But back to Bordeaux.
We arrived with just enough time to check into our hotel and to make our way to dinner at A Cantina Brasserie Corse, a Corsican restaurant that sounded tasty and interesting. The food was good and the service lovely, but the best take-away from there, for me, was this little jar of a cream made from dried tomatoes and Brocciu cheese. Yum. (Only wish I'd bought several more jars; it was so good on a nice veggie pasta we had a few weeks ago!)
The next morning, we were up bright and early for that day's snooty activity: a chauffeured tour of some chateaux* (that's what they call wineries) in the Pauillac and Medoc areas, on the left bank of the Gironde river. And holy smokes, did I learn more about winemaking and soil types in one day than I have, cumulatively, in my life.
We started off the day with a bang, at Chateau Mouton Rothschild, the grounds of which, in addition to producing some rather high-end wines that you might have heard of, are tastefully lovely and rich in history. The current iteration of the winemaking building was designed by Baroness Philippine de Rothschild, who was an actress in Paris; as such, after she inherited the chateau in 1988, she modernized and reconfigured the entirety of the vinification building to resemble a theater. Here, the very dramatic entrance hall to the main vat room; those walls on either side are actually temporary (i.e., like theater curtains) and are removed during the harvest.
The vat room. (Holy wow.)
Underneath the lowest level of the vat room, the original cellars have been preserved and are now used as the chateau's library, which consists of a collection of Mouton Rothschild vintages since 1859, as well as other high-end wines from around Bordeaux. (These all belong to the Rothschild family and are opened for special occasions at the estate.)
It is so 'Phantom of the Opera' down there.
The Great Barrel Hall, built in 1926 for Baron Philippe de Rothschild, after he decided that all of the chateau's wines should be bottled on-site. Apparently, he wanted to be able to look out over "a thousand barrels" with an unobstructed view; that is, he wanted no columns or shelves or supports of any kind in this 100-meter-long room.
And then, the art. Having had near-zero experience with Bordeaux wines, much less ones in this price range, I had no idea that, in 1945, Baron Philippe had begun commissioning contemporary artists to design his wine labels...and that nearly all of the original designs are kept at the winery. Which doesn't sound like such a big deal until you read the list of artists. Jeez. (Sorry, no photos in the art collection, or in the small-but-valuable and adjoining Museum of Wine in Art. Suffice it to say the entirety of the collection is remarkable.)
My favorite label, however, was this magnificent thing from 1924. Previously, all of the winery's labels had been simple, identical, print-only things pasted on by the wine merchants bottling and selling the product, but in 1924, Baron Philippe commissioned his own label, and bam! Out came graphic artist Jean Carlu with this beauty, the modern design and bright colors of which proved to be far too outré for consumers' tastes!** (I assume that afterwards the Mouton Rothschild label was far more sedate, but there's literally zero info about the labels between 1924 and the "V for victory" label produced in 1945 at the end of WWII. Mysterious.)
After a little tasting...
Oh, hello, lovelies...
...it was off to our second stop of the day: Chateau Paloumey, a much more modest (both in terms of production and of price), but no less lovely, chateau, where we were the only visitors! So we got to tromp through the vines a bit; visit their barrel room; have a wonderful "light" lunch of cucumber and carrot salads, cheese quiche, plates of meats, bread, and sheep's cheese, and a wee little custardy cake for Mike's (still-not-yet) birthday; and do a barrel tasting of wines aging in American versus French oak.
Teeny, tiny little grapes on the vines.
A super interesting fact which I did not know before visiting Bordeaux (although my knows-nearly-everything husband, and probably most people I know, did): in the booming wine economy of the 19th century, French winemakers began importing American vines, in order to bolster vine stocks and to stay competitive. In the 1860s, French vines began to die off en masse, due to an unknown disease or pest; after much agony, research, confusion, denial, and, finally proof positive from scientists both in the US and in France, the problem turned out to be phylloxera--an American aphid-type bug that had been imported along with the vines. The eventual solution--after many failed experiments with insecticides, field flooding, and even the moving of entire vineyards to Mediterranean beaches--turned out to be grafting French vines onto American roots, which were naturally resistant to the bug. That bug turned out to be ridiculously invasive: the only wine-growing area on the planet unaffected by phylloxera is Chile, and I heard several times that the entirety of the European wine-growing industry is now based on the system of grafting whatever the local grapes are onto American rootstocks.
