The gay and provocative word “champagne” stirs up a variety of impressions, all of which probably distill down in essence to the picture of a dazzling blonde in a tub of bubbles or a mustached gentleman in Maxim's drinking from Gaby Deslys' slipper. To the gourmet, however, the word has a triple connotation. Le champagne is the incomparable sparkling liquid perfected by Dom Pérignon, which, for centuries, has been the world's accepted wine for ceremonies, weddings, and assorted festivities. La fine champagne is something very different —the aristocrat of brandies, originating in the Charente in southern France. It has nothing whatever to do with the wine of the same name, or with the province, which is becomingly feminine: La Champagne.
It is this last which is the theme of today's appetizing travelogue. La Champagne is one of the larger French provinces, stretching from Belgium to Burgundy, from Lorraine to within twenty-five miles of the gates of Paris. If you are eastward bound from la ville lumière, you automatically go through the Champagne. In the north, this province is heavily wooded. Here is a large part of the Argonne, a name which is permanently inscribed in American history. In the south, it flattens into the département of the Aude, a peaceful country of wheat fields, sheep-dotted pastures, and small factories specializing in women's bonnets; then it becomes hilly in the Haute-Marne. Between these two extremes is the area which concerns us most—a wide strip of chalky land whose soil and climate contrive to produce the magic of sparkling wine.
The white chalk of the Champagne is as celebrated as the cliffs of Dover and is almost as dramatic, especially if one takes the trouble to visit the trenches of World War I near Reims. The wide, meandering gashes still cut through the white chalk of the three famed Monts de Champagne—Cornillet, Téton, and Blanc. The trenches art tumbled in, weed-grown, and stained with time, but there are still tumultuous acres of them, eloquent of the bitter four-year struggle which ended here in the summer of 1918. The Monts de Champagne, churned by years of shellfire, presented a hopeless reclamation project, and the French have left them just as they were.
South of this scene of desolation rises the Montague de Reims, a darkly wooded promontory whose lower slopes are luxuriantly carpeted with vineyards. These fruitful hillsides were within easy gun range during those four years, but the mere threat of German cannon was not enough to deter the winegrowers. They tended their vines as usual, with the front-line trenches stretching out beneath them and clearly visible. When September came, there were always willing French soldiers to help pick the grapes.
Beyond these bounteous heights is the Valley of the Marne, an immortal strip of territory which could serve as a symbol of French heroism in 1914 and again in 1918. The grim days seem far away now, for it is a peaceful valley of rebuilt villages and prolific vineyards. But Belleau Wood and many another shrine of unforgotten men still serve as reminders of the valiant destiny of the Marne.
Stretching southward from this river near Epernay is another valley, called the Côte des Blancs, where many of the noblest white grapes are grown. These three grape-laden areas, the Montagne de Reims, the Valley of the Marne, and the Côte des Blancs, produce about 90 per cent of the grapes used by the vast champagne industry. They are unforgettable places to visit, whether you are an oenophilist, a plump ex-doughboy, or a mere enthusiast for French landscape—and cooking.
One senses a group cordiality in the Champagne country which is very heartening. Everyone in the champagne world seems to be in a hospitable mood, from the humblest vigneron to the titled owners of the immense wine cellars dug deep in the chalky earth. They welcome you to their vineyards, their caves,—and their more-than-adequate hostelries, and publicize the fact. Such a cordial spirit has found an enthusiastic acceptance, to judge by the throngs of foreign automobiles, particularly from Holland and Belgium, which rolled over the Champagne countryside during the past summer.
The matter of visiting the wine cellars (there are supposed to be a hundred and twenty miles of them cut in the subterranean chalk) has been greatly facilitated. A visit to the Syndicat d'Initiative in either Reims or Epernay acts as an open-sesame to the cool splendors of many champagne caves—temperatures a perfect, constant fifty degrees. If you wish to test your stamina, Moët and Chandon have sixteen miles of cellars in Epernay, while Pommery and Greno can slow you through eleven underground miles in Reims. Here indeed is a cooling and refreshing pause which no billboard can offer—with some golden bubbles at the end of the trail. In view of the open-armed French hospitality, a visit to the champagne cellars is probably the foremost attraction of the region, after the incomparable Cathédrale de Reims.
