Wine Tasting in Châteauneuf-du-Pape

Sometimes I forget how good wine can be. And then I spend a day truly tasting, savoring, sniffing, swirling and it all comes flowing back. With two savvy and interested (and interesting) clients, I spent Monday tasting at a few of Châteauneuf's finest cellars. Bright, round, full, balanced, lively whites. Delightful now, and yet with the possibility of cellaring should we be so inclined.

And then the reds: dark black cherries, rich cocoa, cooler dark chocolate with perhaps a touch of mint, red pie cherries, peppery fresh blackberries, earthy, structuring tannins, ... chewy, round and rich, these wines coated our tongues and lingered on the taste buds.


And what is this? a faggot of wild asparagus is the filter of choice to hold back the lees from the juice as it flows from the press? Curiouser and curiouser. And here, there are no pumps to remove the marc from the tank, just the glistening and powerful muscles of the son-in-law as he shovels away, filling bucket after bucket.


One winery vinifies every one of its 20 some odd parcels of grapes individually, awaiting January to decide upon blends of these precious juices, choosing to age a small portion in new oak, keeping the rest in stainless or cement. And yet across town, their neighbor makes just one wine per year, and thus, no matter his many parcels (30 acres divvied up into 20 chunks), and no matter the juice from the press and the juice from the drip -- all goes back into the same tank as all will eventually be one wine.

The first carefully removes the grapes from the stems, aiming for flattering fruit flavors, smooth and elegant velvet on the palate. The latter keeps the stems in -- enjoying the ripe tannins they contribute to the structure of his powerful red.


And you thought the label of an AOC could describe a wine? Only in the broadest of strokes. Yes, they're both mostly grenache grapes, and yes, they were hand harvested, and yes, the alcohol content will be somewhere between 14 and 15 degrees alcohol (and occasionally higher), and yes, they will not be bottled for a minimum of 18 months - 2 years. But there, the similarities end.

Taste and find out! If you can find them, we reveled in the elegance of Domaine Marcoux, and the power and heart of the Domaine Lucien Barrot et Fils.

To top off the day, Guy Brémond at the Cave Verger des Papes shared a few more bottles and arranged shipping for my clients' favorites. With that accomplished, I, having carefully (and ever more skillfully) spit throughout the day (drinking only water with lunch) was able to safely back my van out of the tight parking lot of the Domaine Beaurenard, and deliver my guests to their hotel in Avignon.

An Amazing Playground of Stones

Imagine rough-hewn stone walls crumbling about you, over-grown with trees and bushes sprouting in the middle of what once was a king's bedroom. Down steep cobbled paths beneath, rooms carved into the stone of the hill-side, troglodyte caves that once were homes. Are there hidden passages? The climb up is perilous and steep (particularly in slippery sandals). The views from above magical.


We're in another world, another time. Oppède-le-vieux no longer houses bustling villagers. It is the ruins of a medieval town. The castle on the peak stands witness. The church beside it reveals vibrant painted ceilings, recessed alcoves, crypts beneath the flagstones.


Of all the villages of the Lubéron, this is my favorite. We're rarely dodging a plethora of other visitors. It is truly off the beaten path. Far less chic, barely renovated, it is the poor cousin to the magnificent Gordes. But, for small, scrambling legs, bright eyes and nimble feet, it is a playground bar none. -- And free but for a minimal parking donation.


With Leo and Jonas' close friends and their mom, we climbed under the early fall sun, picnicked amidst the stones, chatted and explored the secret grottos. A drink at a nearby cafe topped off the day.

An Emergency Room Visit

Well, just in case you have to go to the emergency room of the Avignon hospital, I thought I'd tell a tale of a most pleasant visit. As in most such cases, this was not a destination I would have chosen to spend my Thursday afternoon, skipping lunch with Isabelle and Paul Pierre and dashing off mere minutes after finishing up in the cheese laboratory. But, when you have multiple teens and pre-teens in your home, I suppose it is simply to be expected that at some point a child will injure himself.

