Postcard: Le Temps des Cerises

The cherries were unexpectedly sweet. One of the neighbors in the village said that the tree produced sour cherries, and there I was plotting out all the great things to do with them. Sour cherries are a treat indeed. I think he was imagining things, raided his neighbor's tree before they were ready, or in the end was just just trying to come across like he knew everything about everyone's gardens. These cherries are juicy and sweet. The skin is red, but inside the fruit pulp is clear, like a plum. I don't know what kind they are. The best way to find out is to take some to the market and ask the cherry vendors. Loic spent some time on a ladder over the weekend and could only pick from the lowest branches, this tree towers up about 50 feet high. It is an old tree and that's probably why it produced so much fruit. No wonder the birds aren't much interested in what I have been putting in the feeder lately! Nothing better to do with these cherries but to eat them straight up. Next year we will be better equipped for the harvest and I will cook and put them up.

Postcard: Our Field of Flowers

We planted this packet of seeds and this is the first wave of blossoms. It took awhile, I'd say between spreading the seeds and the first blooming, 2 months. They should really get colorful at the end of July, early August. I also put a bunch of bulbs out but not sure which plants they are, everything is growing in one big tangle. I have completely forgotten even what the bulb flowers are supposed to look like. I do remember I thought they were pretty, and that they grow tall. During the planting, I had this packet of seeds for edible sprouts from the health food store, which contained all kinds of funky grasses, and sunflower seeds, removed from their hard shells. We have a few sunflowers towering up thanks to that mix. They say on the website for the field of flowers that you should cut as many as you can if you want to see them bloom longer. I dutifully took to the garden with my basket and a pair of scissors. It was the first time I have ever done something like that, although for some reason I felt like I'd done it forever. There's nothing like it, clipping the flowers you've grown from seeds yourself. I can tell you that the hardest part was pulling out all those nettles before planting the seeds. I am happy with the result so far.

Super Mini Best of: Fraises des Bois

Walking up a forest path that wound its way up from a gorge and quickly enough arriving at some sunny open pasture land got me to thinking, during that week alone. Something about the way the land opens up above the tree line just sucks out the trivial thoughts and allows my mind to breathe. The incline, the one you work on before you arrive at the top is actually quite steep, but the path has been beaten in such a way that any reasonable person can handle it if they aren't in a hurry. One side of the path (the sunny side in the morning) runs along on your right side, sort of like one of those walls full of plants we see designed by artists in the city. The downhill side gives you the feeling you're surveying a kingdom of sorts. A dark deep world that plunges into the gorge to the river below, a chance to see the straight uprightness of the trees and contemplate their numbers. I have always been the sort to zoom in and find little microcosms along my way, when drawing, when writing, when observing. I think it comes from my love of miniatures. I love to study the varying flora, bathed in sun early in the morning.

The first time I climbed this hill, it was when we had some interesting early spring flowers. The fiddleheads were still tight little fists ready to either pinch off and pop into that day's salad or be left to unfurl like green versions of the lace panels you find dangling like icicles in the windows of Alpine chalets. There was a glorious mess of vines, pretty exotic looking yellow and blue spritzes of mountain blossoms of many kinds, lizards, and freshly melted source water babbling down the layers of folded crushed slate deposits. One pretty little flower that was easy to identify and seemed prolific was the wild strawberry, the fraise des bois.

I took out Loic's trusty Opinel and a little plastic sack that I had so level-headedly prepared in my pre-parental clarity for occasions such as these, and dug out two fraise des bois plants, which I transplanted directly into the crook underneath the cherry tree in the garden when I got back to the house. Over the weeks, I checked and weeded around them, hoping they would get enough sun. Lo and behold, last weekend, there were several ripe berries ready to be eaten.

I was terrible about it. It was late afternoon. I had been busy and unable to take a moment to myself for many days. Loic had brought some work home and wasn't able to help, and I was juggling the brave task of keeping the stove going and also working out the logistics of getting the baby's system perfected at the country house. I hadn't even had a moment to bathe. He decided to take a break to play with the baby - my chance to get some air! I headed straight out to the far end of the garden before either of them could call my name.

I looked, quickly gathered that these juicy buttons were prime for a harvest, and plucked off the ripe berries. I popped them down like they were magic pills and crushed them with my tongue. In that instant I finally was transported back to that frumpy bed in St. Petersburg, hit with a wave of exquisite memory from the exact beautiful flavor. Hey Loic! No on second thought, I better not say anything, because I didn't save any. Any at all.

Jump to this weekend when finally he was freed from the clutches of the national concours and we were able to go out walking as a family. We chose that particular forest walk because it is easy, and I also was pushing for it because of that lingering burst of flavor that kept springing up in my mind. I remembered thousands, but memories can be deceiving. At the bridge over the place where two streams meet, he first pointed to a bunch of ripe fraises des bois, and I brought out the sack. We worked our way up the hill. I am not exaggerating when I say we were both completely astounded at the harvest before us, it was like a wall of wild strawberries. We gathered and gathered, and with every few steps up, it was like we'd not even seen that the best was yet to come. By the time we got to the top of the hill, the sack was full.