Yet there are few places more heartening to the wine enthusiast than the Valley of the Murne on a bright midsummer afternoon. The little river is insignificant, but its sloping banks are packed deep with superbly tended vineyards. These same chalky hills have been producing their treasure since the dim days of history, at least as early as the year 280, when the Emperor Probus ordered vines planted in the valley. François I, who had a nose for good wine, and Henry VIII of England had their personal vineyards on the slopes above Ay. Dom Pérignon, the inventive cellar master of the Abbaye d'Hautvillers, was a comparative late-comer to the scene. He did not invent champagne, but he did something just as important—he found the secret of retaining its sparkle in the bottle. You can visit the abbey where the good monk made his discovery, a pious pilgrimage for a gourmet. It is on a country road just north of Epernay.
We won't delve into the picturesque history of champagne here, or its manufacture, great names, and vintage years. The whole story, from the venerable monk Dom Pérignon to the sprightly Widow Clicquot, has appeared at different times, in GOURMET, most recently in June, 1948. But a word or two about the still wines may be in order. Champagne nature, the unmanipulated wine of the region, is one of the most delectable of dry white wines, a worthy rival of the best produced in Burgundy or Alsace. It is a joy forever with fish and shellfish, with ham, chicken, and a whole repertory of entrees. It reposes in most good cellars in two forms—blanc de blanc and blanc de noir. One is pressed from white grapes, one from deep-blue grapes. The former is thought better, but the blanc de noir has its incontestable charm.
The native of Champagne loves the wine he grows. He drinks his champagne nature daily with meals, and his wife uses it in preparing her regional dishes. On Sunday he orders sparkling champagne at the corner bistro. When the circumstances call for a red wine, he has that, too—a very presentable ruby nectar from Ambonnay or Bouzy. (To foil the pointed remarks of the prohibitionists, they really should change the name of that last village!)
Aside from its unique wine, the Champagne has one other gastronomic treasure—cheese. The noble, flat Brie and the more compact Coulommiers both come from the western reaches of this province. When these creamy classics are at their peak of ripeness, there simply aren't better cheeses. Now that the French restrictions on the cream content have been loosened, they achieve that peak often.
The Champagne is not the most beautiful of French provinces. Its thick forests have a sameness, and its chalky fields are sometimes monotonous. Its villages are often squat and austere, cringing from the rude winter and quite unconcerned about problems of street-cleaning. Its farmhouses are inclined to be flat and colorless. Occasionally, however, one comes upon a sketchworthy farm, such as the one here reproduced.
The architectural plane of Champagne's churches is much higher, beginning with the sublime Cathédrale de Reims, the scene of the coronation of so many French kings. Other notable cathedrals are located in Meaux, Châlons-sur-Marne, and Troyes, not to mention the extraordinary church of Notre-Dame de l'Epine, a flamboyant Gothic structure of cathedral proportions located in an insignificant hamlet outside of Châlons. The Champagne is dotted with country churches and minor châteaux, some of which are very charming. All told, the architectural fare is good, perhaps even a shade above the gastronomic level.
The traveler in search of good food and lodging will neither be disappointed in the hotels of the Champagne nor find anything extraordinary. In the Ardennes and the Aube, the choice is restricted, and in Reims, the glorious capital of the Champagne, the situation is adequate but not inspiring. Along the place Drouet-d'Erlon in Reims, where most of the hotels and restaurants are concentrated, one finds a variety of comfortable places and acceptable restaurants. Elsewhere in the province, however, the story is more interesting. Here are some recommendations following visits to the Champagne during the past two summers:
Meaux (Seine-et-Marne)
North of this historic town, the taxicab army of the Marne made the immortal attack early in September, 1914, which resulted in a vital French victory. There are several monuments commemorating the battle, including a writhing American one which has been repeatedly described as “mixed wrestling.” A more impressive attraction is the Cathédrale of Saint-Etienne, whose massive, single towered bulk dominates the countryside.
It might be a good idea to visit the cathedral around noon-time, for just opposite its west façade is a pleasant gastronomic prospect. This is the REIAIS SAINT-ETIENNE, a clean and civilized restaurant whose best dishes are prepared by the patron himself. Monsieur Bacoury. An excellent prix fixe luncheon, including service and a delicious bottle of blane de blanc, came to about two dollars apiece. Monsieur Bacoury's terrine, a spiced game pâté of particular charm, was the only specialty we tasted, but his canard au sang and filets do sole buttressed with lobster ought to be worth trying.
