Salon du Vin

One Sunday afternoon in mid-March I went to St. Paulien where the local Kiwanis Club was holding a weekend “Salon du Vin.” The Salon is a wine tasting event where several regional wine producers gather to show off their wares and try to gain loyalty for their products. In addition to the wine producers are also cheesemakers, saucisson makers, and those who can snails or foie gras or some other delectable delight that goes well with wine.

As I entered the Salon and approached the reception table, two Kiwanis volunteers in suits leaped up awkwardly to greet me. Their movement reminded me of some movie I had seen, and I had to hold my giggles. I spoke French to them, quite simple stuff like “I’d like to buy a ticket for the Salon.” They (as all the French people I’ve encountered these past eight months) were quite welcoming and pleased that I, the étranger, would speak to them in French. I payed my 3-euro entrance fee and they gave me a ticket and a wine glass for the tasting.

my friend, Pascal who has taught me much about French culture

I felt I was in familiar territory because five months earlier I went to my first Salon with Pascal, a Frenchman friend I met in Kalamazoo who now lives with his family in the Savoie area (near Geneva, Switzerland). A former salesman of wine and champagne, he knew his way around Salons. He even bought me a bottle of red wine, a wedge of delicious cheese, a saucisson (salami), and a small jar of snails. For himself, he bought several bottles of wine and cheese. The Salon was a fun visit and apparently, a very French thing to do. Voilá, I was going to try it again only on my own. I knew what to do, and it was a community event that I wanted to support.

Since I’d been through St. Paulien before (and even attended a “Salon du Chocolat” in November where they had a chocolate tasting event), I knew where I was going. However, wine is not my forte since I know little more than it is red, white, and rosé, and that it is either dry or sweet. There are many other distinctions, however, and plenty of wine producers who want to help rookies learn about wine like the website: Wine Tasting for Beginners. The purpose in wine tasting classes is to “help you describe it better, taste it smarter, pair it with the right food, and choose better bottles from the supermarket in future,” according to a British website on le bon heure entitled Experience Days.

Monk Testing Wine by Antonio Casanova y Estorach (c.1886)

Monk Testing Wine by Antonio Casanova y Estorach (c.1886)

I knew the mechanics of wine tasting like smelling it, noting its color, swishing it around the glass to check out its legs (i.e., its adherence to the glass), taking a sip and letting it settle in my mouth. However, the more I did these things at the various wine stalls, the more conspicuous I felt that I was a fake who did know what I was doing.

Nevertheless, one young producer was very kind to me. She explained in French (until I got that blank look and she switched to English) that her vineyard was located just north of Marseille and that her rosé was the family’s specialty. It surely tasted good and I knew I liked it. She said it was “rond et sec” that is: round and dry. I could taste the dry, but I had to ask her what “rond” meant. She patiently told me that there was no sugar in the wine and that the taste was derived only from the fruit. I nodded, but just couldn’t experience how it differed from wine with sugar. I appreciated her willingness to talk with me, though, and decided that I’d buy the rosé because she spent so much time with me and because she was located near Marseille, a city I want to visit sometime this year.

I moved on to another stall but was hard-pressed to make a choice. Most of the producers were shy and didn’t look up, so it was easy to pass by them. There were a couple producers, however, who invited me to taste their wine. One let me try wine from several different bottles. They were all good, but when I asked what kind of wine it was, he said it was Cote du Rhône. We buy this wine for the Centre, so I wasn’t going to spend money on it because I wanted something different. I thanked the producer and sheepishly slipped away.

My third and last stop was with another young woman producer. This time I tried the red, the white and the rosé. Before tasting her wine, she rinsed out my glass so that I’d have a fresh taste of her wine and not a mix of someone else’s. Then she offered me a spitting pot where she expected me to take a sip, slosh it around in my mouth, and then spit it out. I could also dump the rest of the contents of my glass.

