From St. Emilion, where we bade au revoir to the Bordeaux district, we made a brief sally into Gascony, stopping in Bergerac for the night. Here antique enthusiasts and beret collectors reveled for several hours, and most of the crew collected tins of pâté and truffles to be sent home.
Dinner that night, notable for good bourgeois cookery, was also notable for some unusual wines. We were all delighted with the charm and dryness of the Château Panisseau. This rather little-known white wine is one you might choose with pleasure when you find it on a wine list. The gigot de mouton which was served us that night should have been preserved as a lesson in how to cook lamb or mutton to the point of perfection. Each slice was hot and juicy and pink; it was one of the dishes so perfect in its simplicity that everyone starred it even after the trip was over. Just another proof that the simplest dish may be gourmet food if it is lovingly and knowingly prepared. With the lamb we drank another wine of the district, a red Pécharmant 1943 of charm and grace, though in no way great. The famous sweet white wine of the region, Monbazillac, came with our dessert, and for a fancier of the really sweet wines this is a most delicious example.
A winding trip through the narrow streets of Bergerac preceded a pleasant evening spent on the banks of the Dordogne discussing—of course, wines and food.
Off early the next day through some particularly wonderful country with a stop for sightseeing at the historic town of Montpezier, a tiny walled village which the English built as a fort during the Hundred Years' War. There is a charm and flavor about the place far more English than French. Then on to Millau, a rooming manufacturing town and very close to Roquefort. We paused for two days as far as wine was concerned and concentrated our tasting powers on cheese, specifically on Roquefort—the king of cheeses.
Roquefort
It amazed me to learn that not only is the town of Roquefort responsible for the great cheese that bears its name, but also for fine gloves, glue made from the bones, gelatin used in clearing wines, a good deal of the lamb and mutton eaten in the district, and woolen cloth. The cheese industry requires a great deal of ewe's milk, for which large herds of sheep are raised on the rocky crags; most of the young are killed when one month old to guarantee the milk for the cheese. The other industries are the outgrowth of this cheese manufacture.
We were taken through one of the finest glove factories in France and saw the hides prepared from the raw wool-covered article to the most expertly cut and finished gloves imaginable.
Then on to Roquefort where one of our finest meals awaited us. We had been told that we should find good food there, but few of us were prepared for the really excellent luncheon. I think this is one of the menus worth repeating in full:
Les Perles du Charentais an Vin de Liqueurs
(Balls of perfect melon which had been marinated in line port and were served well chilled.)
Le Feuilleté Roquefortaise
(The most exquisite puff paste, light and delicate and filled with a paste of butter, Roquefort, pepper, and salt. The puff paste slices were at least three inches high.)
Le Gratin de Queues d'Ecrevisses à Notre Façon
(This was the first of many times we were to taste this dish of crayfish tails in its several versions. This one had a very rich brown sauce and was gratinéed under the broiler before serving. It was smooth and flavorful.)
Le Coq des Causses au Vin de Clairette
(An admirable version of coq au vin, but covered with a tasty crust and baked in the oven.)
Les Petits Pois à la Saveur du Jambon du Pays
(Tiny French peas cooked with bits of smoked ham which gave distinctive contrast to the chicken.)
Gigot de Mouton du Larzac Rôtis à la Broche
(Leg of lamb cooked à point—meaning that it had its juice and its pinkness and worlds of flavor.)
Le Roquefort, Roi des Fromages
Bambe Belle Hélène
Petits Fours
Fruits
Moka
After such a luncheon, we needed the strenuous exercise of climbing the rugged cliffs and trekking up and down through the fabulous natural cellars which have been divided into a many-storied building underground. These caves have been used for untold generations for the storage and seasoning of cheese, and no other place where such cheese is prepared can achieve quite the same flavor. Perhaps the most interesting angle of our trip to Roquefort and the caves was to discover the different flavors and stages of curing which are used in various cities and districts. Monsieur Mittaine had a table arranged with nine different cheeses, each marked with the name of a city. We sampled and found tremendous difference in each one. Paris and New York, for instance, have almost the same taste in the length of time the cheese should be aged. Marseille wants a riper cheese, a city in South America prefers one less well aged, and so on. I found that my taste coincided with that of the people of Roquefort, who prefer their cheese really well aged and filled with the blue mold which gives Roquefort its great and unique character.
On we rolled, down through as rocky and picturesque a country as one can find in France, to Montpellier, and then over to Aries for a day of shopping en route to Avignon and a trip through the Rhône Valley.