In case you wish to spend the night at Meaux, the HÔTEL SIUÈNE offers a rather unusual experience. This old-fashioned inn is established in the former hôtel parliculier of the Marquis de Montcalm. It is a charming seventeenth-century building, remodeled and modernized, but still rich in the atmosphere of the Louis'. Monsieur Pelletier is an experienced host and a gifted cook, adept in all phases of his art. A delectable dinner is a foregone conclusion.
Poincy (Seine-et-Marne)
In the course of this Champagne trip we encountered several recommended restaurants which, by unanimous consent, had best remain nameless. There was a hung jury, however, in the case of the delightful old MOULIN DE POINCY, a short distance from Meaux. After mature deliberation, the offended member of the jury has decided to waive her objections to a tough, reheated, sinew-strewn morsel of veal in view of the utterly sublime sauce which covered it and to hope that it was all a ghastly mistake.
Everything else about the old mill was perfect—the pebbled garden sheltered with low trees, the promenade along the banks of the lazy Marne, the rowboats and fishing poles which were ours for the asking. The old mill has been converted into a rustic dining salon of great charm. Monsieur Tournoud and his son, whose Restaurant des Fleurs in Paris is well known, are experienced restaurateurs. There are comfortable rooms for guests seeking complete tranquillity. The wine list is impressive. The soufflé an kitsch was delicious. Only that unconquerable fragment of veal gristle stands between the Moulin de Poincy and complete contentment. We leave the decision up to you!
Dormans (Marne)
This little town on the banks of the Marne offers the migratory gourmet an unusual inducement in the form of a nineteenth-century château, now converted into a country inn called LA GRAVOISH. The broad farmlands of the château have been turned over to the real-estate boys, but La Gravoise retains the fine old garden and the terrace overlooking the river valley. Here one can sit and enjoy an evening apéritif and watch the trains go by, some of them almost silently on rubber tires. We might as well be frank about it—Dormans is on the main Paris-Strasbourg line, and there is a recrudescent rumble throughout the night.
That needn't affect your enjoyment of the superb fare which Monsieur Loevenbruck provides for his guests. A topcategory Parisian chef presides over this cookstove. His quiche Lorraine was light and fragrant, and his poularde au champagne was a positive sublimation of that docile bird. A flawless and inexpensive blanc de blanc accompanied these delicacies. The prices are above the average, but the cooking justifies them.
Châlons-sur-Marne (Marne)
This wind-swept city on the broad plains of the Champagne has been an agricultural and military center for centuries. The first large base behind the Champagne sector of the Western Front, it was familiar to thousands of American soldiers of World War I, some of whom have doubtless spent the night and enjoyed a hot bath at the venerable HÔTEL D'ANGLETERRE.
The fine French tradition is still studiously preserved in this old-fashioned hostelry. The reminiscent ex-doughboy will find everything just as it was, including the ancient valet de chambre and the dignified but gentle patronne behind the desk. In the high-ceilinged dining room he will find an admirable choice of dishes, some of which may taste vaguely familiar. Well they may, for they are prepared by Monsieur Georges, who has been standing over this ample cookstove for thirty years.
The wine cellar still contains some treasured champagne of the great years, and it will be served in old-fashioned flûtes by neat, capable maids dressed in the costume current in 1900—nothing changed. The Hôtel d'Angleterre is a glance into the past and a genuine tribute to the way things used to be done.
Sept Saulx (Marne)
Visitors to the moss-grown trenches of the Monts de Champagne will find an unexpected oasis of good fowl and wine in the fiat little town of Sept Saulx (Seven Locks) about twelve miles southeast of Reims. This is the RESTAURANT CHEVAL BLANC, an unpretentious inn built around a courtyard. It doesn't look impressive, but its cooking will surprise you. It has a sheltered garden and a fine cellar featuring some seductive vintages from Villers-Marmery.
For generations this modest inn has been a favorite with army officers stationed at the flat and cheerless Camp de Châlons in nearby Mourmelon-le-Grand. When army food became too deadly, there was always Le Père Chauffert and his welcoming White Horse to provide a rustic evening of good food and wine. Now the son of Monsieur Chauffert has taken over. To judge by the tables filled with all ranks from sub-lieutenants to five-stripe colonels, he is upholding the old tradition with glory.