“Oh no,” I said. “I’ll drink the whole sample that you gave me,” thinking I didn’t want to waste good wine. After three or four samples, however, I was getting whoosy and remembered that I had to drive home. (I had been warned before I went to the Salon that the police like to hang out near these events in an attempt to catch those who have had a few too many samples.) So I stopped my wine tasting and asked the woman for a bottle of white wine mostly out of guilt that she had taken so much time with me even though I knew that that was why she was there. 

layout of the Salon du Vin

I toured the small exhibit hall to look for the cheeses. Unfortunately, there was only one stall, and the producers weren’t there. I would have gladly bought some cheese because I’ve fallen in love with French cheese of which there are 365 varieties! I tend to like bries, blues, and hard cheeses. I also know that I prefer cow cheese although I’m slowly getting to like goat and sheep cheeses. Sadly, I left the cheese stall but turned to an interesting-looking man who was dark, swarthy and wore a red neckerchief.

“Voulez-vous une goûter?” he asked, trying to engage me to approach his table. He had small bits of bread and a number of jars full of something. He spread the stuff on the piece of bread and offered it to me.

“Bien sûr,” I responded to him, quickly getting the message that I was about to taste foie gras (duck’s liver). I abhor liver of any kind, and I don’t like the fact that they force feed the animals so that their liver enlarges and then they are killed for it. But, I had to admit that this foie gras tasted good. I wondered if I had transformed my taste for liver just being in France where everything tastes good.

“Here, try another,” he said. By this time, he knew I was an English speaker and once again, my quest to speak French to natives was foiled by their ability to speak my language. It’s intriguing that it usually only takes a word or two before the French know I am an English speaker.

“Are you from England?” he asked. This is a typical question indicating that maybe there are more British travelers to France than Americans.

“Non, je suis Américaine,” I answered trying to remain in French language, proudly putting up my hand in the form of the Michigan mitten and pointing out Detroit where I was born, and Kalamazoo, where I live. “Il est à mi-chemin entre Detroit and Chicago.”

“I am from Basque country,” he said in near-perfect English while I was thinking how unfair it is that so many people all over the world have learned English while I’m still trying to learn French!

He offered me four samples, but I determined that I liked the second one best. So I bought it even though he tried to offer me a couple more samples. I didn’t want to press my luck with foie gras.

“You are the first Basque I’ve ever met,” I blurted out to him. He seemed unimpressed or maybe he was just concentrating on working the charge card machine.

“You will like that foie gras,” he said in his all-business-like way.

Actually, I hadn’t intended to buy anything at the Salon, but ended up buying two bottles of wine for 15 euros and a jar of foie gras for 16 euros. But the feeling of being a fake combined with my fear of drinking too wine told me it was time to go home. I could have spent more time at the Salon and tried to learn more about wine, but I couldn’t sustain buying another bottle of wine in order to allay my guilty feelings.

Then I had to approach my next challenge: the parking lot. This is always a particular trial in France and today would be no different. I followed the same narrow road I had taken when I entered the Salon, but was puzzled that I couldn’t find the way out since there was an interdit sign (a red circle crossed out, which means no entry) on the road that connected to the complex of buildings where the Salon took place. In fact, there were two other events going on: a soccer match and an indoor-outdoor flee market.

I drove on an adjoining road and discovered I’d encountered the soccer field where the match was about to begin. So I re-traced my path back to the road that led to the Salon du Vin. Maybe there was a way out of the complex in that direction that I had missed. Wrong move! While I was able to get into the parking lot through this narrow road that led to it, there was not enough space for two cars going in opposite directions. Then a number of cars lined up wanting to go out. At one point, I encountered a man who drove a battered, dull-green car. I signaled with my hands that I didn’t know where to go since there were cars behind me. He signaled back the same hand motion and then edged up nose to nose to me as if to say that I had to yield to him. In what seemed like a forever stalemate, the cars behind me suddenly started backing up. I followed them as the man in the battered, dull-green car kept creeping closer and closer to me as though he were afraid someone would cut in front of him. Finally, I reached the end of the road that gave him enough room to slip past me, but not without scraping my right fender a bit. This poor man was obviously in a hurry! I, in turn, breathed a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over and that I could finally leave.

The day had been a bit edgy in that I felt I was out in French society left to my own devices, but I made it through just fine. After all, I had had another French cultural experience—as well as the opportunity to drive in the beautiful French countryside. I doubt it gets any better than this!