And such was the case. Gaetan was playing basketball with his class, tripped over another's feet, and landed hard on his hand. The firemen and the ambulance arrived, and he was whisked off to the hospital. The school called me on my cell phone, I communicated with Gaetan's parents, and then headed promptly over, picking him up some lunch on the way at my favorite baker's. Once I'd established with the reception desk that I was his guardian, and that his parents were a phone call away, I was brought to where he was waiting. He'd already been x-rayed, and was holding the prints in his hands. The nurse wheeled him back to the Pediatric ward and there we spent a very uneventful and tiresome two hours plus.

At long last, the room used for making casts was liberated (it was also the room for sewing up screaming toddlers) and we toddled on in, set Gaetan down on the examining table, and a most lovely, young doctor got to work, alongside two bright and funny nurses, making his cast.

Our afternoon had been boring, time-consuming and lengthy (no books or magazines on hand for distraction), but far from unpleasant. The overworked nurses were to a person helpful as they could be, the place clean, not over large, and functioning as smoothly as could be managed. And, as we left, we were told the bill would be in the mail.

When I asked how much the bill was likely to be for an x-ray, a cast, the pain relievers, care, etc., I was told, oh, between 25 and 50 Euros.

Life could be a lot worse, hm?

The message here being, do not worry overmuch if you get hurt in Avignon (or France). The ambulance service is rapid and efficient; the hospital clean and helpful; the waits tolerable, and the personnel remarkably affable and competent. And even if you do need to pay out of pocket, I promise, you'll be able to afford it!

My team of helpers is slowly coming together (or not)

Team spirit is a great concept. Americans adore it. Truly, we are huge fans of team sports, and consequently, they make up a goodly portion of the high school educational experience for many. We learn to work together, to value all the players, to suffer through painful practices, to party after a win, to shore up our morale after a loss. We discover the value of the group over the individual. We also learn a certain level of "shut up or put up." We learn to subjugate our personal feelings and just keep on doing what's expected and needed. We adapt to the demands of a strict coach. We seek admiration and respect from our peers. Our behavior, our view of ourselves, our ability to listen and be present, all these are enhanced by being on a team.

Team sports are not part of the French educational system. The academic day begins at 8:20 and ends at 4 or 4:30pm. There's an hour for lunch (or even two), but no time in the afternoon, and often not the facilities present, for organized school-based team sports. However, you can choose to join a team or activity outside of school. There are private non-profits that tap into national and regional subsidies offering kids the chance to play soccer (practice on Wednesdays, game on Saturdays -- for the rest of your life), or as in Leo's case, handball (practice twice a week, matches twice monthly on Saturdays, optional intensive practices over the vacations). Many students do take advantage of the numerous offerings out there. But, they will never have their classmates show up at a match to root for the home team, nor any pompom girls. Nor will they have the experience of practicing five days a week, three hours a day, throughout either a season or the entire year. Sports (unless you go to a special school specifically for one) are decidedly outside of the main curriculum.

In our home, I am aiming to create a team of helpers. It would be nice, no? Mothering six kids, you'd think that the pay-off might be more help stacking wood, burning brush, raking leaves, sawing branches, breaking up kindling... The list goes on.

In fact, our most successful group effort of late was to push our van so that it would start, thus permitting me to bring my brood to school. Our biggest and strongest, Gaetan, was already off -- he'd hopped on his bike before 6:30 as he had to be at school at 7AM, and I'm afraid my bringing him was just a wee bit out of the question. It was a 40 minute ride on the smaller roads between Avignon and Le Pontet, and he made it with nary a wrong turn.

So, as 8 o'clock ticked upon the clock, and my poor motor wheezed most faintly at me, we were just the five smaller children -- the eldest, my thirteen year old girl, the youngest, my seven year old Jonas -- and me. The task required pushing this old nine-seater van up a gentle and curved slope to the flat road by the Rhône, our Chemin des Canotiers, where we were finally able to push with more ease, and get it up to the speed where the motor would at last turn over.

Laughing giddily, weary, yet very proud, they hopped into the car. We were only ten minutes late to school. Pretty good, eh?

Nothing like a bit of adversity to knit a group of disparate beings together.