We made a brief stop at Les Baux-en-Provence for a trip to the incredible ruins atop the hill and a viewing of the Provencal Festival which had been arranged for us. There has since the war been a greatly revived interest in the traditional songs and dances of regional France. Young people have joined together to study the charming customs of other times and give occasional performances in traditional style. We had a delightful evening of Artesian songs and dances.
Rhône Valley
Our trip up the Rhône Valley had a most distinguished beginning. It has always been my contention that the wines of the valley of the Rhône were not well enough known and far too little appreciated. They have a rare quality about them which is always pleasant, usually satisfying, and sometimes great. I treasure the knowledge I have of them and am grateful to the person who first introduced them to me.
Our first day in the district began with luncheon at what is to my mind one of the fine restaurants of the south of France—La Mule du Pape at Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Our luncheon was built around the wines we were to taste. There were among the other guests the mayor of Avignon, my luncheon partner, and the Baron le Roy, who is so well versed regarding this section of France.
We tasted a Tavel Rosé 1947 with our hors-d'oeuvre. This is always a most refreshing wine and certainly the most versatile member of the entire wine family, for it is at home with practically any dish from hors-d'oeuvre to dessert.
Two different vintages of Côte du Rhône Blanc, those of 1942 and 1945, came with our entree, a moussaka provençale. They showed to great advantage although the 1945 proved the greater. The 1933 Châteauneuf-du-Pape was an ideal partner for the partridge. However, it was with dessert that we had the pleasantest surprise: a Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc—a rarity of a wine, dry and pleasant. I must admit its interest was mainly a matter of curiosity, for it is not so great as other white wines of the Côte du Rhône.
This was a day of unusual experiences, for after we had toured some of the vineyards of the district around Château-neuf-du-Pape, we drove along to Valence to spend the night. Much to our bewilderment we found not only a press conference awaiting us but also one of the most perfectly appointed cocktail parties—in the true New York manner—that you could imagine. Young Roger Latry, whose father was for many years chef of the Savoy Hotel in London and who has been honored in this country several times, is the manager of the small hotel in Valence, and a most progressive and thoughtful one he is. Our dry Martinis were perfectly made and well chilled—an accomplishment of major proportions in France—and the canapés were varied and wonderful. Roger Latry had also planned dinner for us. We ate some excellent foie gras, a velvety cream of chicken soup, and a poularde de Bresse demi-deuil, and those delicate mushrooms, morilles à la crème. We sat long with the Latrys discussing the hotel business in America and Europe.
The next day was to be the high point, gastronomically speaking, of the entire trip. We started early in the mottling for Tain l'Hermitage where we were to tour the vineyards and lunch with a group of the vintners. Tain l'Hermitage is most picturesque, for the vineyards which cover practically every inch of the great hill are really fabulous. We visited with M. Chapoutier the vineyard of the Chance Alouette, which yields one of the great white wines of the Rhône Valley, and also the Hermitage vineyards; then back to Tain for a bountiful luncheon. The pain d'écrevisses du Cabaret was a triumph, and many gave it the highest score of all. It was a gratin of crayfish tails topped with what could be described best as soufflé pancakes cooked separately and then rolled. With that, we drank an Hermitage Blanc La Chapelle of 1942 vintage, a brisk, full-bodied white wine with wonderful bouquet. The Hermitage Rouge Cuvée de la Sizeranne 1929 was also a memorable wine. I sat next to M. Chapoutier, who was justifiably proud of his wine. This we had with our cheese, and a better combination of flavors is hard to imagine.
More vineyards after luncheon, those of Côte Rôtie and the tiny vineyard of Château Grillet which produces an infinitesimal quantity each year, which perhaps makes it one of the most prized of all white wines. We were to learn its delightful qualities that evening at dinner.
The crowning tragedy was that after this Gargantuan luncheon, so masterfully prepared, we were to be introduced to the great temple of gastronomy—the Restaurant de la Pyramide in Vienne. M. Point had advised us two days before that they were already preparing things for us. We beseeched heaven for the power and space to consume two superb meals in one day.
Chez Point
It certainly became evident upon our arrival chez Point that he had made a special event of our visit. Monsieur himself in all his colossal grandeur made us welcome. Perhaps a short description of Félix Point is in order. He towers more than six feet and is broad to a degree. His chest descends, ever-widening, to well below his waistline. There is a rotundity about the man which is mindful of perpetual good living. As is usual with people who live exceedingly well, there is a benign and comfortable expression on his face and a general aura of well-being. You are at once aware that here is a man who knows living and all its embellishments, master of his particular art, and certainly one of the world's most knowing persons on the subject of food and wine.