Le Puy Freezes Over

It's -14 C (6 F) in Le Puy!! The city's downtown fountain is frozen--and even its sculpted figures look as though they are shivering in the cold.

Although the city is free of ice and snow, temperatures took dive on Monday thanks to a cold front moving from the Moscow area. It  spread all over Europe this week. Many areas of France experienced crippling snow and ice. We are expecting a break from the cold on Thursday and it can't happen soon enough.  

The 14th century Twisted Bridge and the Borne River below make some silent but dramatic statements about the frigid weather. 

A nearby rivulet dead-ends in ice.

Downstream on the Borne River along the hiking/biking trail. The photos present different angles of the modern-day bridge that stands just outside of Le Puy. The ice has started to accumulate on the surface, but the water stubbornly flows onward toward to Loire River, which will move northwest across France and empty into the Atlantic Ocean.

Here's the same bridge looking upstream as ducks nearby make due on the ice that's formed near the river's shore.

As the river ices over, it forms some interesting colors and frozen ripples.

The river drops about 3-4 feet forming an icy waterfall.

The Loire River

The Loire River, France's longest river, flows near Le Puy-en-Velay, so one bright Sunday afternoon, Eluiza and I went to see it. What we found was quite astonishing.


The ruins of a Roman bridge proudly stands on the Loire in the town of Brives-Charensac. On the east side of the river (foreground), lies the old Roman road to Lyon. 




The Romans ruled France for more than 500 years starting in 121 B.C.E. Gaul became part of the Roman empire when Julius Caesar defeated Vercingetorix in 52 B.C.E during the Gallic Wars (58-51 B.C.E.).



This view of the bridge shows a cross-section of its interior and its base: boulders cemented together. 

Here is another view of the bridge's base on the west side of the river. A more modern 18th century bridge stands downstream. It is still used today.




The Loire flows downstream with a long view of the 18th century bridge and a riverwalk.



Upstream, the Loire is framed by the rolling hills of the Haute Loire region. 



Further upstream still is a small dam. Dams on the Loire have been a controversial issue since many people want to keep the Loire in its most natural state. According to the National Academic Quiz Tournaments:

"The Loire is sometimes called the 'last wild river in Western Europe,' and many proposed dams on the river have not been built because of opposition to the flooding of land and to interference with Atlantic salmon. The Loire Valley is particularly known for its vineyards and for its châteaux, a collection of over 300 castles dating to the 16th and 17th centuries."

The dam is designed for flood control. Trenches lie near the it as well as along the river. 








A riverwalk with trees, grass and a 12-foot retaining wall contribute to flood control. 

The stone wall adds both protection and beauty for a small neighborhood (on the right). 









A Little Bit on the Loire

The Loire begins its 1,012 km (628.8 miles) journey to the Atlantic Ocean in the southern Massif Central of southeast France. It flows north and west and empties just south of Brittany.
Covering more than a fifth of France's land area, the Loire flows through Nevers, Orleans, Blois, Tours, and Nantes. 

Its major tributary is the Allier, which joins the Loire at Le Bec d'Allier. The Borne River, which flows near the International Centre, is a tributary or rivière to the Loire. The Loire is called a fleuve since it ends up in the sea.  

Other major French rivers include:
Rhône--812 km (504.6 miles) a fleuve to Mediterranean Sea
Seine--776 km (482.2 miles) a  fleuve to Atlantic Ocean
Saône--480 km (298.2) a rivière to the Rhône

published by the Free Software Foundation 

The source of the Loire springs from the side of Mont Gerbier de Jonc, whose shape is this distinctive cone. It lies in the southern Cevennes hills within the department of Ardèche about 50 km (31 miles) southeast of Le Puy. The word Cevennes is derived from the Gaullist word, Cebenna, which was later Latinized by Julius Cæsar.

Someone attempted to show the source of the Loire with a sign that says:"Here starts my race to the ocean."     

Another view of the Loire's origins.

Feijoada at the Centre International

As a gift from our winter vacation from the International Centre, I brought Eluiza some black beans from Lyon in the belief that she would miss them in Le Puy since stores do not sell them here. After all, I assumed that Brazilians ate black beans. Wrong! Eluiza is from the São Paulo region while the black bean eaters are generally from Rio de Janeiro. No matter, she used the beans anyway and made feijoada, which is Brazil's national dish. What a treat!

