So slightly disheartened from my creepy encounter, I moved to the Southwest of France to work at a family run winery in Courbenac, part of Puy L'Eveque- of the Cahors appelation.

Lyon - Cahors: Six hours
Cahors - Puy L'eveque: 1 hour
Puy L'Eveque - Courbenac: a walk

Boring Details
After several confusing conversations on the phone with the mother of the winemaker whom I would soon come to know as Mamilette, I arrived at the home of Philippe, Maryline, Danis, Mamilette and Mamie Rose.

The family home dates back to the 16th century, and though of course their have been some renovations a tower at the center of the 'L' shape remains almost completely intact. Mamilette lives alone in the older wing of the house, leaving P, M, D, MR and a chicken to inhabit the part of the house which overhangs the cave and basement, in which all of the wine is bottled and labeled.
Across from the home is a small structure which houses the tasting room and a large kitchen that, twenty years ago, was used to slaughter and pluck chickens- but is now used to prepare confitures and other jarred goods. Pass through the kitchen, and you'll find yourself surrounded by chickens, a pig named PuPuce and a couple of alarmingly large rabbits for eatin'.

Behind the house is a large vegetable garden, rows of quince, fig, walnut and apple trees, tomatoes and blackberry brambles, a hectare or so of grape vines (an assortment of merlot, tannat, cabernet and malbec and a large black grape whose name escapes me.) To the left, there is a wall of shrubs, a pen full of geese and a large tank of fermenting vinaigre, beyond which is a large (now bare) wheat field lined with chestnut trees. At the base of the field closest to the garden and home, is the largest building on the property: the cave.

The cave is much larger and more modern than that of D.C in Beaujolais, though it is nonetheless at least thirty years behind most wineries you'll find in California. In the first room, there is a large stainless steel (inox) lined tank that rotates on it's side, guided by chains, into which the grapes are pumped upon arrival. Depending on whether P. is making a Cahors, Vin de Pays or Rose, he uses the tank to circulate the wine (in place of pumpovers) or for maceration and then the grapes and juice are pumped into the press or directly into a tank. The remaining three walls are lined with a total of seven cement tanks with small portholes at the top.
In the adjacent room, two walls are lined with oak barrels. Freestanding circular open tanks occupy the other walls, along with several small, newer stainless steel tanks which P. seems to use mostly for grape juice and Rose. He also has a pasturizer, makeshift equiptment for controlling temperature, and an antique press that his father used to use.

The Grapes
A.O.C. Cahors wine can contain Malbec, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Tannat, though Phillipe uses 100% Malbec (Cot) for his. Like most french winemakers, P. hasn't had a successful harvest since 2006. Last year was a 'catastrophe!' and this year, early spring rain destroyed the flowers on the vines, resulting in a meager harvest throughout France) but in more abundant years he produces pure Merlot and Cab. Sauvignon, in addition to using the other varieties to make Vin de Pays de Cahors.

Although the grapes approved for use in Cahors differ from those of nearby Bordeaux (Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Cabernet Franc) the style and techniques of winemaking are similar enough that I feel very fortunate in my little exposure to small wineries in france to have been exposed a bit to Burgundian techniques in Beaujolais, and Bordeauxian ones in Cahors. (It's a bit of a stretch- but at my novice level, I think it's fair!)

Bio
P. Is passionate about producing organic wine- but not in the militantly 'green' way that you might expect. P.'s father made the decision to go organic in the early eighties, because he believed in traditional methods of viticulture and that the end result was finer, more delicious. P. agrees, and has taken the further step of absolutely never using sulfites- a common preservative used in wine and beermaking to keep bacteria in check once fermentation is complete which even most organic producers use. He's firm in the belief that sulfites are unhealthy and on par with chapitalization- the addition of sugar to wine to boost alcohol content or spurr fermentation in wine- to add them is to cheat and cheapen your wine.

When walking through P.'s vineyards, one is immediately struck by how healthy the grapes and vines and rows are. In stark contrast to the weed choked vines of V's in Beaujolais, from which we harvesters emerged fully covered in brambles and spiny little seeds- it's clear that P. is a skilled viticulturalist who values the quality of his grapes above all. He approaches winemaking as a gardener and a botanist, as opposed to as a chemist or a cook- ready to season his wine with sugar, superyeasts, oak chips and sulfites.