Verzy (Marne)
The most breath-taking panorama of the vineyards of Champagne is obtained by climbing the roads which wind around the Mountain of Reims. Between Verzy and Verzenay, whose hilltop is still crowned by an ancient windmill, the view is superb. After your exclamations have died down, it might be time for luncheon. If this is the case, the HÔTEL BEAU SITE in Verzy offers a fairly good answer—and a continued panorama. The food is quite good, a trifle expensive perhaps, and the cellar yielded a beautiful bottle of Villers-Marmery.
Sézanne (Marne)
It seems quite safe to crawl out on a limb and make the bald statement that the top gastronomic shrine in the Champagne is located in the unassuming town of Sézanne, about sixty-five miles west of Paris, and that its name is the HÔTEL DE FRANCE For almost a quarter of a century this country hotel has been a confidential favorite with French gastronomes. They haven't been able to keep their secret, it would appear, for the place is immensely popular. If you want a room for the night, get there before five o'clock.
Monsieur Boucheron is a celebrated and talented chef, and he has trained his stuff in the highest tradition of French cooking. The service is deft and attentive, and the choice of menus and individual dishes is all that you would expect in a fine Paris restaurant. Praise of Monsieur Boucheron's prowess is emblazoned on numerous diplomas and testimonials from dining clubs. He is accustomed to kudos and takes it in his stride. But he was not quite prepared for the recent invasion of American journalists and color photographers who included him in a story about the Guide Michelin. They were sweeping up flash bulbs for days and still uncover them in the most unexpected places—flower pots and wine baskets.
It hardly seems necessary to list the culinary splendors of the Hôtel de France in Sézanne. We tried a poularde de Bresse cooked in the red wine of Bouzy and an English sole braised in champagne. Both were impeccable. The prices are very fair, indeed. The Hôtel de France deserves the top bracket among the hotels of the Champagne. Period.
Troves (Aube)
This ancient city in the southern part of the Champagne has an astounding number of medieval houses still standing in its twisted streets. In spots it is grotesquely picturesque. Furthermore, its Cathédrale of Saint-Pierre is an inspiring Gothic structure, reason enough to include Troyes in your Champagne trip.
There is one excellent restaurant in Troyes, facing the marketplace, the RESTAURANT LE BOURGOGNE. It is spotless, well-appointed, and cheerful. A young and enterprising restaurateur, who knows good food, has made this into the best stopover for the discriminating traveler.
Pont Sainte-Marie (Aube)
On the outskirts north of Troyes, across from a noble old Gothic church, is the HOSTELLERIE PONT SAINTE-MARIE, a pleasant country inn catering to the motorist. We found the area jammed with plushy American automobiles bearing Belgian license plates, a fair indication of the quality of Monsieur Duquesnoy's cuisine. The Belgians know their food!
The roast fowl rules the roost here. Poulet de Bresse à la broche is an obvious choice after one has seen these plump, golden pullets turning on the spit. The beef-eaters aren't forgotten, however, for there were some wonderful chateaubriands sizzling over a fire of vine cuttings. The prices seemed a little high, but there is no denying the quality of the Hostellerie Pont Sainte-Marie.
The regional cookery of the Champagne is not strikingly original. The good local cooks are adept at making their own versions of quiche Lorraine, pot-au-feu, and mateclote. Pieds de porc à la Sainte-Menehould, one of the classics accepted in the hierarchy of Trench dishes, originated in the north of this province, and there is no finer way of presenting pig's trotters. In case you shy away from this humble commodity, the Sainte-Menehould method may be applied to chicken with equal success. The recipes for both dishes follow.
We quote a few other Champagne dishes which adapt themselves to the American kitchen, but we really don't expect you to squander a bottle of vintage champagne on them, unless you have a few cases left over from that wedding. A good dry white of American origin will serve the purpose very well, even if the ultimate tang of champagne is missing from the sauce.
Flamiche aux Poireaux (Hot Cream Tart with Leeks)
Slice thinly enough white parts of leeks to make ½ pound. Sauté them in butter until almost soft and season with salt and a little pepper. Mix them with 1 ½ cups white sauce, made with 1 generous tablespoon each of butter and flour and 1 ½ cups light cream. Mix in 2 tablespoons diced bacon, lightly cooked but not browned in a little butter. Simmer for 3 or 4 minutes and pour into an uncooked pastry shell. Dot with butter, bake in a hot oven (400° F.) until the crust is golden on the edges, and serve immediately.
