Monday, June 7, 2010

Dax, France

Where to go from Armagnac? It was an interesting dilemma. Sadly, getting to Barcelona or Madrid was nearly impossible. I was without a phone, and without a positive response from my friends of a friend in Madrid as to whether or not they were at home or if they had a place to stay. I tried to arrange some couch surfing and a van ride to barcelona to no avail. So what to do?

Step 1) Open up a big-ass map.
Step 2) Locate yourself
Step 3) Locate all the "resaonably close" places (athens is not reasonably close to gascony)
Step 4) Check Train/plane/bus schedules
Step 5) Go somewhere.

After this short amount of debate (in my head) the decision was clear.
San Sebastian, Spain is next up on my crazy euro tour.

How to I get there? Well, it turns out Dax, France has a car rental return and the train to San Sebastian is not far or expensive. Moreover, the train to San Sebastian runs nearly every 30 minutes. So down to Dax I go. I see that the next train leaves in a few minutes. Go to buy the tickets, success. Off to San Sebastian.

One small problem... The car rental return is not open. I forgot about that whole two hour lunch thing. So I go inquire about using my ticket for a later train. The guy says, no problem. I say excellent. But now I have to wait for several hours to return the car. Well, what should I do? Simple solution: Walk around Dax for a few hours.

What I found: Dax is a charming little town in southwest france. They love rugby and taking long lunch breaks. Beer, wine, and all manner of other french beverages are readily available. In addition, there are several beautiful little grocery stores selling fresh fruits, cheeses, and quality meats. Not realizing that the train was truly only 90 minutes to the border, a store got some business from me. I think the whole purchase was inspired by Jenlain Amber Biere de Garde. I FINALLY found my Biere de Garde. So off with my Biere de Garde, some camembert, some fresh greens, some bread, tomatoes, and some meat. Also had to buy a small knife. My total bill came to something like 15 euros. Not bad at all. The single sandwich + beer lunch at the local pub was about half that. So, I got to eat most of a loaf of bread and double the beer (not available at pub) etc. Had a nice lunch waiting on the car rental to reopen.

I decided I could live in Dax if a job became available. It's really close to Spain, really close to Armagnac, and on the ocean. Beautiful little town, in which life does not seem in any way rushed. My guess is that it's the sleepy little sister town to Bayonne or Biaritz which are just a little further down the coast toward spain.

A night with the kids

It is possible that God was amused with my timing for my vacation. It seems that everywhere I went, the local place was on holiday. While it is certainly true that Europeans take vacations more liberally than Americans (which is a good thing), I didn't realize that everyone staggered their vacations in such a way. I have no way of knowing for certain (other than intuition, and mine is very bad) that Europe scheduled their vacations just to spite me. So it is. France has holiday until May 1. When was I in France? Until April 29... Labastide D'Armagnac was already quiet and sleepy, but I went when no one was there. No visitors, no locals, no one. Luckily, the Bouglons WERE there so I had a place to sleep. The single fortunate thing about being at Chateau du Prada during those days was the fact that the children (early 20 somethings) were there doing some maintenance on the estate along with several of their friends. So, on the second night in Armagnac I found all the kids sitting in the parlor directly adjacent to the room in which I was sleeping, listening to music, smoking, and generally having a gay time. So I joined them.

What ensued was an excellent evening. The oldest son speaks a touch of english. More than I speak French, so we got on just fine. He asked me, "Do you like Armagnac?" I wasn't sure if he meant the geographical place or the drink of the same moniker produced therein. So I asked which he meant, and he said, "the drink, of course." I told him, my whole reason for showing up was to drink some brandy. So he went and fetched a couple bottles that were "just sitting around." When he returned he was carrying two bottles, one a 1992 Colombard and a 1994 Folle Blanche. I was amazed at these bottles that were just sitting around. I'd already consumed way too many armagnacs that day, and here he was with two more amazing bottles. So, what to do? That's right, drink up. In the meantime, I'd collected on my travels, some brandy from Lebanon, and was also carrying around some of my own moonshine. So I made a paltry offer in return. What struck me as extremely odd was the fact that the kids living in a chateau famous for its distilled product were shocked that I knew how to distill on my own. So I let them taste and smell my 70%+ concoction. The consensus, "It's too strong." Well I KNEW that...

