The seat of the Confrerie. Friday 31st July 2009.

We cruised slowly around the hills that rise form behind the city of Beaune this morning, admiring the bunches of grapes on the vines, stuck somewhere between green and deep purple. We found a perfect spot for a picnic in the vineyards, something that is on our to do list before leaving Burgundy.

We stopped in at Parc de la Bourzaize with its central lake inhabited with ducks, geese and swans. I thought this would be a nice place to bring AJ, the row boats were locked up unattended today which was a shame. Anyway, the vineyards or the parc were not big enough for our family of three and a load full of adolescent hormones and it all went pear shaped. JR and I did have a laugh trying to get on this whizzy dizzy thing that goes around, I ended up flat on my back laughing so much I couldn't get up.

AJ stayed home wallowing in hormones while JR and I headed out for a while. We had three tries to find lunch today. The first try was at a bar in Vougeot. If you are ever wondering where the people are that live in French villages, push open the door of the local bar/restaurant. This one was packed beyond belief, it was full of vineyard workers with grubby smiles on their faces and contented tummies. We sat at a thoroughly grubby table, part of the charm I thought, we sat, and we sat, and we sat. Apparently we weren't locals here and service of any kind kept a far distance, so we left.

The next try was at a van by the side of the road, you know the scene, sometimes these lunch stops end up to be delightful little gems. We were a bit suss, but I went ahead and ordered the lamb. The guy turned on his heels, lifted the lid of the deep freeze and we heard the clunk of frozen lamb chops hitting china. "Non merci", I said, motioning back and forth with my hands and my head. I tried to keep smiling and as we floored it out of the carpark, a cloud of dust in our wake, I am certain the cook had no idea where he had gone wrong. I can only presume those deep frozen lamb chops would have been popped into the microwave, slapped in a pan for a bit of colour and slid onto my plate. All for €8, thats $16 AUD guys!

On we drove, the situation was bleak and our tummies were rumbling at a fast rate of knots. I noticed a bar, come cafe, come boulanger, it was the only thing open, come to think of it, it was the only thing there in Morey-St-Denis. Time was not on our side, it was now 2.30pm. "Are we too late for lunch?" I asked, smiling. Grandma was summonsed from the back room, "Oui, oui," she said, we were relieved. We slipped from the boulangerie side over to the bar, small, with only three purple tables and a bar at the back. Christopher was holding up the bar and was glad to see a few friendly faces to engage. He worked at a winery along the Route des Grand Cru towards Beaune. He took a seat right beside me at the table and switched between reading his paper and including himself in our conversation. The situation became even more bizarre as the three kids belonging to the owners noticed us, we were like a new exhibition at the zoo. Grandma came back to the dining room with a baking tray filled with witlof wrapped in ham and blanketed in a conte cheese sauce, "Would you like this, and steak frittes?" The kids were tentative at first, then the little girl unwrapped a disposable camera and began clicking away at us as we ate our rather chewy steak and greasy frittes. The kids took the frittes I offered, and with every one that was passed from my fingers to theirs, they said the most perfectly polite "Merci Madame". As soon as Christopher left the seat beside me, the little girl grabbed it, there she stayed, just gazing at us and smilling, clicking away on her disposable camera.

The food was pretty ordinary, but today was about being in the moment in a little village where life is about more than the quality of the steak or matching cutlery, it's real, and gosh it was beautiful.

We had a meeting organised at Chateau Clos de Vougeot this afternoon so we pushed off, so did Christopher on this bike.

The Chateau was built by the monks of Citeaux beginning in the 12th century. This was unlike any other Chateau we had visited and it was lovely to see something so old and unique. The ceiling beams are all original, as are the terracotta tiles on the roof, not even a new screw has been added I was told by our lovely guide. The wine presses on display are the biggest in the world and each one took 20 men to operate it.

We were able to see behind the scenes a little too which was very special. We were taken to the Chateau's old dining room where there is a servery surronded by bevilled edged mirrors, with a cupboard underneath which is a dumb-waiter, serviced from the kitchen underneath.