And why shouldn't he, when they are the sole ingredient in his wine? The grapes are destemmed and dropped into a tank- and the rest is a miracle of chemistry. The yeasts that grow naturally on the skins of the grapes interact naturally with the natural sugars that concentrate in the grapes, which are picked at the peak of ripeness, and produce as much alcohol for the wine as can mathmatically occur in a given season- though he aims for 12-13%.. He allows fermentation to occur for as long as is necessary for density to reach 900 before barreling the wine, and that's it.
And how's the wine?

We drank this years new wine- not fully fermented and bracingly tannic with chestnuts, a tradition in Cahors. The quality of the wine hasn't seemed to suffer however meager the harvest was- and P. comments daily on how incredibly black the wine is this year. It seems to be the case throughout Cahors, as P. and his winemaking peers babbled excitedly a bout it at the friday market in Prayssac.

In addition to the unforgettably delicious Vin de Noix I already described, the greatest treat of all at D.A was the bottle of 2002 Cuvee Danis that Philippe pulled out on my last night. I enjoyed it so much that he insisted on sending me home with a bottle. Only six years old, it is already supple and rich with currant and berries, soft and spicy flavors and beautifully colored- truly representative of the 'vin noir' that makes Cahors famous. I will be sure to heed his advice and hang on to it for a while before drinking it. Given how little I know about wine and how few bottles I have to my name, I feel really lucky to have such an emotional bond to this particular bottle, to have something to treasure and anticipate.

A footnote: On my first day of work, I was amused when Maryline and Philippe asked me if I liked Robert Parker. I told them that I thought he was full of it- and they told me that apparently he's rated Philipe's wine! They haven't seen the ranking, and I'm looking forward to seeing what he tasted and what he thought...

Salted cod in red wine Roux

salted cod- soaked over night and rinsed with fresh water before using
a full bodied red wine of your choice (we of course used Vin de Cahors- Malbec)
flour
water,
chopped onion,
garlic,
capers

Melt a dab of butter in a cocotte and make a roux, using flour and red wine in place of milk. Then add two cups or so of the red wine, 1 cup of water, onion and garlic. Reduce into a hearty, stew like texture. Meanwhile, flour and lightly fry the cod. At the last minute, add a generous amount of capers. Serve with boiled potatoes or over hearty greens, with the fried fish on top.

Out out, damned spot

NO matter how much I scrub, my hands are completely cut up and stained black with wine. I've also got a black nail from dropping something very heavy on my hands, and lots of callouses from shoveling all day and scrapes from thorns. If you know me at all, you can probably guess that I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself right about now.

My good intentions to keep those at home up to date on my exploits via the interwebs were clearly optimistic, as I have very little time to myself and even less on the computer. Today marks just a bit over a week in la belle France and much has befallen me since then. I reckon I'll just write when I can and chronology be damned- sorry if anyone actually intends to read and make sense of this stuff.

(To your right, you can see the stack of bottled but unmarked wine that is at our disposal in the caves. It's not for sale, just for the family and workers. We go through about ten bottles a day without so much as making a dent. It varies significantly from bottle to bottle but is consistently refreshing and light.)

The day I arrived and my first day of work went relatively well. In spite of only a few hours sleep and twice as many going from train to train as I made my way from the aeroport to Gare l'Abresle, I was in high spirits. Gazing out the window of the train and alert for any early sign that this trip was a good idea after all, I was encouraged by the sight of a pack of tweed-clad geezers. They were ranging an open field (with no game in sight,) rifles tossed cockily over their shoulders and beagles weaving inbetween their legs. The banlieues of Paris were visible in the backround. I had passed the duration of my overnight flight to Paris fretting over the question of what I expected to achieve this year. Was my impulse for adventure merely a foil for a more urgent developmental deficiency? The kooks in suits made feel no less Quixotic, but at least here was a sign that I wasn't alone.

One week in, I can report that so far I thoroughly enjoy the work of a winery in the full throes of harvest. I was warned by the other volunteers that the picking would break me, but on day two I found that the scenery was so beautiful and the excitement of picking grapes by hand, delivering the precious cargo to the tanks to undergo maceration is actually really fun for me. Within a few days I had shown enough interest (and maybe asked enough involved, nerdy questions about the winemaking process) that the winemaker and proprietor here invited me to work with him in the cellar in the afternoons, and some mornings while the others were picking.