Loic told me I was being unreasonable when I dug my hand in, slightly crushing some of the berries, to bring out a handful for each of the two horses that had been set in their pasture there at the top. I don't know. I think they enjoyed them, although now that I have tried to tame a baby, and thinking of their relative minds in my imagination, I cannot imagine that these horses will ever tell family stories about the silly lady with hair like straw who came and opened her palm full of fraise des bois that day. I think they forgot me about 5 minutes after we were gone.

We did two things with them. We put them in yogurt, and we made a coulis.

Collector and Caviste

George dos Santos of Antic Wine, in Vieux Lyon

A set of skeleton keys on a ring hangs by the door, and we take them to go downstairs. A series of doors are unlocked. Footsteps sound gently down a steep stairwell made of old chiseled stone. It is time to get a bottle. Loic keeps a list with details on when any bottle might be best to open. Our cave is rather rudimentary. We have to bring out an extension chord and plug it in outside in the pathway (I hesitate to call it a hallway), just to get light in there. We can't store anything but wine either, since the humidity level is too high. Cardboard boxes disintegrate in that kind of environment, furniture would be ruined. Ikea shelves line with bottle racks and crates that age rather quickly, along with some styrofoam bottle nooks line the walls. We keep other things, like that big ladder we use a couple of times a year, and some other junk. The wine in our cave is really nothing special when you think about what a wine can promise, however. For about 9 years we've been building up our little collection of wines we taste at the vineyards and buy by the case, but we have never really had the means to build a real discriminating collection.

For all of the wonderful ways to get good wine in this country, sometimes going to a caviste is the best way to go. For one thing, visiting the vineyards takes a lot of time. When we went to the Bordeaux region and only had 10 days, we had a hard time choosing what vineyards to visit, and scheduling took some finesse. When you take the time to visit a producer, you are pretty much locked into at least an hour of listening, learning, touring, tasting. You really have to budget your time, plan very carefully, and be very choosy about which doors to knock on. There's no way to fit your hopes and dreams into into one visit, or into the trunk of your car. You get tied up in the stories. It's very hard to cover a whole lot of ground in these circumstances. For this reason, when we go to specific regions, one thing we always do in addition to visiting the vineyards is to find a reputable caviste there, and see what he might have for tasting.

This is not my cave - it is the 16th century cellar at Antic Wine, Vieux Lyon

A caviste is a person with a passion for collecting wine that has translated into a life calling. Every caviste has his way of filling out his cave, and his way of relating to his clients. In St. Emilion, we visited one who specialized in wines local to the region. Each day he had a different set of a dozen bottles open to taste, compare, discuss and buy. He did very good business there. The main benefit of going to a caviste is that you are profiting from this person's expertise when you enter the shop. The price stays reasonable, on the whole, for the product. Being a caviste is an honest business. You're paying them for the research they have already done - their education, their experience, knowledge of their collection, and their ability to obtain certain vintages that the average vinyard tour customer on a road trip would never have. An independent caviste's collection can be truly exceptional, so keep your eye out for them, wherever you go in France.



One truly exceptional independent caviste I know in Lyon is George dos Santos, working out of Vieux Lyon, from his shop called Antic Wine. He is a collector. He has nurtured and grown, in his way, and on his terms, traveling the world, a simply amazing collection of those rare wines you might find at auction, in addition to just plain hard to find French and international bottles and vintages. At the same time, wine is in the end for drinking, n'est-ce pas? While collecting the wine is fine, we also like to taste and understand what makes these wines fun to seek out and such a thrill to share.

George regularly holds tastings at his wine bar two doors down, Le George Five. Featuring 2800 bottles on the menu and 120 bottles open for drinking by the glass per week, you've got a great opportunity to taste and learn. They serve small plates of the best kind of finger food - Buffalo Mozzarella, Sardines, truffles in Brie and Saint Felicien cheese, dried sausage from Ardeche, Corsican pâtés, Parma ham, Pata Negra cut from the bone from it's throne of honor on the bar. Le George Five has quickly become a wine bar of choice for enthusiasts and gourmandes alike.

George dos Santos' regular organized wine tasting soirees have proven so popular that they now have to turn a lot of people away. They are always booked well in advance. He also holds private tastings of special bottles by invitation only. George regularly teams up with Lyon's top chefs to prepare accompanying dishes at these private soirées. If you are visiting Lyon it's through your concierge that you are most likely to get access to these types of events, although purchasing from his shop during the day might allow you to broach the subject with him or a member of his staff.

For a wine enthusiast, going into George dos Santos' shop is a cathartic experience. This year there has been quite a buzz about his imports in the international press. I was there a couple of weeks ago to take his portrait for a wine magazine recently. I got the sense that for George, there is a certain spirituality in his activity as collector and caviste that I feel privileged to be near. Perhaps it is the collector in me. He hits the right note. I certainly can trust him with my wine selections. When I have a very special bottle to buy, George dos Santos is the man.

Antic Wine
18 rue de Boeuf
69005 LYON
04.78.37.08.96

Le George Five
32 rue de Boeuf
69005 LYON
04.72.40.23.30