Tomorrow is the Fete de Beaujolais!! We are excited, but today is for exploring Burgundy, so let's go. We enjoy breakfast at the hotel, but its kinda underwhelming. While I steal some jellies from the buffet, Tom has his first real conversation in French with another hotel resident.
It's cold out, we can see our breaths as we walk. The trees in Beaune look like creepy alien hands. We find the Hospices, but where is the pretty roof from all the postcards, guess you have to pay to see that as it is inside the courtyard. We take lots of photos of the roof and the creepy mannequin nuns.
We hit Marche aux Vin for some wine tasting before lunch. We pay a fee and are let loose in an underground cellar. It is lit by candlelight and you drink your wine (one pour please) unsupervised on top oak barrels out of a weird metal cup. A sommelier starts to follow us, and he doesn't speak a lick of English, so that makes things interesting. Most burgundy reds are earthy, sour, and too dry, but we are impressed by the variety which goes form salad to Christmas spice to fruit & honey. We get a thick cassis at the end, and the guy didn't like my idea about pouring it on ice cream.
Beaune is full of overpriced shops and never-ending wine stores. We are overwhelmed and stick to window shopping. Sit down at Ma Cuisine to what we think is a rude waiter, but he is just busy. Proves his friendliness by pulling out his last bottle of 1999 Crozes Hermitage Alain Groillote Rhone just for us, and I officially love Rhone. It has such strong good earth, and it is so much richer than burgundies with its black raspberry and currant.
Tom says the black olives are the best he's ever had. The cursive handwritten menu makes things tricky. Beware of the organ meats, oooh, but I found a secret duck dish and now Tom wishes he had ordered it. Pepper shakers in France are seriously amazing. The duck is so tender and there are mysterious mushrooms (pluot? plute? No pleurot) that match the meaty au jus perfectly. Then they add some potatoes and ratatouille and it is a perfect meal, Tom has a matching veal dish. There is also another delicious item in the au jus, which we find out later is chestnut.
More random notes while eating… the pacing is weird in French meals, there are pauses in weird places, like between clearing your plates and getting your bill. I'd rather have pauses be between meals, but meals come super fast. The spices are so quality, even the pepper and salt are just better. The French known how to cook meat, and they know that a hot plate means hot food. Restaurants (and grocery stores) have no wines from anywhere in the world except for France, in fact restaurants tend to only have wines by the glass from that region alone.
We take off to the countryside, where the towns are so small and ancient. The vines are dead and the grapes are purple black raisins against the orange and brown twisting vines. So different than California.
Chateau Mersault is expensive to explore, but well worth it, especially at this time of year. We wander through the caves of wine bottles and barrels, and it just goes on forever. In the millions of bottles, would they notice if just one was missing? A French version of Tony, our wine guy, serves us wine and speaks good English. Still, I found it hard to communicate "nutmeg" as a spice I found in wine, or maybe he just thought I was nuts.
We try to go to Chateau Monthelie. We take jumping shots outside as some wild hens come towards us. Then an old man runs out and tells us we are on private property. We weave our way up the hills to try and find a picnic spot. It is narrow roads and limited visibility. I get goat cheese all over me, but it tastes so good. Beaufort by the mouthful. Our leftover Rhone wine from lunch makes the $1.80 wine taste cheap.
The Garmin takes us down dirt roads, and then spits us into grass and trees. Still it performs better here than it does in Italy. We take a romantic walk into a secret vineyard. As we head back into town, we miss Chateau Pommard closing by a few minutes, we are just unlucky. We decide to go for an adventure instead, why not up to Dijon?
I fall asleep on the way, the exit we want is closed, and the Garmin has a hard time keeping the roads straight. We go up a parking garage the wrong way, but still, it is all worth it for the mustard at Maille. Mustard off the tap is so very hot, tingles the nose. Dijon seems like it is trying to hard to be a mini-Paris, but I guess all French modern cities have this feel. Although, Dijon seems to have a bit of a German twist. It is slowly turning into a ghost town now that it is dark.
Bistrot Les Halles is cute and quaint, but average. No ice in the water (is there ever), beer soup not so good although it tastes exactly like it sounds. I find my pork with squash cubes is good home cooking. We had a miscommunication where they brought out two dishes, and Tom is feeling guilty that I had them take it back. The crème brulee is the right temperature and tastes like graham crackers. Never had a perfect traditional crème brulee, but it is hard to complain.