The French Journal

Bon anniversaire, Comte de Buffon!

My war against germs continues, and I'm losing. Perhaps a discussion of viruses and other natural phenomena is appropriate for my next offering, which is a celebration of the 300th birthday of Georges-Louis Leclerc, the Comte du Buffon. The man in question, explains the NY Times, is largely forgotten, but his legacy is considerable. He wrote, all by his lonesome, a 44-volume encyclopedia about the natural world which was a standard text for over 200 hundred years; he was a contemporary and rival of a Swedish botanist, Carolus Linnaeus, who is still revered. A more familiar part of Buffon's heritage, however, is Paris's Muséum National d'Histoire Naturelle, which he founded, and the Jardin des Plantes, the acreage of which he was instrumental in expanding. Besides those two landmarks, the Times also takes us to Buffon's country home in Montbard, a small Burgundy town which "is not otherwise particularly picturesque," and then a walk to nearby Buffon, a village which gave the Comte his name and which still maintains a forge that he built. Should you retrace these steps -- and I can't imagine too many people doing that, but whatever -- be prepared not to find much mention of the Comte, so you'll celebrate him alone. For the rest of us, a slideshow may suffice.

And now I have a date with a bowl of chicken soup.

Spirits#2: The Fête of Saint-Vincent Tournante in Burgundy

For our next round of imbibing, let's head off to Burgundy with Robert V. Camuto in The Washington Post as he tells of his participation in Burgundy last January at the festival of Saint-Vincent Tournante, the patron saint of wine. (Camuto notes that there's no apparent reason that Saint-Vincent has been accorded this honor, unless it's that his name begins with "vin.") Like all good recognitions of saints, there is a procession, this one in the village of Nuits-Saint-Georges, the site of the event (which changes locale every year). After paying one's respects, wine tasting -- for a small price -- is the name of the game: "The end of Mass meant the beginning of the celebration. At 11 a.m. the pinot began to flow, and by noon the streets resembled a giant tailgate party -- food, drink and music -- only without the game to follow." There are informal and elaborate dining options, and it's apparent that lots of wine can make cold and slush great fun.

This year's celebration will be held in Saint-Romain and will be structured differently from the 2007 fête. The end of the article has the welcome note that Camuto, one of my favorite French travel writers, has a book, Corkscrewed, coming out in late 2008

All about Noël

In my imagination I see French students all over the world given assignments to write about holiday traditions in France. So, to help all of those dutiful éleves, I'll direct them to a great resource on Christmas in France: the one compiled by FranceGuide, which is the official tourism site of France. In it you will find articles about how the holidays are celebrated in Burgundy, the Franche-Comté, Normandy, Alsace, and elsewhere. Another page is devoted to the best-known Christmas markets, such as Montélimar, Montbéliard, Chartres, and seven others.

There's a bit more.  The wife of the French ambassador to Trinidad talks to a local newspaper (Trinidad & Tobago's Newsday) about how she and her family recognized the holiday in Provence. It includes this local precept: "Christmas is for family, New Year is for friends.”

For the rest of us, the non-éleves, we get to enjoy the articles without having to regurgitate any of them.

Food and the Saône

So what if Thanksgiving is over? To start the week after a holiday, let's continue to eat during a classic French mini-vacation: a three day excursion down the Saône River, with an emphasis on gourmet dining (courtesy of The Times {London}). Boarding at Lyons, travelers make an obligatory stop at the restaurant of Paul Bocuse ("...lobes of foie gras under puff pastry hats followed by creamy lobster velouté, chicken with morel mushrooms and a beautifully kept Saint-Marcellin from the famous Mère Richard at Les Halles market in Lyons..."). From there, it's a leisurely float through the regions of Burgundy and Beaujolais. After daily excursions to a site of interest, the tourists return to the ship -- the Van Gogh -- and meals are served on board. "You can eat well in France, and you can take many a river cruise. But there is a special magic about doing the two at the same time, sipping a velvety Savigny-lès-Beaunes and tucking into sea bass with lentils and bacon while rows of poplars or majestic cathedrals pass by like heavenly mirages."

The Way of Saint James: Burgundy sector

In the past, I've read about and written of travelers who walk along the fabled "Way of Saint James," the medieval pilgrimage route, hundreds of miles long, which crosses France and ends in Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Because the Way is so very, very long, most articles cover only part of the journey, which means that each one usually offers fresh information for the armchair Francophile.

In The San Francisco Chronicle, David Downie gives us a description of the Burgundy leg of the pilgrimage, from Vézelay to Autun. More than anything, he is in awe of the route's connections to a past that goes back farther than even medieval times. There are Roman ruins, and wellheads dating from 2000 B.C. There are oaks "as old as Mary Magdalene," and a villa where Caesar composed his accounting of the Gallic Wars. Of course, more "recent" history is also part of the story, with the requisite, astonishing cathedrals, and mementos of the Resistance, among other remarkable sights.

Downie, who writes extensively about France, said that he intended to cover over 750 miles of the route. There's got to be a book coming out soon. At least, I hope so. Passages like the following make me ache to buy hiking boots and to tread in his footsteps:

"Autun's centerpiece is Gothic Saint Lazare cathedral, an albino porcupine, its limestone quills pointed skyward. The nave seems to have swallowed a sizable city. Airborne stained glass shows a fandango of tableaux as impressive as any I've seen in France. The menagerie of carved capitals - with demons, angels and fantasy creatures - was dizzying. "Help," I whispered. Much more of this and we'd die and go to heaven-and never make it to Spain, another 680 miles south."