After we all got a little more tipsy and they kids all smoked a pack more of cigarettes the piano playing began. That's when I think I impressed them the most. Again, strangely, in a house with several beautiful old pianos, no one had taken much time to learn beyond that of a novice. Well, it was fine. In one sense I wish I'd stayed an extra night so I could hang with the kids once more, but alas, they were working, and returning back to school and other duties on May 1, and I was on vacation enjoying their hospitality.

Final, interesting thought. The eldest son of Baron Phillipe Bouglon does NOT speak his native Gascogne. I figured in a family as prominent as such that the language tradition would actually be carried down. But no. In Labastide D'Armagnac, Gascogne is a dying language. Therefore, I didn't get to learn any gascogne words or funny phrases involving drinking.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

A Conversation with Martinne Lafitte

Domaine Boigneres. I may have mentioned it (54 times). To my mind, it is clearly one of the finest brandy houses in all the world. It's offices... Right in the quaint village of Labastide D'Armagnac. Nice! I had the Bouglons call Martinne Lafitte and ask if I could stop by. She had some schedule to keep, which confused me, because nothing seems to go very fast in that part of the world. Nonetheless, she said I could come by at 4:30 PM. So I did. Funny enough, I showed up directly after visiting Chateau Briat. I had already had a few full servings of brandy and maybe a small glass (or two) of wine. Luckily for me, I made it safely back to Prada and was within a short walk (everything is within a short walk in labastide d'armagnac) from Boigneres. It turns out the vineyards are some 9km away from the actual office, which is simply Martinne Lafitte's house. I showed up and there was a gardener outside who pointed me to the front door. When Martinne showed up, she said in her extremely thick French accent "Ah, you want to taste!" Oh boy... It could have turned into a really rough time if I weren't concentrating so hard on trying to fumble my way through french and english as she did the same. Her english is stronger than my french. Thank God.

Out comes bottle #1, 1989. Oh my god, fantastic. We sit and chat, and I ask her everything I can possibly think of about brandy, whiskey, wine, beer, france, spain, her football interests, etc... It turns out, she actually doesn't know THAT much about brandy. What she knows is how to make a supremely good one. I suppose, when you have at your disposal (literally) hundreds upon hundreds of bottles of the finest ever made you don't need to worry about knowing everything about everyone else's brandies. No worries, she knows armagnac and cognac pretty damn well, and has favorable opinions about Spanish brandy. Good enough for me.

Second taste, 1984. Five years better than 1989.
Third tast, 1981. My birthyear. Apparently 1981 was a better year than I remembered...
Fourth taste, 1979. This was the disappointment of the lot. Basically, that was a really bad year for grapes in Armagnac. They only had a good yield of ugni blanc grapes. In case you don't know, Ugni Blanc are the grapes from which Cognac is primarly made. It is part of the big difference in the styles. Ugni Blanc are mostly boring, flat grapes, that distill well in pot stills. In column stills they are used to fill in gaps in other grapes. But to throw them into a column still alone, and allow that to be 1979's brandy. Well, it wasn't as good as 1981.

Fifth Taste, 1976. Complete obliteration is upon me, but I'm still hanging in there letting my taste buds have the ride of their life and making my brain work to keep up my french. At this point, Martinne started telling me a story about a man who'd grown folle blanche (armagnac's pride of grape varietals) in california and had made an armagnac style brandy. She said it tasted good, but there was no terroir. I was amused, sort of. I do NOT have the sophistication to taste the difference between distilled grapes on the basis of location. Varietal, sometimes, location, definitely not. This brandy, however, might be the single best beverage that has ever run across my lips. That's saying a lot. It could be that I was actually getting toward inebriation, or the fact that I'd just tasted a "disappointing" brandy, but my god it was good.

Sixth taste, 1975. Good by cruel world. Thirty four years in a barrel. That's a lot of dedication! Well, it shows. Apparently 1975 was NEARLY as good a year as 1976 for boigneres' grapes. I still think the 1976 was slightly better, but perhaps Domaine Boigneres 1975 is the SECOND best beverage that has ever run across my lips.

