Wine Tasting

Thirty years ago I decided to stop drinking alcohol.  I’d noticed that ten minutes in, my nose would start to run.  Ten minutes after that I would get the flu.  Not worth it.  Still, I take a sip now and then, and that’s what I did when we went wine tasting in Beaujolais country. 

In California this is what I remember about wine tasting:  vast halls in imposing Napa chateaux, customers swarming while retail employees serve up many varieties (expensive and less expensive) in small glasses or cups.

We’d had a rough morning that Monday.  At the wheel of a tiny Fiat 500, I had put Amanda and Larkin’s lives in jeopardy more than once.  By the afternoon, though, we found ourselves north of Lyon driving through picture-perfect villages surrounded by hillside vineyards, in search of wine-tasting “caves.”   We’d spot a sign and pull over.  Inevitably a small note on the door told us to ring the bell.  A few minutes later the owner of the vineyard, or a family member, would appear, usher us in, and give us a taste of two or three varieties.  We’d buy one bottle (costing no more than 7 or 8 €), thank them, and leave.

The Chateau de Lavernette in Leynes was our favorite.  Anke de Boissieu is the wife of Bertrand, whose family has owned this winery for the last hundred years.  She’s Dutch, and, naturally, spoke to us in English.  She brought us and the bottles to a garden table, their dog Dixie (pronounced Deeksee) following right behind.  Anke answered our many questions, her demeanor always composed and calm.  I’m a reader of faces, but hers remained a mystery.  She almost never smiled.  With complete grace she gave us a tour of the chateau, explaining each room, talking slowly, concisely, about how she met Bertrand; about her daughter’s wedding there a few months before.  I particularly noticed when she commented,  "Even after so many years here, I am never blasée about this place."   An hour later we said good-bye, our 6 € bottle of delicious wine tucked under arm.  As we drove off I said, “I don’t get it.  She just spent an entire hour with us, and in exchange we give her $8.50 for a bottle of wine?!” 

Wine tasting here is so personal.  It’s the owner of the vineyard -- the owner! -- whose day you suddenly interrupt when you ring the doorbell.  He or she sits with you, talks with you, asks where you’re from, answers your questions, watches you enjoy his or her offering, and then thanks you for the few euros you hand over for a bottle.

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The French word for sunflower is tournesol:  turns to the sun.  On the way back to Lyon that evening, we pulled off the road to have a closer look at a field lush with them.  My “girls” climbed out of the car and spent half an hour taking pictures of each other surrounded by sunflowers, laughing, as the sky turned pink-blue-slate with the approaching night.  I joined them for awhile, but this felt like their time, their moment.  When they came out of the field, we took a few more minutes to admire that dramatic sky before climbing back into our Fiat 500.