Which we got to see up-close at Paloumey: that little narrow bit at the very bottom of the stem is the American root, and the wider portion joined to it is the French vine. Fascinating.
Paloumey's lovely barrel room. Another interesting fact: the center of the barrels are stained red to hide (tastefully, of course) the drops of wine spilled on the barrel whenever the vintner does a tasting. (Or so we were told. No idea as to the truth of this claim.)
Our final stop of the day was the imposing and beautiful Chateau Phelan Segur, where, again, we were the only visitors, and they even had our name on the sign out front.
Enough with the interesting facts, I'm sure you're thinking, but just one more: the soils in Bordeaux play a big part of the difference in flavors between wines from the various parts of the region, both in terms of the elements and flavors the soils themselves contribute, as well as the different types of grapes grown in them. On the left bank of the Gironde, where we'd spent this particular day, everyone describes the soils as "gravelly," and I feel like that's an understatement: at Phelan Segur, for example, the stones on top of the soil were so large they reminded me of the river rocks my dad uses to landscape his yard. The gravel on top creates excellent drainage, which prevents the vines from getting too much moisture, but also forces the roots of the vines to tunnel down in order to find water during dry weather. This stressing of the roots makes for stronger vines, and on the left bank, the majority of those are cabernet sauvignon.
Phelan Segur's clever logo.
It was a little embarrassing to be doing a wine-and-cheese tasting at a place with the reputation of Phelan Segur, but A) I didn't book it (...the tour company I used did); and B) it was insanely good anyway. As it turned out, our tour was conducted by the winemaker himself, who was fantastically interesting and (obviously) insanely knowledgeable, and he brought in the chateau's chef at the end to explain the cheeses he'd selected to pair with the wines we were tasting. Good grief, so fancy.
Dinner on this particular evening was nothing to yell about (and I was relatively full of cheese and bread and fruit anyway), so we'll skip it, although I will say that Mike finally got the plate of oysters he'd been waiting for. Personally, I avoid oysters at every opportunity, but Mike loves them, and they were in season, and we were in prime oyster territory, and so I encouraged him to have at it. (Dirty shells full of vaguely fishy-tasting snot, if you ask me, but you didn't.)
At least there was this nearby. (Porte Cailhau, built in 1494, once part of the city walls.)
The next day I'd left free to explore Bordeaux, but as it was gross and rainy, we saw a few things along the way to a couple of fantastic little pastries and marvelous coffee at L'Alchimiste, then headed for the Cite du Vin.
It's really no wonder this city center is a UNESCO World Heritage site. It's impossibly beautiful.
Like, down to even the smallest of details. (Ugh, I looooooove that blue.)
Lots of pretty churches, too. (This is the cathedral.)
So pretty, I almost can't stand it.
A little outside the center is the Cite du Vin (or "City of Wine," for us non-French-speakers). The architecture is supposed to remind one of wine being poured into a glass, but it felt to me like someone just got really tired of all the 19th-century (and earlier) beauty and decided to build something grotesquely modern.
I'm not going to lie, I didn't get much from the inside, either. It was just as I suspected: lots of video and interactive installations (which I really don't like), way too many people, and very little of interest, in general. The two exceptions were these cool flyover videos of the world's premier wine-growing regions, shown on massive, multiple screens; and the scent exhibit. Which consisted of these looong tables covered in bell jars with giant copper bike horns (for lack of a better description!) attached. You hold your nose up to the trumpet, squeeze the bulb, and get an olfactory blast of whatever's inside. Some of the jars were labeled, and some you had to guess at the contents, but the best by far was the one full of butter cookies. I want this jar and horn and cookies on a table in my house, please and thank you. Would smell every day.
Back in town, we stopped in at the cathedral:
Most of this building dates to the 14th and 15th centuries. (Although Eleanor of Aquitaine did get married here in 1137 at the ripe old age of 13, ick).
This might be one of the very few cathedrals I've encountered with walls that are not joined in a precise right angle: the wall facing the camera was built in the second half of the 12th century (!), and around that corner, the transept was constructed in the early 14th. (I stood and stared at this intersection for a while, trying to figure out what was off about it. Now we know.)
Nope, I'll never get enough of these Gothic cathedrals. So gorgeous and atmospheric.