At the end, Martinne, told me she had an appointment with the vet at 6. She has a very old, very cute cat, with cancer. Poor baby! She's a cat lover too. Totally awesome. Thanks Martinne for the chat and the brandy. The effect was not lost on me!

Chateau Briat

In my running around in Armagnac I had contacted a man by the name of Jean du Mareil. He works at Chateau Briat and is the original source of sending me the way of M. et Mme. Bouglon over in Labastide D'Armagnac. He has also informed me that I'd be able to sample some of the armagnacs at the estate. I definitely wanted to visit.

With the rental car I went over to Briat. It's about 10km away from Prada and not too difficult to find. It's a little out of the way, but then again, so is everything in Armagnac.

Before I had arrived, Stephane De Luze (the proprietor) had told me he'd be available and that I'd meet with him. He in fact is the sole heir to the company and the estate. Luckily for me, he speaks English since he did his university studies in the United States. A sad fact about him is that he came into the business by force. A little more than 5 years ago his parents died in a car accident and he, being the eldest son, immediately assumed the role of owner proprietor. Intrestingly enough, he doesn't do any of the distillation himself, but in fact ONLY takes care of the cellar and barrels. Someone else tends to the vines, makes the wine, bottles, etc, etc. I should also mention, that Briat is a tiny estate. Only 8 acres of vineyards. Basically each job requires one person only. There is one lady who bottles all the bottles BY HAND. I had no idea that distilleries still did that. I guess this is a small time operation and there is no need for huge automated machines performing every duty 1000 times a minute.

During my little visit, I got to tour the vineyards. In late April, grapes are beginning to grow and therefore I didn't get to eat any off the vines. I did, however, get to drink some of the finest brandy on this planet.

Quick aside: If you're really into brandy, might I suggest the following Armagnac houses...
Briat
Boigneres
Lacquy
Darroze
Prada
Tariquet

So, since stephane takes care of the cellars, we went through and he siphoned out a little brandy and wine from barrels. Apparently, not everything can be distilled, and so he keeps a few barrels of wine around as well. He's also interested in making a fortified wine, but I doubt that type of product will pick up much steam. Perhaps, for personal use. Amongst the things I got to taste were a glass of 2009 that had spent only 4 months in the barrel, a 2004 for straight from the barrel, and a 1987 (Baco grape only) straight from the barrel. The 2009 was shockingly mature. I think the grapes came out well, and the brandy took the correct mix of grapes from last year's harvest. In addition, the barrel is brand-spanking new, and so the coloration is happening rather more quickly. Forget all that though.

I tasted the 1987 straight from the barrel. If there has ever been a treat for anyone as great as that... I do not know what it might be. I was able to drink 23+ year old armagnac straight from a barrel. I should also mention that Stephane does not mix brandies often and almost never "tops up" (fill up one barrel once some liquor has evaporated). He's extremely dedicated to the quality of his beverage and it shows. He pumps air through an old barnhouse to let the armagnac breathe and has a particular way of stacking barrels to make sure certain brandies get more air than others. I was totally impressed. So, this brandy was sitting at around 44% ABV which means it's been sitting in a barrel long enough to lose about 13% alcohol to evaporation and pick up a really deep color (naturally, not by coloring additive).

Brandy nerds, you are officially allowed to be jealous!
All in all, I'd say it was a good day.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Labastide D'Armagnac and St. Justin

The entire region of Armagnac is a subregion is Gascony. The local language there is Gascon and none of the younger generation speaks it really. However, I'm told that if you attend sunday services at the single church in the miniature town then you'll hear it spoken by the older generations. There is some debate about where this language and group of languages (occitan, aranese, etc) as to whether it is a romanace language (primarily) or a language developed from Basque and Latin. In any case, the younger generation is allowing it to die slowly.

