Burgundy. The Bourgogone. I used to think of heavy overly wine-laden rich floured sauces that put people to sleep. I used to think of this region as a good place to have a large bulbous glass of either wan and sugary stuff, or heavy earthy wine closed up secret and tight like a monk would encase the bones of a saint. The good ones teased me with a promise of heavenly bliss years down the line. I always had a feeling of a bit of remorse and dread that I could not ever afford to buy it once its flavors had opened up and its character had reached full majestic maturity (this was before we had the cave of course, now at least we can hope...). I believed that Burgundy was a place to have a gargantuan ladle of meaty stew, to drink young robust wine before its time and to lie down and take a nice long nap, but I was wrong.
If you do make Lyon home base for a gastronomic discovery tour, a day trip to the Burgundy is completely do-able and actually a wonderful idea. There are things to find there that depart completely from anything you'll find in in this city. One hour's drive north can take you to the heart of it. Burgundy of course would never claim to be a part of Lyon, although you might find some restaurants in the more touristy areas that feature their interpretations of Lyonnais specialties. There are other things to look for in the Bourgogne.
When I think of the English word Burgundian, history professors' lectures still linger. Of course my imagination ran wild as tales were recounted. Images marched rote through my mind in mnemonic detail on timelines. Now they are like flashbacks: Medieval armor clad knights jousting. Battles with Huns, Roman conquests, and landscapes ravaged by war and betrayal. Joan of Arc was kidnapped by the Burgundians and sold to the English to be burned at the stake. Did you know that? Thick short towers constructed in the dark ages, viciously defended by Cisterian monks and the intrigue behind little spy holes in six foot thick stone walls. Moats and draw bridges. Big breasted wet nurses lined up along their beds of hay while the mothers lined up with their own swelling bosoms along banquet tables creaking with gluttonous feasts hosted by the hordes of megalomen ready to swear their oath and take power, or die. And well of course, the cheese. But that came later. Lord, Please forgive me for my indulgences in Burgundian cheeses. Well, At least I won't get osteoporosis.
In terms of research material, In French, there are a few interesting tomes that record old original cooking from the region in the ancient collections reading room at the municipal library here. I will get some inspiration from them, but the real discovery this summer will come from actual kitchens there. Hopefully I will have a chance to absorb the stories that normally hover like halos around people cooking in them.
Next article, The White Burgundy Wines (don't worry, the food and recipes will come!)
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