Although she did not have traditional ingredients or a thick clay pot, she improvised by using three different types of pork. There are generally no spices in the dish because the slow-cooked meat provides all the salt and flavoring needed for a tasty meal. However, feijoada is a heavy dish, so to aid in its digestion, she added a touch of ground farina on top of the beans, rockette salad with tomatoes and vinaigrette, and orange slices. We also had a little fizzy Coca-Cola.

Typically feijoada is served with rice and sausage such as chouriço, morcela (blood sausage), farinheira. It sometimes contains vegetables and/or beef. Different regions of Brazil use either black, red, or brown beans. Feijoada is typically eaten for lunch on the weekends with friends or co-workers and it is intended to be a leisurely dish to eat while watching sports.

Stories about its origins differ. For example, one claims that it came from among the 4 million slaves who were brought to Brazil from the Sudan (present Liberia, Nigeria, Dahomey, and the Gold Coast); the Bantu (present Angola, Mozambique and Zaire); and the Islamic African countries. They stewed the black beans they were given for food and then added the pork leftovers from their masters' kitchens. The slaves also ate manioc and fruit.

Feijoada at one time was a political issue because it was considered a dish of the slaves. Some time after the abolition of slavery in 1888, the dish was banned. Then, of course, people began eating it in secret. After the ban was lifted (I can't find references as to when), the stew is now enjoyed by both the upper and lower classes only the upper classes eat it with meat and vegetables while the poor mix their beans with manioc flour.

Another story about the the dish, according to Rodrigo Elias, is that feijoada was served to the "urban slavocratic elite" in restaurants in Brazil. References from the Diário de Pernambuco of August 7, 1833, indicate that the menu at the Théâtre Hotel in Recife, was “Fe oada à la Brazilian.” In Rio de Janeiro, an advertisement in the Jornal do Commercio dated January 5, 1849, references Fe oada served in restaurants patronized by the “good society”.

Other Internet authors (Sarah Brown, Sarah Rallus et al, Wiki) claim that feijoada had its origins in Portugal, which was colonized by the ancient Romans. Soldiers then introduced the stew all over the empire where it remains a common dish even today. For example, the French have a version of feijoada served with white beans that they call "cassoulet." Northern Italians call it "cassoeula." Romanians cook "facile cu cornet"  while those in northwestern Spain make "fabada asturias." The stew also spread beyond the Roman Empire to Poland where they call it "tsholem" and "golonka."  

The Portuguese also introduced feijoada throughout their empire. Today, the dish is also served in Macau, Angola, Cape Verde, Mozambique, and Goa, India.

French Cooking Class

As I was preparing to go to France last summer, I thought about some of the things I wanted to do. Taking a French cooking class was one of them.

I had the opportunity to register for a 2-hour class in Lyon, just two blocks from where I was staying. (It's amazing to me how many things are available in this neighborhood!)

L'Atelier Gourmand offers classes for 49 euros, which includes instruction, food, facilities, tools, and a little box to bring the food you cook home.

We made filet mignon, goat cheese rosette, mango chutney, glazed carrots, rum cake. Fun to make and delicious to eat!

Goat cheese rosette as our entree

Filet mignon with glazed carrots and a mango/raisin/lime chutney side dish as our plat.

And here are the rum cakes. I shared them with the sisters I was staying with, who enjoyed them very much.

Pierre, a chef of seven years, was our instructor. Here he explains how we will cook the filet mignon.

Among the things he taught us was how to peel an onion without crying (don't cut the root). He showed us how to make a flower out of pastry, which was wrapped around the goat cheese. He also demonstrated how to grill the meat in a hot pan.

Here are my cooking buddies: Pierre and Guillaume. They really helped me get through the class, which was in French. I'd watch what they were doing.


Pierre gloats over the beautiful goat cheese rosettes.

One of the nice things about cooking class is that you get to eat what you make. The filet mignon was topped with a parsley, olive oil, coriander and lime sauce. Delicious!