However, this was not the case for the brush burning party this afternoon. I was reminded of a French 'Survivor' inspired TV show, 'Kolanta.' I'm afraid our team would lose quite early in the game. The task at hand was to bring the brush from the back garden to the courtyard and burn it in the tin drum, as safely as possible. Add to this raking up leaves, etc., There was a lot of cane which needed to be broken down before being inserted, scratchy bay tree branches, leaves that hissed and whistled as they burned, butterfly tree bows needing folding and compressing, to then be pushed down deeply into the drum., etc.,

Being numerous (mostly me, Leo and the younger boy, M) I thought this task would go quickly. But I didn't count on the amount of sitting rather than doing that they meant to do. At long last, once Gaetan (having finished his homework) came out to help, and our older girl (neither my little girl nor Jonas were with us), I thought it was under control. The last wheel barrow full of brush had been brought out. It needed only to be added to the drum, followed by a bit of raking and cleaning up, for the job to be done.

So, I delegated and went to the back garden to mow. I then took a much needed shower and came back out. What? they're all gone and there's still stuff on the ground which needs burning? and the place hasn't been picked up? the wheel barrow is in the path of my neighbor's car, and the rake lying on the ground, and...

I was disappointed. Was it too much to expect that they actually finish the job before disappearing? But, monkey see, monkey do. Once one disappeared (perhaps only to pee), the others quickly followed. Not a one had it in him or her to properly finish the job. Yet again, it was left to Super-Mom (or Madeleine Croft as I've been called).

I don't know about this...

I did my schpeel of what it is to truly finish a job. I bitched and moaned a bit. And then I got over it. But, I didn't make dinner. They did. Crêpes anyone?

Next week, I bring out the saws for the branches... I've discussed with Leo the value of physical activity -- especially at his age -- in helping him sleep well at night. He immediately related to the sensation of being mentally tired, and yet having his limbs move and jiggle on him. I told him how traditionally, the tasks of a life fatigued us sufficiently to send us to bed properly, physically weary. But now, many go to gyms to achieve this. That I can either do yoga, or clean the house top to toe. Take a long walk, or mow the lawn. Etc., -- yes, I was working a bit towards positive brain washing. But wouldn't it be great if he learned this lesson too? (amongst many another).

By the end of the year, if I've enough projects, I might actually whip this group into a proper team. My aunt's family of nine they are not, but then again, I've not any walls to build, nor barns to shovel out at the moment. Nevertheless I am very tempted to put in a chicken coop and a bicycle shed. And then there's the vegetable garden... I'll just see what I can do. I may need to purchase some boxes of ice cream, or bake brownies. Sometimes when the work ethic is not yet ingrained, a carrot of sorts is necessary.

A Teaching Moment - of an unusual sort

Pre-teens present all sorts of interesting opportunities for social interaction, question and answer sessions and just being. Taking a page from my aunt who mothered nine children's book of child raising, I enlist my troup in all house projects. I do my darndest to insist on participation, a certain level of enthusiasm, and actually finishing the job at hand.

However, when your thirteen year old girl says she has a tummy ache, and in fact she's got her period, and can she just sit it out? In this particuliar case it was sitting out the stacking the wood pile job. Well, it's awkward to be thirteen and it's wierd and scary having your period, so, okay, chill for a while, and do you want a pain reliever?

The pack mentality is such that, if one is missing, the others come looking. Why is she sitting down? We're not finished yet. Are you coming back out? Etc., Amongst the first to question this situation was Leo. So I said she had her period, a girl thing, and wasn't feeling so well. Oh? says Leo. And I said, haven't you learned as yet that girls bleed once a month? Hunh? says Leo.

Ah, a teaching moment presents itself. After all, twelve years old is a good age to learn something about girls, no? So, I shared the strange fact that we girls have eggs, and from the same age as he and other boys start having facial hair, a deeper voice, etc., we start menstruating. We produce an egg a month. And for this egg we make a nest in our uterus. But, if the egg isn't fertilized, if we do not have a relationship with a man, then the egg and its nest go away. And the way they leave our body is by disintegrating into blood. We bleed. Sometimes this time of the month hurts, and sometimes not. But in any case, this is something we live with for the rest of our lives till we get a few years older than I (his mother) am.

Oh. Okay, says Leo. And in the next while he was all solicitous of our very lovely pre-teen girl. It was quite touching.