A little more wine for the weekend

It's a long weekend in the U.S., so I'm adding to the wine list, with this visit to Burgundy country by The Telegraph (UK). The article is an enjoyable, brief knock around the region, and casually educational. As the writer points out, given that the wines are from either Pinot Noir or Chardonnay grapes, they should be easy to understand, but they ain't, Blanche, they ain't. The delicate grapes respond to any variation in soil and climate and process and maybe if you look at them in a strange way. There's good advice, however, from a winemaker: "But relax," he adds. "I didn't make them for you to agonise over, I made them for you to enjoy." P.S. Were I in the U.K. and had an extra buck and liked wine, I'd consider the sampler case recommended at the end of the story if it's not gone by now.

The troubles of Beaujolais

As much fun as Beaujolais Day can be in November, it's not necessarily because of the great wine, which is young and light and not much else. Beaujolais Nouveau, that is. But a long article in The New York Times by its lead wine critic, Eric Asimov, points out, other Beaujolais wines can be delicious, and of better quality than the Nouveau; in a phrase that captures the spirit of a good Beaujolais, Asimov says "they tend more to elegance than power."

So what's the problem? Well, thanks to Beaujolais Nouveau, no one take any of the Beaujolais wines too seriously, even those worth a taste. And now that the gimmick isn't as catchy as it once was (except, maybe, in Japan), lots of dedicated producers are wringing their hands about whether they'll be able to sell their beverages.

It's too bad. As a sidebar indicates, there's good Beaujolais out there to be had for about $20 a bottle -- not cheap, but a bargain when compared with other French varietals. In another slideshow, Asimov narrates photos from a recent visit to the region.

A wine lover's trip through Beaujolais country

A few days back, when I suggested that my favorite fall break would be a visit to a wine region during harvest season, I wasn't aware of this piece from The Los Angeles Times about a tour through the vineyard towns of Beaujolais. One paragraph pretty much encapsulates the appeal:

"A visit to Beaujolais is mostly about simple pleasures, because that's the only kind here: a countryside made for walks, bike rides or lazy drives, vest-pocket villages with flower-lined paths, hundreds of little wineries with owners who want you to taste their wares, dozens of little restaurants trying to outdo one another with local ingredients, and plenty of good inns. This is France at its least intimidating. The wine is unpretentious, and so are the restaurants and hotels. Jeans and khakis are fine most of the time; at dinner, a casual dress or blue blazer will do. Tourists are valued here, and many people speak workable English. All are gently supportive when an American bravely tries to use his high school French. There are no real museums to visit (except one—more on that later), no serious art to admire, no historical monuments to speak of—just landscapes, food and wine."

The well-written article reaffirms one of the truisms about appreciating French (or any) wine: there's nothing like a visit to the source, to the producers, as an aid to understanding. Here are sojourns to villages like Moulin-à-Vent, Juliénas, and Fleurie, where all those Georges Duboeuf labels come alive; in fact, the museum referred to the above paragraph is in Duboeuf's visitor center, Duboeuf being identified  as "the Robert Mondavi of Beaujolais." Certainly, there are many nearby areas where you can get a dose of culture if that's your occasional wish, but for relaxation, there's little to compare with this.

A Bourgogne excursion

Back from a short trip to Maine, as I searched for a Monday morning escape, I realized I had made a novice's mistake with this article from The Independent (South Africa) about Bourgogne/Burgundy: when I first noticed it, I thought it was about Bordeaux, which had been written about extensively over the last couple of months. So I skipped it. Duh. My misapprehension now remedied, let's take a look the piece and spend our first hours of the week dreaming of a trip through "arguably France's richest province."

We begin at Vezelay, a glorious chateau that's one of UNESCO's world heritage sites, and then move along to Fontenay and Cluny, where the remains of two monasteries can be viewed. The next leg is the capital of the region, Dijon, a gastronome's utopia, as well as the home of Musée des Beaux-Arts and its rich collections.

Afterward, there are vineyards to visit; unlike the chateaux of Bordeaux, here are "thousands of small-scale growers, each with tiny parcels of land on which they produce an astonishing variety of red and white wines."  The town of Beaune, the wine center of the region, offers a respite.

The outdoors still must be experienced, so we can hike through the forests of the Parc Naturel Regional du Morvan. Later, it's a return to Roman times and Autun, a pivotal spot in the Gallic Wars. The visit ends in Guédelon, where a castle is being built using the methods of the medieval times.

One small warning. I usually find that my weight in France is stable or better because of all the walking I do, but here, where the cuisine is "hearty," the article notes, "You are unlikely to lose weight in Burgundy."

Rick Steves in a contemplative, Burgundian sort of mood

Travel guide Rick Steves' latest column (from the San Francisco Chronicle) finds him in a ruminative frame of mind, as he ponders the disappearance of native French snails and listens to philosophic pronouncements on the making of wine in Burgundy ("The grape must suffer..."). Are the French finicky? Or is eating and drinking simply the national pastime, akin to Rick's obsession with bases loaded?

You want further proof of the thaw between France and the U.S.? How about when somebody compares a baseball game with choosing the right wine for eating escargots? A little more garlic butter on that spitball, anyone?