Bonjour and happy Friday!
As much as I adore the southwest of France, Burgundy, situated in the heart of the country, is also very dear to me. In fact, it was there that I truly learned to eat and drink. My first memorable wine experience took place in Nuits-Saint-Georges, a charming wine village in the Côte-d’Or where the streets are lined with houses that have shutters the color of pinot noir, the region’s most important grape. It happened at this little wine shop some twenty years ago. I walked in, had a (very long) chat with a wine merchant who poetically spoke to me about varietals, aromas, tannins and length. He told me about the region, about how to pair the wines and how to keep them. Every word he uttered had me mesmerized. Before that, I didn’t know more than mediocre, sweet, fizzy wines (I won’t mention any names), but that conversation deliciously awakened my oenological curiosity. I had lost my wine virginity, and needless to say, the rest of that trip was spent swirling, sniffing, sipping and sucking in air through pursed lips.
I have returned to Burgundy many times and have written extensively about the region. For example, I wrote about the Saône-et-Loire department and two of its towns, Chalon-sur-Saône and Autun. I also mentioned regional cuisine and wrote about escargots (in Dutch) and nonnettes. In my book, Dishing it up, I covered the history of Dijon mustard, the kir and poulet de Bresse, a favorite of Jacques Pépin (read my interview with him here).
Last summer, I spent an entire month in the region again, at a quaint and very typically French farmhouse in a tiny village called Viévy. It was a trip that started and ended on a sour note: car broke down on the way there and Covid ruined the fun way too early, precisely on 14 juillet. But those weeks were wonderful, nonetheless. I wrote, cooked, drank and painted. Hubby cooked, drank, made films and drew.
Artwork: Hans Westbeek
Though Burgundy is a great place to visit no matter what the time of year, I especially love being there during the colder months when, despite the frost and bareness, the landscapes are most idyllic.
