience new flavors in a convivial ambiance. (Yes, that is a direct translation from the brochure…)