On our way back to the hotel, we stopped by the impressively large Girondins monument, erected to commemorate some of the first victims of the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution.
This thing is huge, and terrifically ornate.
I dig all the water-horses. (All their feets are weird.)
On the same square as the monument was this little string of booths selling French Basque foods. Mmmmmmeats and cheeses...
And then, dinner! In keeping with our theme of fancy foods and wines, we went for a tasting menu at Gordon Ramsey's two-star restaurant in Bordeaux, Le Pressoir d'Argent. While it was almost entirely lacking in the cozy atmosphere I'd so enjoyed at Arzak (back to hiiiiigh ceilings and vast open ballroom-like spaces and slightly weird, modern chairs and an intimidating number of wait staff), the service was excellent and the food gorgeously presented and terrifically good. Here, Basque crab with avocado, pomelo, coriander, radishes, and citrus dressing.***
Turbot baked in seafood butter, with wine-steamed shellfish, seaweed, and fregola pasta. (Too pretty and sooooo good.)
The next morning--Mike's actual birthday--we were up good and early for some more wine tasting, this time on the right bank, in the St. Emilion and Pomerol areas. (In case you're just dying to know, the best grape-growing soils on the right bank are made of limestone and dense clays, which have similar drainage and root-strengthening properties to the gravelly soils; however, the grapes that grow best on the right bank are merlot. But, as on the left bank, soil compositions can vary even within contiguous vineyards, so these soil explanations are an extreme oversimplification. I just thought it was fascinating how merely crossing the river could create such a difference.)
First stop, the beautiful (and very ritzy--they opened just for us!) Chateau Pavie.
Chateau Pavie's gorgeous vat room...
...and amazing barrel room. (Those stone arches in the walls were rescued from a train station in Bordeaux that was about to be demolished.)
In the barrel room, a reconstruction of the 12th-century limestone quarries that honeycomb under the hills here; the stones dug were used to build St. Emilion and other nearby towns. (Most of the tunnels are sealed off, but some caves are still used for storing and aging wines.) This room is being used as the winery's library, which, very unusually, did not exist before the prior owner began to assemble it; now he's continually in the act of buying back old bottles that were never collected. (I can't even imagine how much money will have to spent on that.)
After our tasting at Chateau Pavie, we had a little time to burn prior to our next appointment, and Martin, our really lovely driver for the day, suggested a quick tour through the center of St. Emilion. All I can say about that place is JEEZ, NO WONDER IT'S CRAWLING WITH TOURISTS. It's maybe the most beautiful little medieval village I've seen ever.
Looking one direction in St. Emilion's Collegiate church, the construction of the Romanesque portion of which began in 1110...
...and in the other direction, towards the Gothic part, begun in the 13th. Amazing.
View over town from the terrace of the monolithic church (a different church from the one pictured above, and St. Emilion's most famous landmark); that tower belongs to the King's Keep, built in the early 13th century.
The monolithic church! This thing was carved into the rock in the 12th century, and that bell tower added in the 15th-ish. Ohhhhh, so very sadly, it's only open to visits by guided tour, and we obviously didn't have time (or the personal organization, frankly!) for that, so sighhhhhhhh. Will absolutely, 100% have to go back, because I gotta get in there. So fascinating.
Cripes, this village is impossibly gorgeous and intriguing and beckoning and amazing. (This photo is actually from our second depressingly-fast traipse through St. Emilion, because we had a little more time between our second and third chateau visits, as well, and I couldn't get enough of this place.)
Second winery stop: Chateau La Croizille/Tour Baladoz, a very laid-back and friendly winery with beautiful views...
...and these cool concrete fermenting vats at Tour Baladoz. The concrete tanks are a quaint technology, but the material breathes very well, which allows more "robust" grapes to mellow naturally. They also use a cellar cut into the limestone for their barrel room, forgoing the modern climate-controlled barrel vaults we saw at all the other wineries. (I'm a sucker for people doing things in old-timey ways.)
Another clever logo, this time at La Croizille; the L and C mimic the rather controversial shape of the balcony of this very modern winery (of which I somehow failed to take a photo, ughhhhh, but you can see one here).