That night Leo wanted me to stay later in his room so we could have one of our deep discussions. He loves these. He basically opens himself up to more teaching moments, a chance to converse at depth, to reach down into my feelings and whatever I'm willing to divulge. He also skilfully puts off that undesirable moment of Mom leaving the room and turning out the light. So, I continued on the discussion of girls, our menses, our monthly cycles, our relationship to the moon, the French and English definitions of Lunatic, the origins of the word hysterical, and some societal assumptions of why women are moody, or particularly vivacious at different times in the month. I spoke of the possibility (not all of us exhibit this, but many of us do) that women's mood variations are linked to the monthly cycle. I discussed the fact that men occasionally make rude comments about such, but that the concept is rooted in at least a modicum of truth. However, best to not to make assumptions, and yet to be aware.

As is often the case, I spoke perhaps too much, and not at a level necessarily adapted to a twelve year old. But he listens so intently, soaking up whatever is proferred. So the temptation is enormous to keep on sharing and teaching. At the very least, seeds were sown in a young man to be. May these seeds flourish, as he grows, help him better understand, or at least listen and pay attention to, the women in his life.

It's pretty cool mothering a boy.

The Mommy Track - Theme and Variations

I started working early. Already in high school I was a hostess in a Chinese restaurant 4-5 hours each weekend night. Then I worked every summer -- a common thing to do for many an American teen -- in cafes, or for a kids' summer arts' festival, or at a book publisher's. I worked all through university, in the cafeteria (I already liked to cook, and made mean pancakes and french toast, though my special order eggs needed some work); and in clothing shops in town. And then, once on my own, I worked pretty much nonstop. In the beginning temping in various secretarial positions, then as the assistant director of a photography gallery, then in Japan at the University Presidents' conference, and onwards to France.

For a good ten years I was single, living with a boyfriend or not, and working full time. I had more or less interesting jobs, and gave lots of energy and time to them. It was pleasant, stimulating, and led to many discoveries and of course, many learning experiences.

Then I had kids. I continued working very long hours as that's simply what you do, right? I sent my kids to day care, or to nannies, hired au pairs, and juggled. I did this for ten years, more or less. All this time I was busy with my businesses, building them, caring for clients, working on the web site, working on the recipes, paying for renovations, learning new routes, hikes, going to conferences. All that one must do to make a business successful. I loved it. It was stimulating, fun, challenging, and used me to the utmost.

But where did my kids fit in? Those little beasties I would often have removed from my sight from 7AM to 7PM? I had an epiphany one day. And, though I felt quite constrained by circumstances, and told myself over and over again that I didn't want to leave destruction in my wake, I ended up by doing just that. I left my marriage and with it, pretty much the two businesses I'd co-created and built. The momentum of the divorce, or setting up home in a new house, of simply coping has carried me far.

For not quite two years now I've worked only sporadically, and whenever possible from home (translations). And now, I feel that urge to go back to work on a more regular schedule, if I can. I miss the rhythm, the consistency of working through a pile of papers and coping on all the phone calls that are waiting, teaching the hours that are scheduled, plugging through a certain number of pages of translation.

I miss this, but I am also reveling in being available to my boys. I treasure my Friday afternoon with Jonas when we have time, just the two of us, to explore our island on bicycle. I have the time to bake bread, the time to get the house in order, the time to help Leo with his home-work. I have the time for chats, cuddles and being there. And yes, it feels extraordinarily precious.

Why is it that the Mommy Track is so punitive to women? Why is it that taking the time to raise our children while they're little is something that will cost you in the long run on your social security and retirement benefits? Why does society not reward you for doing your utmost to raise healthy and emotionally stable, considerate adults? Doesn't everyone prosper from such a task well-done?

Granted, I simply haven't found the right balance. I will fully admit this. Teachers work the hours their kids are in school, and are then able to be with them on vacations, weekends, etc., However, I couldn't live on a teacher's salary in France (minimum wage under the best of circumstances, less than that --1100E/mo--for a Waldorf teacher) and pay for my house, food, car, etc., A teacher's salary is meant to be but a portion of a household's income, not the whole thing.

In France, there is a 3/4 option -- work 4 days a week, rather than 5. But, there again, it is an option for half of a couple, but not a solution for a single mother unless she has other sources of income.

My friend Martine is now, for the first time in 16 years, free to give her full time and energy to a new job. Her sixteen year-old son has chosen to live with his father, her boyfriend is in the South. She is now at a new posting in Nantes, in Brittany. She passed a difficult exam and took the job that was available to her. Now, in a new world, a new apartment, with new colleagues, she is living a vibrant and stimulating new experience. For the first time in ever so long, she is not split in two (or three).