Labastide D'Armagnac is a booming metropolis of about 700 folks. There is one bar, 2 restaurants, a church, and a bunch of distilleries! Included in Labastide's populus are The Bouglons (of chateau du prada) as well as Martinne Lafitte (of Domaine Boigneres). If you don't follow the brandy world much, Martinne Lafitte is the proprietor of what some consider the finest brandy house in all the world. I don't know if it's the single best house ever, but it's in the top 10 without any question and little thought.

The problem for my stay there is that I was there at the end of April. Apparently the French are on Holiday until May 1. Apparently everything comes back to life after May 1. So I walked around the streets for some time, found THE bar, and the restaurants which were closed and realized there wasn't much else happening in that town. Luckily the Bouglons told me about another restaurant in the next town over of St. Justin. Hotel France. An original and inventive name for a hotel in france I thought. It turns out that they have an exceptional prix fix 4 course menu every night. Wandering around St. Justin, you'll find a carbon copy of Labastide except that at the end of town there is a fire station and a school and a library. Otherwise not much is happening there either. It's an interesting place. It's like a ghost town when everyone is on holiday, but I suspect I'll make another trip back as soon as possible.

Chateau Du Prada

My temporary house in Armagnac. It's an old, old mansion that has housed the same family for several hundred years. Currently the home to M. et Mme. Bouglon. That is Baron Phillipe de Bouglon.

The house is simply gorgeous. It's set in the smack middle of Labastide D'Armagnac (a booming town of nearly 700 residents) just behind the public park and the big catholic church. At the Chateau, Mme. Bouglon cooks breakfast for all the visitors (not so many during my stay, just a few others kids, mostly helping with farmhouse repairs and whatever else). The breakfast is fresh orange juice, freshly baked bread, eggs from her hens, and bacon from her pigs, cooked by her, in the kitchen. Oh my many many many many gods, what a treat! The rooms of course were stunning, several old pianos and old busts of old dead family members, oh and did I mention... Housemade Armagnac!?!?!?

I HIGHLY recommend anyone going there if you have the availability!
Here's the link: Check it out, awesome stuff!

Le Chateau du Prada

Cliff beaches of Varkala

Kollam was boring. The house boat was beautiful, but boring. The people were friendly, but boring. Also, they have no sense of real customer service. So, Yvonne and I set off to Varkala. Lonely Planet had some good suggestions, and we decided to take them up on their suggestions. Despite being mildly anti-taj, we stayed in a Taj hotel in Varkala. The room wasn't that cheap, but wasn't really that expensive either.

Varkala is famous for one thing, and one thing only. The cliff. Since Varkala is so far south in India (on the west coast) the water is much cleaner. It's crystal blue. All the industrial crap from mumbai and pune and the other big cities which dump filth into rivers and tributaries leading into the ocean are far enough away that varkala hasn't YET been ruined. (However, I don't put is past the Indian people to completely trash it too.)

So, the cliff... The Arabian Sea is gorgeous, and the beach is only about 100 meters deep before you hit a big cliff. By a big cliff, I mean something like 200 meters straight up. Directly on top of the cliff, right to the very edge are hundreds of little shops and restaurants. Varkala is overcrowded with european tourists (many of them russian) and the cafes and restaurants TRY to cater to that. They fail, but at least they try. I was so sick of curry I went to an italian restaurant that claimed to serve "authentic" italian food, so I ordered the Penne. Oops. I should have known better after having been in India over 5 months not to order "authentic" italian food. What an Idiot. Oh well. We strolled up and down the cliff several times jumping in and out of shops, using internet cafes and catching some time in the shade. From the top, the view of the beach is fantastic. It's really an incredible sight. No two ways about it.

From the beach though, the view is entirely different. Looking up at the cliff which is completely composed of red clay and strong roots that have been brave enough to grow on the side of a precarious cliff one can see throngs of tourists haggling with tibetans and kashmiris from afar. There is a little yelling that makes it way all the way to the beach. Looking just below all the shops and restaurants you'll see something that reminds you that you're in India. No matter how nice and pristine a place is, if you're in India, you cannot escape India. The gorgeous cliff is completely covered in trash. Thousands upon thousands of water bottles litter it, along with newspapers, unwanted magazines, wasted food, umbrellas and anything else people have "dropped" over the side. A f*ckin' mess. One would expect that something so beautiful might garner at least a little more respect, but then again, I'm an anal retentive American. I believe we should handle our garbage correctly. I think we should hire people and services to collect, compress and recycle our garbage and NOT THROW IT ON THE SIDE OF A BEAUTIFUL CLIFF at an otherwise beautiful beach. Ugh.

