Pick me, squeeze me, make me wine!!

Today was the day we began our bike trek across (a portion of) the Bordeaux region. We pedaled to the edge of the parking lot at our Inn, looked both ways, and, like skydivers, launched ourselves into our eagerly awaited adventure. What would we see? What would we do?? We had no exact idea. But we were both definitely looking forward to getting our first close-up look at an actual vineyard in Bordeaux, France.

We had to pedal almost three blocks to get it.

The Bush of The Gods

Along the road we were riding to leave Cadillac, there was a half hectare patch of land that was devoid of buildings, and on which were planted rows of grapes. It was just cool. Too cool by half. We got off our bikes, got up close, oohed and aahed, took pictures, and giggled like school children. Mmmmmmmmmm! Grapes.

Very, very young Bordeaux

Out of the 38.6 Km we had to go that day, we had 38.3 Km remaining, so we saddled up again and set off, down narrow and tranquil streets. There were a number of intersections in which mirrors had been mounted to provide a view around blind corners.

As cyclists, we were quite happy for these

Cycling time between villages averaged about 15 minutes. Most of the villages had been there for centuries, and tended to retain and incorporate walls and towers from their medieval days.

Approaching Rions

At times, we rode along heavily traveled routes, and in all cases, drivers universally seemed willing to coexist with cyclists. Quite often we rode along much quieter streets. Once, we proceeded for several hundred yards along an old cart path.

Traffic was not an issue here

The weather was variable; mist to sunshine to cloudy to sunshine to rain to sunshine to cloudy mist again. In one instance, we changed out of our jackets because we were sweating in the full sunshine; no more than 10 minutes later we were sheltered under a tree, shivering, fishing our jackets back out of our panniers while sheltering from full-on rain.

The countryside was indescribably beautiful and tranquil. I now have an appreciation, I think, for the phrase “French hillside”. We cycled through seemingly endless rolling hills, covered in grapes.

Approaching Sainte Croix du Mont

A short distance after we left Sainte Croix du Mont, a set of street signs caught my eye.

The set of advisory signs advertised that Chateau Chantegrit was nearby. This was where the wine we had selected for last night’s dinner had been made. The prospect of taking a detour to visit was tempting. However, there was no guarantee that the Chateau was even receiving visitors, and we were both weary of getting intermittently rained on, so we continued on our path.

The ride had been a challenge. Not only due to the weather, but also because of the hilly terrain. We only dismounted and walked our bikes a couple of times, and then only for short distances, but we were both getting pretty tuckered out. Roughly 7.5 hours after leaving Cadillac, we were very happy to pull in to Saint-Macaire.

Saint-Macaire

Our lodgings were through the arch in the medieval tower, and onwards 100 metres.

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Dinner was included with our lodgings, at a restaurant that was a part of the Inn. After we were seated, the hostess brought over the menu of our available choices, displayed on a chalk board easel that she set up next to our table. We pondered for a spell.

Google Translate could not handle this

We pretty much knew enough to make our selections, but our hostess was very helpful in explaining the detail of what each dish contained. We finalized our decisions, and we were on our way.

Bonus! To open, we were presented with an amuse bouche of olive tapenade with tomato. This was unexpected and zingy, and set the tone for the meal. 

The meal came with a glass of wine, but we decided to save our prix fixe selections for dessert, and ordered a nice 2012 Chateau Latour-Martillac.

Appetizers arrived. A pattern is becoming apparent...

Tonight’s foie gras was presented with the customary toasted baguette along with an array of accompaniments; salt, pepper, grosselles (the red berry), grapes, a green leaf thing, cherry tomatoes, and onion confit. I still feel a hesitation when given the opportunity to try foie gras, and tonight decided to forego the opportunity. But then I changed my mind, because foie gras in France. As before, I did not hate it. In fact, it was pretty okay, in my opinion. Julia loved it. I’m still trying to figure out what the attraction is, but I genuinely would like to learn the answer, so I’m gonna keep at this.

Tonight’s chèvre was combined with some onion and bundled up in filo dough. It was, of course, gooey bliss. The salad was well dressed with a light oil and, to us, completely indecipherable seasoning. We both spent time trying to figure out what was so compelling about the dressing, because, frankly, you could barely taste it. When the salad was gone, we used our fingers on the plate to score more tastes of the stuff, but still couldn’t figure out anything about it, except that it was good. Maybe it was pheromone sauce. Or magic bean oil.

My main course was miniature potatoes, carrot, grilled zucchini, and a mound of peppers with a yummy chewy center, made of veal.

I have not had veal in years, for all the reasons enlightened, progressive humans do not eat veal. But I went ahead and did it this time, and OH MY GOD IT WAS EFFING INCREDIBLE. Chewing slowly, I couldn’t help but think back to the mixed emotions I felt when I watched an actual bullfight in Madrid – the simultaneous visceral experience of heart-pounding animal passion paired with acute intellectual revulsion. Here, each bite was a riveting metamorphic composite of the sacred and profane. Damn.

Julia got a skewer of duck. Mashed potatoes – flavoured with something... perhaps with some cauliflower blended in - along with mushroom, roasted tomato, carrots, zucchini, pine nuts, and a few grapes for seasoning. The meat was a bit gamey, and not fatty or heavy. Rarely have we had duck that we didn’t feel was overly heavy, and hadn’t had a duck experience that left us wanting more. We both agreed that this was the best duck we had ever had.

Dessert was a Blanc manger with pineapple, and crème brulée with a layer of passionfruit underneath. To accompany, Julia ordered a glass of a sweet Saint-Macaire white, and I got a glass of the house Sauternes. 

I was interested to see how the Sauternes behaved when paired with something sweet. As expected, preceding the wine with a bite of sweet dessert had the effect of reducing the impact of the Sauternes’ sweetness, and highlighting the more complex underlying flavours. Sauternes wine is not heavily popularized back home, and though I have thought it fascinating how the vintners obtain the sweetness in their wines, I have seldom actually tasted a Sauternes. After the conclusion of our bicycle odyssey, we plan to take a day trip to Sauternes and go exploring and hopefully visit a vineyard.

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Pick me! Squeeze me!!...