I listen to her on the phone and I get wistful. How I wish I could concentrate on one task and do it well! I miss that energy of arriving in a new town, settling into a new job, meeting, discovering, setting up new rhythms and possibilities. Perhaps I did that overly often? In Princeton, in Seattle, in Kobe, Japan, in Paris, in Arles...

More than anything, I miss the clarity of purpose that giving your all to a job brings. Must I wait till Jonas is 15 before I'll again have this? Of course I'll be working throughout, but, working while divided in my heart? distracted? Begging help from friends to get my kids home from school, leaving them instructions for getting dinner on the table (not such a bad thing this last, I do believe in encouraging lots of autonomy)...

Ah well. I'm just freely associating here. I'm coping, and I'll continue to do so, and yes, my kids will be ok. My mother worked full time and more from my early teen years onward. I handled my own dinners, getting up every morning and getting to school on my own by bike down the Boston Post Road no matter the weather. We had time together in the evenings.

But somehow, in this day and age, I'm not sure I see my boys biking to school through the abundance of traffic and the dark winter mornings that we have here. I'm not sure I see them up and out the door without a nudge from me. Though this may simply be a mother's worrying on my part. However, no one else in this particular society permits their teens to bike such long distances, particularly not in bad weather nor in the dark. Encouraging full independence and autonomy is rather out of fashion. So at the same time as I must work more to keep afloat, I live in a society that expects parents to protect their children far longer.

Yes, I do feel in a bind. I keep working to stretch the twine wrapped around my thoughts, but I've yet to completely untangle the knots.

The Oenologist's visit

The harvest is in -- excepting the late ripening Mourvèdre which is slated to be brought in Monday, five days after the other varietals. It is a time for attentive and daily cellar work. Sugar is transforming into alcohol. Daily the density of the liquid is measured: sugared liquid is heavier than water (thus numbers in the thousand plus); and alcohol is lighter (numbers in the very high 900s). Daily the total acidity is measured (by the lab), as well as the sulfites (those naturally present, those combined with the liquid, and those floating freely), the temperature and the presence of malic acid which will transform into lactic acid. Yeasts are working on the wine, but also indigenous bacteria. It is a highly methodical surveillance of a natural and occasionally shifting process. Each year, each grape, each day is different.



This year, for many, the sugar quantity is high. The grapes are very sweet. But, the tannic ripeness wasn't commensurate (phenolic ripeness). As such, the precise timing for the harvest was not an easy decision. And, in the cellar, the numerous consequences of this must be handled with care. If the malo-lactic acid transformation begins before the alcoholic fermentation is finished, this provokes problems, and must be attended to quickly -- urging the vintner to intervene and speed up the alcoholic fermentation by raising the temperature of the vat, for instance.



A few of the tanks have already finished their alcoholic fermentation. Six-eight days was sufficient. The temperature during this period was controled--kept relatively cool; the yeasts were efficient in their work, and the sugar has been fully transformed into alcohol. However, at this point, depending on whether the end product is a vin de pays, or an AOC wine, more or less extraction of matière is desired. Thus, for that which will become a higher-end wine, the solids, le marc, is left with the juice to macerate for another week or more and so, thus extracting a maximum of density and concentration, polyphenols and other good things. To encourage this process, the tank may be heated, and the liquid stirred up by pouring it out into a neighboring tank and pumping it back atop its solids.




When JP sits down with the oenologist, he has already removed samples from every vat in his cellar. They go through every wine, tasting, smelling, and noting what next to do with that particular wine. All these samples will then be off to the lab, who will efficiently get the results back to JP that same evening so he can get to work immediately on the next appointed task. This is a period in the year when the words Saturday and Sunday have little meaning! The wines need attending to.



So, I helped him immediately get to work removing the cooling insert from the grenache, adjusting the tubes and pumps to do the délestage, which can resemble the traditional technique of pigeage, slightly differing from a remontage. As I've just learned, the first lightens the vat: you remove all the liquid, allowing the solids to fall completely to the bottom of the vat, then you send the liquid back atop, breaking the solids, and fully mixing them in. Pigeage is that great technique (be it with your feet or a wooden tool) where you crush grapes to release their juice. And remontage is a continuous process of removing liquid from the bottom of the tank and sending it back in on top, yet keeping the quantity in the tank at the same level throughout.