The door was unlocked to the Salon d'Honneur where new members of the Confrerie des Chevaliers de Tastevin are welcomed. It is an auspicious room, dominated by regal red and warm timber. Through the following door is a very special room called the Salon des Commanderies, the room of the ambassadors of the confrerie from around the world. This room is a mossy green and is hung with an enormous painting of the founders from 1934. One of the members ribbons hung with a silver wine tasting cup was taken from under lock and key for us to see. The ribbons are suitably important looking, red and gold, red for the vin rouge and gold for the vin blanc. I quizzed Marie Louise about getting my hands on a menu from one of the meetings, the original menu would surely have been kept. Jackpot, she unveiled one from 2004, a meeting where three new members were inducted, one being Charlotte Rampling. The guests dined on... you'll have to wait for the book for that one!

Happiness had been restored back at Combertault and all of the nasty and unrully hormones had fled, thank goodness. We had been invited to Annie and Thomas's place for drinks and snacks at 7.30pm. Their neighbors arrived too. They are Alex's friend, Jeremy's parents, Jeremy wasn't there though as he is staying with his Grandparents this week, it's summer holidays here. AJ and Jeremy will catch up during the week before we leave Burgundy on Friday - Paris bound!

We had a lovely night. Thomas (Annie's son) is a wine maker and begins a new job at a winery in Corsica this Wednesday, I think Annie will miss him. He is so thoughtful, tonight he had organised a wine degustation for us with Chardonay wines from three different regions, showing us, or rather letting us discover, the different nuances between each. We all sat with our row of glasses before us, sniffing and slurping. Number two was for me from the region of chablis, north of Dijon. AJ happily slurped on lemonade.

Annie had prepared some nibbles of jambon persille, comte fromage, goats cheese, smoked salmon and AJ's favourites - gougres. She told us she had been reading the blog belonging to our home-exchange family from Combertault and brought it up on the computer to show us. What a funny situation to find ourselves in. Here we were in Burgundy, in the home of friends of the people on the computer screen and there they were all relazing in our home back in Australia. There were pictures of the girls in the kitchen whipping up a storm, it was a surreal moment and I must say very strange.

Bon chance for your new wine making adventure in Corsica Thomas!

Beaune. Thursday 30th July 2009.

JR and I headed into Beaune this morning. I had organised a ride on the visiotrain around the town, even this did not encourage Alex to rise form bed, he rolled over and that was it until midday.

Meanwhile, JR and I took our little train ride around Beaune, it wasn't half the fun without AJ though. It was a pleasant little jaunt, the kind of thing that is great to do when you first arrive in a new city to get your bearings.

JR and I enjoyed lunch together, me a warm goat cheese salad and chicken breast with a mustard and cream sauce. Dave, if you are reading this, it reminded me of the chicken you were cooking the night I first met you in Melbourne.

After lunch we went our own ways for a few hours, I explored the Museum of Wine which was excellent and then the Musee des Beaux-Arts which was very small. I sat in the sun at a cafe and downed a cafe creme before meeting JR back at the car.

We popped across the road to say goodbye to our lovely neighbors, they are leaving early in the morning for their holidays and by the time they arrive home, we will have departed to Paris. They promise us they will visit Australia in 2 years time, I hope they do, they are gems. We sat in the garden and had a salad of lardons, eggs, lettuce, tomato and crunchy croutons for dinner. It was drizzled with a dressing made from Fallot mustard and sweet, sweet honey.

Simplicity is the secret. Wednesday 29th July 2009.

When was the last time you rose from slumber at midday? For me, my memory doesn't stretch back that far, I know it was before AJ came into the world. I wandered into the kitchen, bleary eyed after last night's fun and frivolity and a hectic pace of places to be and people to meet.