Our reception was warm; we sat on the terrace overlooking the garden and drank a pétillant wine of the district, well chilled and served in capacious pitchers. The wine was mixed in our glasses with crème de cassis. Madame Point joined us, and we found her to be the very soul of charm and as efficient as an IBM device. At just the proper moment, as if there were wires and lights to signal the Points from the kitchen, we were ushered into the large dining room and seated at a beautifully appointed table. Just as we were all comfortably settled, two waiters entered carrying a tremendous silver platter with a stunning piece of food artistry on it. This was our first course—volailles de Bresse, en chaudfroid with salade de truffes. The slices of breast were arranged in elegant design around the three large chickens which were the center of interest. Naturally, the decoration was of truffles on the slices and on the chickens, which were filled with pâté de foie. Beautiful silver attelets (which were old ones, and I know how difficult it is to find them) pierced the chickens. These skewers were decorated with oversized whole truffles and carved vegetables and whole tomatoes, in the manner of Carême. With this bit of gastronomical artistry, we had a salad of fresh truffles, subtly and deftly seasoned so that the glorious perfume of the fungus was predominant. Félix Point chose to offer us from the treasures in his wine cellar a Château Grillet 1947. Point and one other restaurateur capture the bulk of the wine of this vineyard, and there are those who will journey far for a taste of it. A delightful and rewarding wine it is, dry and well bodied.
Our second hors-d'oeuvre, oreiller à la Belle Aurore, was another optical—and palate-pleasing treasure. This great pillow of pastry was stuffed with a pâté of venison baked to a glorious golden-brown. With this we drank an excellent Beaujolais of 1945 vintage, properly chilled as is my taste with Beaujolais. Monsieur Point's famous gratin de queues d'écrevisses came next. The velvety smoothness of the sauce and the delicate flavor of the crayfish tails blended into a happy amalgam
.The pièce de résistance—as if all of them weren't—was feuilletés de perdreaux Pyramide. Each partridge was browned very quickly in butter and then wrapped in puff paste with the head protruding through a hole in the pastry. They were cooked to a toothsome and visual glory. Then the eyes were painted with a tiny white ring and the whole served on a beautifully arranged tray. Some mousseline potatoes—puréed, seasoned, and whipped to foamy froth—were the only embellishment. With this, one of the most perfect Rhône wines I have ever tasted, an Hermitage 1937. This aristocrat of the vine was mellow, round, and luscious.
We continued with the same vinous triumph for the Saint Marcellin cheese, a specialty of the house. Our dessert, ananas en surprise, was another pièce montée breathtaking in the delicacy of its arrangement. The silver platter was arranged with three tremendous pineapples at the back, and slices of the fruit were in balanced groups in front. Then mounds of fresh raspberries accentuated the golden color of the pineapple, and a thin cloud of spun sugar covered the entire platter. With this, a tray with the famous Pyramide done in nougat as the center decoration and a sumptuous selection of petits fours.
Liqueurs, coffee, and cigars followed on the terrace and after relaxing chatter and compliments and pictures, the final mark of hospitality was offered us—a drink for the road, as it were: Veuve Clicquot Rosé Champagne.
It was a tired group that arrived in Lyon at two o'clock in the morning. And, I may say, gourmets as replete with marvelous food and drink as it is possible for gourmets to be. Paeans of praise rose in every throat, for the next day was a day of rest. I lunched with several others off Bollinger champagne and we dined very lightly, for there wasn't a hunger pang among us. In fact, even the following day, as we wandered through the Beaujolais district, the thoughts of eating were not too appealing. As a matter of record. I skipped out on what proved to be a very poor luncheon and then drove off, with another member of the party, to the delightful Hotel Relais des Compagnons de Jéhu to sip a bottle of bubbly in the garden and relax. This is a country hotel you should all remember. It is situated near Pontanevaux and has just about as much charm and beauty as is possible for a country hotel. Monsieur Faure will show you every courtesy there, and you may be assured of good food and excellent wines, especially the vin du pays.
Burgundy
Our stay in Burgundy was all too short, but when one is on a schedule as full as ours, it is difficult to apportion the time. We did get to see most of the historic vineyards and to learn a great deal about the methods of this particular part of France's wine production. As one drives through this district, one is so aware of the small vineyards and of the demand for the fine wines from that section. The beauty of the district and the craftsmanship in planting and caring for the wines are outstanding. We were fortunate in sampling a goodly number of wines and meeting key people in every part of the industry. One notable extracurricular experience fell into our laps—at least into the laps of four or five of us. We were invited to one of the old firms to taste some rare wines.