We went up and down rickety ladders (a new stairwell is to be built to facilitate this, but at the moment, the building of such is in the stage of proposals from various ironworkers). We carried buckets. I cleaned tubes and overflowing tanks. We hosed down and scrubbed, double-checked temperatures, and removed the heating element from the Carignan. The clairette will need to be nudged towards finishing its alcoholic fermentation pronto as the volatile elements that the malic acide transformation creates will potentially cause problems.



There's always something to do.

A recipe for flavorful fowl

A goodly time ago, a fellow food historian came visiting in Arles. She brought with her a fount of knowledge of the Etruscan world and recipes that she and others had been working on recreating from the gorgeous frescos of feasts in Etruscan tombs. Interesting, eh? Well, we were all ears, and hearty appetites.

One of these recipes -- Duck with Leeks -- Erick took to with vigor and adapted to his repertoire. Amongst other differences I believe our colleague put in ground almonds (a traditional thickener) and Erick prefered slivered almonds. Over time, this recipe became a fall and winter favorite for our cooking classes. It is also an excellent recipe with which to practice cutting up a duck (or guinea fowl as I've done this time around) into its parts. Unusual, delicious, easy to serve and easy to freeze and pull out another day, I've always loved it. I tended to prefer more leeks and less meat (I'm a veggie nut) and Erick, being far more of a carnivore, would tend to serve the duck, with just a touch of the vegetables. To each his preference.

In this version, which I've adapted for my vintner's household, I've used a guinea fowl, pintade, as it is far less fatty than a duck, and yet still rich in flavor when compared with a chicken. I've also added -- by special request -- white turnips/daikon/navets longs. JP likes them, and they are lovely when cooked long and slow in a richly-flavored liquid. Otherwise, I've been true to the Erick's version of the recipe.

Etruscan Fowl with Leeks

1 duck or guinea hen
1-2 large leeks with their greens
a small bunch of parsley
1 yellow onion or half a large white onion
optional: turnips (two cups peeled and sliced)
1/2 cup slivered almonds
olive oil for browning
sea salt
a bottle of dry white wine
water to cover

I took apart my guinea hen as I'd watched Erick do so many times before -- myself, the ever-present assistant, I actually rarely did the cutting and chopping myself, but helped our guests and thus, though my fingers are not as adept as Erick's, the skill is nonetheless part of me now. I sliced the skin above the thigh joint, carefully cut down around the flesh under the back of the bird to remove the entire leg and thigh, not missing any nice chunks of meat. I then gently removed the breast meat with the wing attached. Once these were off the carcas, I separated the legs from the thighs, and the wings (with a small chunk of meat) from the breast meat. I now had 8 portions of meat -- enough for four very hungry people, or a family of 8 happy to have a small chunk of meat with their vegetables and grains.



Normally, I would now put the remaining carcas in a pot of water with some herbs to make stock, but as Filou was standing by looking rather hungry, I put it out on the terrace as a treat.

I sliced my onions, washed and chopped my leeks, peeled and sliced my turnips, and chopped coarsely a cup or so of the parsley. -- In the end, I'm limited by the size of my baking dish for this dish. The larger the dish, the more vegetables I could put in.




I then browned the meat in a frying pan with a bit of olive oil, and place the browned meat in the bottom of the baking dish. I put the onions and leeks into the frying pan to brown a bit and wilt with olive oil, and then added them to the baking dish. I then deglazed the pan with the white wine. I added the turnips, parsley and almonds to the dish, and poured the white wine over the top. I poured in the rest of the bottle, sprinkled on sea salt, and topped off the dish with water. I didn't want it all under the liquid, but sufficient liquid to fill the baking dish 4/5.

I then baked the dish for an hour in a relatively hot oven -- 200C/400F -- till nicely browned on top.



In fact, I made this Saturday evening, and will reheat it for Sunday lunch. The dish just gets better with time. Any left-overs can be put in a container on which I'd note the number of pieces of meat, and so be able to calculate how many guests I could serve at a future date.


Enjoy!