We ventured to the heart of the Route des Grand Cru, to Nuit-St-Georges and caught up with blue-eyed Baptiste who was holding the fort at Fruirouge & Cie, the foodie heaven in the centre of the village. We shared a fair-trade coffee drunk from rustic earthenware mugs in the back room, surrounded by bulk stocks of cassoulet, rillettes, confitures, etc, etc, etc.

We headed a little further north to Gevrey-Chambertin where we had a 4pm appointment with Marie from Tours & Detours, the owner of the company who has lived in Australia and just loves it. She had given me a copy of the latest Gourmet Traveller article on the Burgundy region, it was so nice to read some Aussie journalism, and a story based in this wonderfully rich region. So much of it I could relate to. Marie pointed us in the direction of Daniel Cachot, the gold medal holder for his Pain d'Espices (spice bread). Oh Mum, it is so much like your homemade gingerbread, it brought back so many happy memories.

We found the village where Daniel bakes his spicy loaves of bread, finding Daniel was a little harder. I asked directions, I understood straight ahead, left and right, keep going passed the cemetary, so off we went. Fate seemed to take over and the rue we were looking for was quite long with so many houses, we did not have a house number so short of a door knock Daniel would remain elusive. At the end of the road I saw bright yellow and blue bread crates stacked in tall piles, "this is it, I just know it is" I said to JR, and it was. We rang the door bell, no answer. I trecked to the sheds and banged the door loudly, no answer. I could hear a distant tractor and walked towards the sounds of it working in the fields. I whistled and whistled expelling every puff of breath I had, but the tractor kept on its path, the driver unaware of his Aussie visitor standing at the side of the field whistling and waving her arms. John had met up with Daniel's wife and I turned to the sound of their voices as they became near. I explained who I was and she was off like a shot, over the field, waving her arms just like I had done, this time with sucess.

Daniel climbed down from his tractor, supporting himself on crutches after a recent leg break. It hasn't slowed him down by the look of things. He was in the middle of raspberry harvest when I arrived, the tractor was shaking the fruit from the bushes under Daniel's watchful eye.

He motioned for us to walk to the house, through neat orchards of blackberries, apples and pears, he tells me he also grows blackcurrant and redcurrant. We stepped inside his humble showroom and were met by a scented wall of intense honey and spice. I wanted to breathe it in and become it. Daniel shared his little secrets of success and invited us to his dining table upstairs to share some of his pain d'espice and home made nectar de cassis, thick and syrupy and so refreshing, "yes please, I'll have another, merci."

I have lost count of how many stranger's dining tables we have sat around and shared our stories of life with. Today's encounter was a very special moment, special in its simplicity - once again.

A little miracle is happening in the vineyards of Burgundy and today I was witness to it. The sour and hostile, young, green grapes are beginning to blush with purple, awaiting the September harvest. The bunches positioned to catch warm licks of sunshine are turning first. Change is coming...

Tuesday 28th July 2009.

It was a strange way to start the day, pulling into the car park at Gaugry Fromagerie to see a Bentley converible, a Ferrari 599, and an Aston Martin DBS sitting in the car park accompanied by steely faced security personel, wired with ear pieces and rippling with the kind of muscles only seen in the movies. We tried to ask who the VIP's were but there was no joy. Even the staff looking after our visit were not told who they were. To this day it still remains a secret. Needless to say, AJ didn't give two hoots who they were, he was just happy to oogle at the cars for a while.

We were taken on a private tour of Gaugry Fromagerie. I had come to unlock the secrets of Epoisses fromage, so revered in Burgundy, another one of those regional treasures. It lived up to the hype (as did all but one of the Gaugry cheeses), luxuriously soft and only a little bit stinky as far as washed rind cheeses go. Their hospitality was spot on, warm and welcoming. We were introduced to Olivier Gaugry, 3rd generation cheese expert. Our picnic bag was stocked with an Epoisse and a soft Soumaintrain to be enjoyed on our afternoon picnic at who knows where.