For those who care, here are some interesting particulars about the wine and the process here at D.C. The grapes, all Gamay of course, are organic- bio. This means that as we sweep the fields in groups- the volunteers tend to be slow and whiny while the native and profession vendagers are hyper efficient and boisterous- we're constantly tripping over weeds and flicking slugs, snails and spiders off of the bunches. This year's yield has suffered due to too much rain, but not the quality of the grapes, Vincent assures me.

Once picked, the grapes are driven immediately to the caves, where we drop they by hand into the tank from a window above. It is an oddity of Beaujoulais wine that the grapes are not separated from the stems and thank goodness- as I'm sure we'd be doing it by hand. No doubt this level of detail is boring, but having only seen very modern and well endowed wineries in California I think it's fascinating- so indulge me as I explain this process. The tractor, bed full of bins of grapes, is pulled up alongside the outside of the cave. We stack large plastic bins on the tractor and lay a wooden board across the top to stand on, then hand up the bins (which must weigh about sixty pounds each) up to two people standing in the windowsill. The bins are tipped directly into the tank, afterwhich one or two people disinfects and stops around a bit to start the juice running and even out the mountain of grapes within the tank.

The grapes are left alone to undergo carbonic maceration for about five days for the Nouveau. (due to this years poor yield, D.C. will only make Nouveau this year- it's a pity.) Once or twice I day I get to do the pumpovers- or pump juice from the bottom of the tank back over the grapes from the top to allow more extraction of pigment and tannins from the skins. This is a twenty minute process per tank. I also get to tag alongside V. as he takes measurements of alcohol and density levels, to monitor the fermentation progress. Oh, and of course, I get to taste the juice when it first comes in and at every stage along the way. It's remarkable to be able to taste the individual character of the grapes from different vineyards- some taste spicy, of green pepper and chives and others of cherries and ripe fruit- and how much they change as the sugar ferments along the way.

Once maceration is complete, they are shoveled out by an elderly native who has taken a liking to me, calling me at turns 'Louise' and 'la belle Americaine," who is usually macerated himself. HE descends, naked cept for his grey astro suit-pants and a fork, into the 15 foot tank with little fear of the oh so toxic CO2 that makes him even more ridiculous than usual. I take it he's developed an immunity, because I get woozy when I'm up there with a hose for twenty minutes and have to sort of lean over the edge for fresh air. In any case, the grapes are shoveled through the porthole into a Dr. Seussian looking machine which involves a stainless steel basin which pushes the must aside into a tube by virtue of a giant screw, then pumps them vertically through the tube making absolutely desgusting noises as they go. It spurts, sputters and heaves as it goes and my job throughout this process is to physically prevent the machine from leaving the premises. The intense heat emenating from the tiny porthole of the tank and the fumes of gas are incredible.

Being such a small production with old and constantly broken equipment, this harvest has seen a series of small crises. V. alludes constantly to other career options and reasons he may sell the business, which his family has owned for hundreds of years. Some examples involve u-boat leakage scenarios from the doors of tanks, pipes that don't reach from one place to the next, a broken pressoir, and a contamination of grapes which reeked of rubbing alcohol. The solutions to these problems are primitive, labor intensive and infurating to Vincent, but pretty much fun for me to witness and help to solve: carring five tons of grapes in bins from one place to the next, fishing out contaminated grapes.

Also intersting to observe have been Vincent's highly dramatic relationship to the co-op in Bully who for some reason this year refuse to buy his grapes, his refusal to age anything in Oak, and the fascinating politics of the A.O.C appelations.

There is also the matter of how colorful the family is. Up until a dramatic denoument after only a week here, at which point I was no longer comfortable working with V., I was thoroughly enjoying my status as the designated cellar rat and first mate to the winemaker. But the rest of the family and the locals who help out with harvest are wonderful. The food is incredible and all lovingly prepared by V.'s mother, Colette. For lunch and dinner there are always four courses- starting with a soup made entirely from vegetables in her garden, usually just a simple soup of leeks, celery and carrots blended with one of those plastic blending wands right over the stove. Then comes some kind of salad, followed by meat and some kind of other vegetable. After the main courses, apples and peaches and other fruit from trees on the property are passed around along with several cheeses. Sometimes there is even dessert on top of that. It's just unreal.

I could go into even more detail about the family and lots of funny vignettes about them, but I should probably quit while I'm ahead as this is already obscenely long. When I next write, It will be to tell you about where I've relocated to after the event which I cryptically alluded to above...

I'll leave you with an example of how beautiful it is here:






With love,

Lise