Matelote Champenoise (Fresh-Water Fish in Champagne)
Cut into fairly thick slices 4 pounds of fresh-water fish, combining equal quantities of eel, pike, pickerel, and carp. Whitefish and trout may be substituted for some of these, but eel is essential. Heat the pieces in 1/3 cup melted butter mixed with 4 shallots and 2 cloves of garlic, all minced, 2 cloves, a pinch of cinnamon, salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste, and a bouquet garni composed of thyme, bay leaf, parsley, and tarragon.
When all is heated, add ¾ bottle of vin d'Ay, or champagne. Cover and cook over a fairly hot fire for 20 minutes. Light 1 tablespoon warmed brandy and pour over the surface. Remove the bouquet garni and lay the slices of fish on a heated dish to keep warm. Blend 1 tablespoon butter with ¼ tablespoon flour and stir gradually into the sauce. Simmer for a minute and pour the sauce over the fish. Sprinkle with finely chopped parsley, surround by little crescents of flaky pastry, and serve.
Potée des Vendangeurs (Vintners' Soup Pot)
Soak a slice of ham, weighing 2 pounds, and ½ pound lean bacon in cold water for several hours. Dry and brown them, together with a large pork sausage, in an iron pot. Add 3 or 4 quarts hot water, or enough to make a plentiful soup, and simmer for about 1 ½ hours. Add 3 or 4 carrots, 3 or 4 white turnips, 6 leeks, 1 cup dried Lima beans, soaked and half-cooked, and a cabbage, cut in quarters. When these are partially cooked, add a few peeled potatoes. Add more hot water if the liquid reduces too much.
When the vegetables and meat are tender, pour some of the soup into a tureen over slices of roasted French bread. Serve the meat on a platter, surrounded by the vegetables. A jar of good Dijon mustard on the table, and you have a hearty meal, complete.
Caille sous la Cendre (Quail under Embers)
When you are fortunate enough to obtain quail or other small game birds, remember this cooking method, a favorite in the Champagne. First you must have a fine hot charcoal fire reduced to red embers. Then prepare a stuffing:
Sauté 1/3 pound lean bacon, diced, add 1/3 pound chicken livers (calf's liver may be substituted), and season with salt and pepper. When lightly browned, moisten with 2 tablespoons brandy and simmer for a minute. Remove from the fire, chop the meat into coarse pieces, and blend in 1 egg, beaten. Add 3 ounces foie gras and 1 truffle, chopped. Fill each quail with this stuffing and wrap it in a large leaf from the grapevine. Tie a thin strip of bacon around each and wrap in three layers of buttered heavy butcher's paper.
Bury these choice little packages in hot ashes and cover with glowing embers. Cook for about 40 minutes, depending on size. Remove the papers only and place each quail and its vine leaf on a slice of French bread fried in butter.
Pieds de Porc à la Sainte-Menehould (Pig's Feet Sainte-Menehould)
Split 3 cleaned pig's feet in two lengthwise. Sprinkle plentifully with coarse salt and let them stand for 24 hours. Wash them thoroughly, place the halves together, and sew each pig's foot firmly in a piece of cloth. Simmer very, very slowly for 4 or 5 hours in a court-bouillon containing 1 carrot, 1 onion, a bouquet garni, garlic, salt, pepper, and a few cloves. Cool the meat thoroughly in the liquid.
Remove the feet from the pot and discard the cloth bags. Cover each piece with melted butter, coat with fine bread crumbs, and grill rather slowly on all sides for about 20 minutes. Serve the pieds very hot, accompanied with a strong mustard.
Poulet Sainte-Menehould (Chicken Sainte-Menehould)
Salt and pepper a 2 ½-pound broiler and rub it on all sides with oil. Broil it, not too close to the flame, for about 10 minutes on each side. Remove and coat the underside with well-beaten egg, spreading it on with a pastry brush. Sprinkle with fine bread crumbs, coat with melted butter, and sprinkle with more bread crumbs. Replace under the broiler for 2 or 3 minutes, or until the surface is browned. Repeat the operation with the upper side of the chicken, slide it onto a heated platter, and serve.