Tonight we had a date at the neighbors for dinner. We stopped in Beaune and bought a bush of the most delicate yellow roses as a gift for our new found friends. Dinner was so much fun and soooo yummy. We ate quite regionally which was great. We began with ripe melon filled with creme de cassis in the hollow where the seeds had once clung. Tatiana had cooked us a beef bourguignon using a treasured recipe from her Grandmother. Not traditional at all as it didn't use a drop of red wine but was cooked in a tomato and creme based sauce. She served it with a smooth mash (she later told me she used a mouli, her secret for a perfectly smooth result) which was the perfect accompaniment. Two specialities of Bourgogne were trotted out for the fromage course, the Epoisses I had learned so much about yesterday and Le Petit Vougeot, not unlike an Espoisse but whiter in colour rather than tinged with an orangey terracotta colour. Both were vastly different from the Gaugry cheeses from this morning. Mille feuille followed for dessert and the good times flowed.

The next installment of drama was about to unfold, we were blissfully unaware of what was to come until... BANG, CRASH, CLATTER!!! It sounded like a semi trailer had run into the house. We all ran in the direction of the sound and there was AJ sitting half was down the stairs with part of our lovely neighbor's wall adrift beside him. I hung my head, shaking it from side to side. Our friends laughed and laughed, AJ joined in and slowly but surely I began to see the funny side and so did JR. We all stood in the hallway, the kids had all gathered around by this time, what a funny sight it was. They just didn't know what they were getting themselves into when they invited us over for dinner did they? They assured us that the same section of wood had come adrift in the past and it was not problem. We snapped a few pics to record the installment in our book of family disasters.


We rolled home in the wee hours after enjoying another heart warming time with new found friends in this wonderful place they call France.

Mooching in Gevrey-Chambertin. Monday 27th July 2009.

JR and JC were out the door at 7 to capture the soft hues of the early morning sun on Chateau de Pommard, JR thinks he got a few keepers.

We headed in the direction of the Route des Grand Crus and detoured along the narrower and quieter Circuit Touristique des Hautes Cotes. Vineyards lined the road and we drifted along quietly, gently and happily. JC snoozed in the back while we explored the little village of Morey-St-Denis, it is a pretty village, but thn again, most of the villages around here are.

We ended up in Gevrey-Chambertin where I met Luc at the Chateau. Luc, and Elizabeth (the Chateau's wine maker) had been chatting with me via email over the past weeks and I was hoping to meet them face to face. We made a 2pm rendezvous to have a tour of the vineyards. The Chateau has stood here since before the 11th century, they are not sure of exactly when as the archives are incomplete, but it's old, crumbling and oh so gorgeous.

We found a few nice vineyards to wander while JC slept. The leaves on the vines were mostly green but were interspersed with pretty ones striped with purple, the rows were enclosed by a high stone wall which crept up the side of a hill.

Back in centre ville and JC was back in the land of the living, we all explored Gevrey-Chambertin, it was so quiet, all the shops were closed as is usual between midday and 2pm. They take eating pretty seriously here so all businesses close down for the workers to disappear and tuck into a good lunch.

We had a chat and watched the bottles being hand labeled at Caveau Philippe Leclerc, we were given 3 reds of varying age, all of which were a little to heavy in tannins for me, I am a softy when it comes to reds, JR is quite the opposite and he enjoyed one inparticular, the 1998 1st Cru Les Cazetiers.




It was time to return to Luc at the Chateau for our tour of the vineyards. These vineyards are a little jewel, where the work is done by hand. One plot of vines has an average age of 90 years and we were quietly introduced to a darling of a vine of 120 years. She is slowly fading, this will be her last crop of grapes and she will go to God, bless her. She is making her last offering very special with no less than eleven bunches of grapes on display. This is most unusual from a vine of her age. We visit the winery where the winemaker is hesitant for tours to go, she worries that visitor's perfume will be absorbed by the oak barrels, a valid point when talking wine perfumes and it shows the delicate love and care given to each vintage here at the Chateau.


The door to the 13th century wine cave was opened for us, wine was poured and we were taken on a journey through the tastes of the Chateau. Luc teased with stories of 7 bottles of 1878 Charmes-Chambertin nestled safely inside the cellars, "They are not for sale" he says, "no amount of money could buy them".