As we visited the cellars of Champy Père & Cie, we were suddenly introduced to what might almost be described as a bit of Hollywood. A button was pushed, and one of the great cuves, which usually holds many gallons of wine, opened to disclose a completely equipped tasting room. It was in this novel spot, surrounded by a wealth of wine curiosa, that we sat and tasted. We were given our choice of anything in the working cellars or from the private collections of the owners. One of us asked to taste a rare white wine and another to taste a rare red. The white was one of the most joyous tasting sensations I have ever had, and my feelings were shared by the rest. This was a 1904 Grand Montrachet. I know that many of you will say that is much too old for a white wine and that it must have passed its prime. Not at all. From the moment that the golden liquid was poured into the mammoth tulip-shaped glasses, we knew we were experiencing one of the great vinous thrills of our lives. The bouquet confirmed it and the tasting emphasized the fact. It was a sensuous pleasure we would have been sorry to miss.
We were next introduced to an 1898 Clos Vougeot which, though noble in stature and a rarely delicious wine, had begun to show definite signs of its age. It was not quite so distinguished as the Montrachet, but of great interest to taste.
We topped these with a Marc de Bourgogne 1915—a great example if that earthy drink is your pleasure—and it is one of mine.
We were fortunate in having Monsieur Drouhin to guide us through the historic Hospice de Beaune. At the end of the tour we visited the historic cellars and saw the 1949 vintage being brought in. It has been a sensational time in Burgundy, these last few years, for there have been so many consistently good years. Of these the excitement seems most pronounced over the 1947's. They are, in the opinion of a grout many experts, wines which are absolutely unbelievable in greatness. The white wines of that year, many of which seem to be ready for drinking now, are really unprecedented, wines which one wants for great occasions. The reds of 1947, too, are maturing quickly and in some cases are being drunk already. Monsieur Drouhin said that word of the greatness got around before the annual auction at the Hospice de Beaune. As a result, the wines brought the biggest prices ever paid at the sale which provides the money for the perpetuation of the hospital.
Our parade of memorable meals was added to in Burgundy by one really remarkable dinner and an excellent luncheon. For dinner we were guests of the Syndicat des Négociants en Vins Fins de Bourgogne in their headquarters. There were some notable wines, among them a Meursault Genevrières 1946, which was delicate and flowery, and a 1929 Demoiselle-Montrachet, which was sheer molten gold and so delicious it should have been crowned with some special type of honor. The Nuits St. Georges, Château de Gris 1929, which we drank with our pheasant, and the Clos Vougeot 1923, which accompanied the cheese, were both aristocratic examples of the grandeur of red Burgundy.
The food, too, offered us specialties of the district: brochet en croûte, which added another style to our repertoire of dishes featuring pike; jambon à la crème, one of the noblest dishes from that particular region, and a savory pheasant. It may interest you to know that a woman prepared this dinner for twenty-five of us in a very small kitchen. It was a major accomplishment!
Luncheon the following day offered by the Chamber of Commerce of Beaune was another journey into gastronomic excitement. A wonderful tarte au foie gras, an excellent poulet demi-deuil, and a perfectly cooked gigot were the outstanding dishes, with some amusing frivalités bourguitgnonne to begin with. The outstanding wine was the Chambertin 1928, which had great distinction and roundness.
We visited many of the vineyards and cellars in the district. A few of the great cellars in Beaune extend under the streets and under several other buildings as well as the one entered. It is an intriguing network of cellar space which houses fortunes in wines. I noticed casks of wine from the previous year's sale at the Hospice de Beaune, which were marked for purchasers in all quarters of the globe, including several for Señor Peron in Argentina.
Alsace
The outstanding incident of our trip from the Burgundy district to Alsace was, in addition to the magnificent scenery through the Vosges mountains, a perfect wine served to us en route. We stopped at the Feuillée Dorothée high in the Vosges near Plombières. The setting is breathtakingly beautiful, for one lunches on a terrace that literally hangs from the side of the mountain. The wine we had, which was served with that famous hot hors-d'oeuvre of that part of the world—quiche Lorraine—was a Traminer, Reserve Exceptionelle. It was one of the most Bowery, light, and enchanting wines of that district, where the lush quality of grape flavor is so prominent in all the wines. Alsatians are delightful, unpretentious wines which should be drunk when they are young and gay.
The following day we drove through the lovely country from Colmar to Riquewihr, which should be catalogued in your next French itinerary as a must. Riquewihr, a relic of seventeenth-century France, is built on a rather steep hill. The houses, the streets, the market, and the surrounding walls are sheer enchantment, and the general feeling one has in the town is one of utter and complete detachment from the world. Here we trekked through the streets and peered into dooryards and were given a tasting of some of the choicest of Alsatian wines. With it we had as palate-cleaner a towering Kougelhof, a coffeecake perfectly flavored and beautifully baked in its mold.