After a quick and delicious (and, again, vastly oversized--really excellent sandwiches! salads! fruit! dessert! and our choice of wines to drink!) picnic lunch at La Croizille--where it was a struggle to find an outdoor corner overlooking the vineyards that wasn't buffeted by freezing winds, but we did it, yes we did--we headed back to St. Emilion for a quick coffee in a 14th-century cloister (!!), and then it was on to our third and final destination of the day, Chateau Petit-Village. It's a tiny little place producing fantastic wines within elbow-rubbing distance of the most famous/expensive chateaus in Bordeaux (Petrus, Cheval Blanc, Le Pin...), and we had a lovely tour and tasting led by Paris, a very friendly Canadian, whose husband used to play semi-professional rugby. (So, naturally, we chatted forever.)
The view from Petit-Village--the village of Pomerol proper. (I guess it's quite small.)
The surprisingly small sorting room: grapes come up from the harvesting room below via that elevator on the right, then go through the shaking/separating machines at the back before a final sorting pass is made by hand on those conveyor belts to the left. Nifty.
Here's something we did not see anywhere else: a punch-down pole. During the fermentation process, carbon dioxide is produced, and this causes solids (skins, stems, seeds, etc.) to float to the top of the fermentation vat, creating a skin that winemakers call "the cap." While most wineries use a process known as "pump over" to mix the cap back into the liquid--that is, using a pump to circulate the wine over and through the top of the cap--at Petit-Village, they use the "punch down" technique, and it's done by hand. Which means that a guy takes this pole, and, standing on that bar in the middle of it, essentially pogo-sticks it down through the cap--jumping on it inside the fermentation vat!--a few times a day. I cannot even imagine what hard work that must be.
Harnesses for the punch-down guys. Intense.
Also unique to Petit-Village: epoxy-lined,concrete fermentation tanks that are custom-sized to each vineyard plot. (So, during fermentation, this tank will contain 70 hectolitres of grapes from plot 8.)
Petit-Village is a small chateau with a small production; here's about two-thirds of their barrel room. Paris led us in a two-barrel tasting of the same blend of grapes, but from two different years.
Post-tour it was time for dinner at Restaurant Influences, a very cozy restaurant with a single, surprise tasting menu each day. The food was excellent and the service very friendly, but I was a little peeved that they didn't do anything special for Mike's birthday. (Which I'd made amply clear during the reservation process...but at least other places made a fuss over him!)
And then, with one full day left on the itinerary--and one I was very much looking forward to: exploring Bordeaux the town, the center of which is a UNESCO site and reputed to be one of the prettiest cities in Europe--my trip was rather abruptly and unpleasantly over. Apparently, my body just cannot handle that much good stuff, and so I spent the final day of our trip camped out in the hotel room. Poor Mike had to have lunch and dinner by himself, but least he got to go out and see/eat some things...
He found a very dangerous-looking vintage shop (want to buy all!);
Tried to convince me that we need a pommel horse instead of dining-room chairs;
Found the croque madame that had somehow eluded me during our 5 days in France (what?? how??);
Saw some generally gorgeous sights;
And found the wine store I'd been planning to visit. (And also saw there a bottle of wine for 13,500 Euros. Sorry, but I'd never pay that much for a sauternes.)
Well...at least my cumulative physical failings happened on the final day, and not, like, the third, so I had that going for me. And on that ignominious note, our trip came to a close, and bright and early the next morning, we flew home from Bordeaux. (I can't ever remember being so grateful to be home after a trip, except for maybe after the time I got the raging lung-and-fever flu over Christmas in the US and had to delay coming back to Zürich for two days. I was pretty grateful to be sleeping in my own bed that time, you can be sure. This time, too.)
Next up: a quick jaunt to the marvel that is Berlin. And, of course, food.
*Again, I apologize for my utter lack of appropriate accents around the French words; adding those in takes me forever, and it messes with my formatting, and I think that I get it wrong about half the time, so I'm not even going to try. Huge apologies to any of you that read French, which I totally respect and enjoy as a language--it's just that, for my rather limited brain (and English keyboard), writing it is IMPOSSIBLE. (Seriously. Look into it.)
**I'm making an exception for outré, because it's the perfect word here. Plus, it's my blog and I do what I want.
***Ok, ok, so I shouldn't bag on the restaurant interior too much, seeing as how it was a bit whimsical, with touches of some very bright colors and interesting metallics; a tasteful blend of modern and antique decor; and--so cool--massively oversized arrangements of fresh flowers. But still, cavernous.