We came home in time for JC to throw his things together, have a quick bite, and get to the train station on time for his return to Brussels. See you later JC - thanks for the painted chicken, it is a forever memory!

A quiet family night on the couch was what we all needed so we cracked a block of chocolate and settled in to watch Agent 00, a Leslie Nielsen comedy. Sleep came easy...

Random meetings and Brocante in Bresse. Sunday 26th July 2009.

As JC said when we left home, "We will use my head and JR's driving" so JC sat in the navigators seat for the day and off we went. It was a treat for me to sit in the back with AJ and not have to read a map. That is one thing I wont miss when we return home, the need to navigate maps to get to almost everywhere we go.

Our first stop was not too far from home, in a little village called Corgengoux. JC spotted an old man sitting between two old farmhouses, so we stopped, he went to introduce himself and we all followed. Before long the old man, Paul, was offering us and aperitif. He disappeared into his wine cave and returned with two shiny bottles of rose. His darling wife shuffled into the kitchen and returned with some glasses. An apertitif of pamplemousse sirop and rose wine was poured for all, including Alex (he must look older than his 12 years). JC busied himself with questions and translated every minute detail for us. It was wonderful to hear about the colourful life they lead on their farm.

Their son arrived home, he is in his 50's and unmarried, apparently the girls in the villages don't stay around any more, he lives on the farm with his parents and has taken over the business. It's a hard life with not much monetary reward. Rewards seem to come in other ways though. All three wore wide grins and they were openhearted and generous with their spirit, it appeared they ate pretty well too. I was very interested to dig a little and enquire about their life here. I asked about the vegetables they grew and did they kill their Charolais beef for their own use. On wandering to the vegie patch, we saw they were rather self sufficient. There were chickens, sheep used for meat, hutches of rabbits with coffee coloured fur kelled for meat when needed, and under a cluster of pear, wine peach, and apple trees, Paul revealed a barrel of 700 snails that they will eat in the winter as escargot with garlic and parsley butter. Nearby was a bush filled with red jeweled redcurrants and Paul's vegie patch with rows of potatoes, onions, cabbages and a few varieties of tomatoes - the beef tomatoes were still bright green, unready to be plucked from their stalks, but the roma tomatoes were red as red could be. He grew gladioli too, one in peach was in bloom but the others were still closed waiting to reveal their colour. He grows the gladioli for himself because he likes them, I noticed there was a bunch in a vase in the kitchen, Paul had probably visited his garden, tucked away from the world's prying eyes, this morning, and cut the long stems for him and his wife to enjoy as they ate their Sunday lunch.


To return to the farm house we passed scragly raspberry bushes which still held perfect red teardroped shaped fruits, they were sweet and without a blemish. Paul picked me a stalk of redcurrants to eat, they were a little tart and shiny, shiny red, like a Christmas red. On a stack of old wood beside the track we walked, were preserving jars, large and small, filled with cherries straight from the tree, alcohol and sugar. Paul will leave them in the summer sun for three months before they are ready to be enjoyed as an aperitif. They fill their glasses with the cherry infused alcohol and the fruit too - what a treat!





Today was another example of random meetings with strangers who open their homes and their hearts and help to make our experience so rich. We bade them farewell and thanked them for their generous hospitality, they are some of life's beautiful people that is for sure.



JC spotted the perfect picnic spot, it was delightful and serene. At one point I said for everyone to be quiet and listen, all you could hear were the crickets, birds and the breeze in the treetops. We sat on the edge of a forest with a view of a field of rolled hay. Lunch was simple; fresh bread, fromage, and salad. We finished with a slice of caramel marble cake and were all pretty pleased with life.


We continued onto Lessard-en-Bresse, there was a brocante sale on, kind of like a car boot sale. AJ didn't want to get out of the car but was happy he did after the discovery of a lovely model Lamborghini Countach which was his for a grand total of €2, he haggled it down from €3. JC found a lovely old work bench in cherry wood he is considering having shipped home to Belgium.