The wines we tasted were young, mostly 1947's and a few 1945's. Such charm and light poetry they have, these young Alsatians. The Traminer, the Riesling, and the Pinot Gris grapes produce them. It was an assortment of the finest wines from all the great houses in Alsace, including Willm, Dopff, Hugel, and several others.
At luncheon we tasted more wines of the district, after touring through their picturesque vineyards. There was an especially notable Grand Riesling Reserve 1945.
Champagne
A brief overnight stop in Strasbourg gave us a slight respite, and then on to the Champagne country. Our stay there was all too brief, but we covered some notable ground. On the Sunday of our final week we were the guests of the Comité Interprofessionel du Vin de Champagne at a delightful luncheon in the beautiful home of Comte Bertrand de Vogüé. In this charming atmosphere and with a group of distinguished neighbors in the district, as well as André Simon from London and a minister from the French cabinet, it was a gay and interesting luncheon. We drank some delightful Champagnes: a 1943 Roederer and a 1923 Veuve Clicquot, which was a most distinguished wine and one of which the Comte de Vogüé may well be proud. The day was enhanced by a birthday visit to the gracious Madame Bollinger at Ay. She had told me that the Sunday of our visit would be her birthday, and, as far as we were concerned, it was one of the happiest celebrations in a long line of gaiety. We trouped through the winery, where the vendange was just being completed, to watch the press and note the care which this remarkable woman takes with her wines. Then we tasted the fresh press and the grapes. We continued across the road to Madame's home, where we toasted her in what is probably the greatest Champagne still in existence—the 1929 Bollinger. it is truly a sensation to drink this superb wine, and we felt honored that she had offered it to us for our mutual celebration.
After this we touted the long lanes of cellars, which during the war years sometimes served as a place to sleep as well as a storehouse for the thousands of bottles of Champagne. It would be an eerie place to sleep at any time, but with disturbances of war going on above. it must have been terrifying.
We motored back to Rheims and dined with André Simon, who had joined us the day before. It is always a joy to talk to André, for his enthusiasm knows few bounds, certainly not those of age, and his knowledge is tremendous.
Our last day on tour was spent in visiting the vintners of Pommery and of Moët and Chandon, through all the miles of cellars and the various stages in the preparation of Champagne. Then finally, we bussed back to Paris, much the wiser in mind on food and wine and much the rounder in girth. Is that surprising?
The following night was the climax, and a most glamorous one at that. Monsieur Vaudable of Maxim's had invited us to a farewell party and he had planned it to a fare-thee-well. He had invited a number of Parisians who have made the greater appreciation of good living one of their prime delights in life. Our dinner was beautifully planned and was served in the traditional grand manner that has come to be expected of Maxim's. We started with a Château Rayne Vigneau 1921, which was chilled to a very low temperature. With this came smoked salmon, caviar, and other bouchées. Then to table. Great plates of marennes, the best oysters in France, to my taste, and with them a beautiful 1934 Montrachet. The wine went on through the next course of rouget en papillote. The red fish made a most dramatic appearance as they were rushed in encased in their voluminous paper coverings, and the aroma was overpowering as they were torn from their sheaths before eating. Pheasant Souvaroff, with its wonderful aroma dough-sealed into the casseroles, proved to be sheer joy to eat as well as to whiff. An excellent Château Haut Brion 1919 in magnums accompanied the pheasant, and we toasted Mr. Weller of that vineyard who was one of Monsieur Vaudable's guests. Mr. Weller is one of the few Americans actively engaged in the production of French wines.
Our dessert was a refreshing pineapple sherbet served in great bowls of carved ice, which were lighted from the inside, and covered with a film of spun sugar. With this magnificent presentation there was the 1929 Moët and Chandon, Cuvée Dom Pérignon. Then came coffee and a venerable brandy, Remy Martin's Les Barbotins—truly an experience in brandy-drinking.
We were to be permitted one more gastronomic episode à la française before our feet again touched American soil, sailing home, through the waves, or as I did, through the clouds, in ships that carried France across the ocean with us. The excellence of the cuisine aboard the airliners that bear the crest of Air France is proverbial. Food, service, and wines were, as always, reminiscent of the best to be found in France, with the added charm of being specially adapted to meet the particular requirements of dining aloft. There was a split of Moët and Chandon champagne on the attractive tray which held our subtly seasoned, exquisitely prepared luncheon on board the Air France ship which carried us home, and with this we drank a last sentimental toast.
“To France, her great wines, her matchless food, her overwhelming hospitality!”