JR and JC went off to shoot magic hour and came back in time for JC to cook us all his famous painted chicken. We were banished from the kitchen so he could concentrate on his cooking. He painted the plump chicken with a mix of Dijon mustard, olive oil, vinegar, herbs and seasonings and baked it until the skin bubbled and became crispy. The meat was tender and juicy, a sturdy bird, nice and fleshy. The bird was served with a crisp salad with more of the sweet melon bought from the Saturday market in Beaune, and roast potatoes painted with the same concoction as the chicken. JR and AJ ate enough to feed a small country, it was wholesome and comforting, the kind of food you would be happy to sit down to any day of the week. Thanks JC, your painted chicken has been looked forward to for a long time and it lived up to, and surpassed all expectations.

Living The Good LIfe in Burgundy. Saturday 26th July 2009.

We bailed reasonably early this morning, we were taking JC to the Saturday markets in Beaune. My second visit has confirmed that these markets are my favourite in the world, I just love them, JC thought they were pretty special tool. We wandered the aisles together, I am the up and down the aisles kind of girl and JC was a little more random, we are funny creatures aren't we. JR snapped some great pics, forever memories of our time together. AJ was still snoozing back at home so I chose him a coconut flavoured lollipop from the Indian Summer Sky stall, selling the products of Provence.

JC was searching for ingredients for his special dinner of 'painted chicken', he will cook it for us tomorrow. He bought lovely petit echalot grises, a milder echalot than the ones we are used to back home. We took in the smell of ripe melons, and after consultation with the guy selling them, JC decided on the 'melon quersy' which is strong in flavour and sweet as sweet can be, it will be perfect for his salad. He walked the market imagining and creating a new vinaigrette and bought rosy pink peppercorns to add. After much discussion with Madame at the chicken stall, he settled on a plump bird and two extra thighs and legs to be put away until tomorrows dinner.

JC had given Madame at the chicken shop my mobile number as he was asking about ordering a butchers block, not long after we left her, my phone rang, "Come back to the shop", she said, "You have left your chicken feet behind". So we did.

We came home armed with warm, crusty bread and a basket brimming with fresh ingredients. JR and JC moved the table into the garden under the shade of a tree and there we all sat, AJ had already cut a length off the fresh bread and enjoyed it with butter. I layed the tables with olives and stuffed baby peppers, artichoke creme and caviar d'aubergine. I put the washed rind cheese from the Abbaye on a plate with a wedge of comte and we were set. JC sat at the table and created his special salad from the market supplies. In it, he put lettuce, cubes of sweet melon, a scattering of pink peppercorns, finely sliced echalot, and a dressing of verjuice, olive oil, Guerande Fleur de Sel and ground pepper. It was the perfect lunch, sitting in the garden under the trees, the pool sparkled in the sunshine and we were all happy.



JR fell asleep on the grass, JC went to lie down with a book, AJ retreated to his room, I ate a few Belgian truffles before retreating to mine. Before I knew it, it was 6.30, I had slept the afternoon away.

I hurried to get ready as we had a dinner reservation in the next village at 8. JR and JC took off in the car to shoot a few frames together and came back with some beauties. JR is loving having a partner in crime for his photography and I am loving having a fellow foodie around, it is great.

Dinner at La Garaudiere was lovely. Owned by M. et Mme Guillemenot, they specialise in 'cuisson a la braise', a big indoor, wood fired BBQ grill which was a great focal point in the timber beamed diningroom. I enjoyed a salade fermiere, a farmers salad, loaded with lardons and crowned with a perfectly poached egg. My main course was beef cheek, slowly cooked in red wine with baby onions. The beef cheek was missing its usual gelatanous properties, it was a little solid rather than fork tender but came with deep well developed flavours, all that was needed was a little sprinkle of salt. My creme brulee came with a delicate vanilla undertone and was smooth as smooth can be.