Well, all told, go to the top of the cliff and look down and you won't be so disappointed. Just try to avoid anything called "italian" food while there. I highly recommend the seafood.

Paris street food

Who loves crepes? I for one, certainly do. What about sugar waffles? I like those too. How about Doner Kebabs? Count me in. Street side cafes with any manner of delicious coffee, wine, beer, and artisinal lemonade? Often serving beef tartar, shell fish, and small sandwiches, graced at times with offal? Oh yes, can I have more?

India and the rest of Asia have quite an excellent tradition of street food. They have some extremely tasty morsels to be had, whereas the west generally frowns upon "street food." I'm here to say, SHAME ON US ALL for thinking that way. I remember one of the best things about Philadelphia was the abundance of food trucks. Those delicious greasy feast halls which are kitchens on wheels and covering every square inch of university campuses in the philly area are nothing at which to scoff!

So it is in Paris. Not everything mentioned above is actually "Street food" as we might classify it, but to be completely and utterly fair, most of it is, and I'll count the street side cafe.

In my attempts to see a more authentic paris and be away from tourists (when possible) I went to the Les Halles. Apparently the Les Halles were formerly a series and huge market stands selling anything that could be bought in Paris at the time. Also, because of all the food sold there, I'm to understand it was teeming with rats.

Well, now, it is no longer teeming with rats. Not visible ones anyone. That's right, invisible rats! Or at least a plethora of them have moved back underground. The les halles is currently a large shopping area with a beautiful fountain in the center. It is fairly close to the Notre Dame and also houses a few monuments which are odd in shape, and odder in location. In any case, amongst the shops, monuments, and lovers hanging out at the Les Halles, you'll also find some DAMN good street food. Les Crepes du jambon, fromage, et l'ouef. Oh my many gods, I haven't had a crepe that good since I lived in Philly. Ham, egg, and cheese. How can you go wrong? (Vegetarians excluded from this portion of the conversation). After one crepe, I decided is was good enough to have a second for dessert. I went with Nutella and banana for the second offering. Good stuff. What's that? Waffles for second dessert? Alright!

So, after stuffing my face full of goodness I take a little tour around the Les halles and allow myself ample time to get ready for more food. Well, I failed a little. In no more than 15 minutes I ran across a wine bar serving beef tartar. It was all over. That was the end of that afternoon. Lunch, then second lunch. I felt like a little hobit. I had to wait for dinner for hours and hours just to make sure I didn't eat myself into a frenzy (dangerously close).

A few days later... That's right Doner Kebab crepes. Oh my, if there were ever anything so devilishly good in the world, it would be truly hard to beat the idea of shawarma IN A CREPE! That is a disturbingly good idea.

Motorcycle Ride in Kerala

Kollam, not the most interesting town in the world. The nightlife is lacking. In fact, the daytime life is lacking as well. In fact, the only thing around is the big hotel conference center at which we were staying. So, one night we took the bus down to the next restaurant. The food there was mostly terrible, but at least we weren't trapped eating dinner at our hotel. The food probably would have been better, but we wanted to get the hell out of the hotel. All day sitting around is fun, except for the fact that it's not.

So: off we are to the local "restaurants" on the local bus. We eat, drink a little terrible beer, and decide after watching chennai get crushed in cricket that we should leave. Back to the local bus stop. Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting. A young man comes along on a motorcycle and drops his friend off at our bus station. He asks what the hell we two white people are doing at a bus station in kollam at that hour without anyone else. We tell him we're just going back to the hotel. He says he'll take us.
Yvonne is quite vociferous. "No, I'm not getting on that thing, especially without a helmet." I was for it from the beginning. After a little persuasion I finally convince yvonne that we should get our asses on a motorcycle and go with the flow. The guy turns out to be an excellent pilot. Swerving in and around big buses and trucks, small cars. All the three of us on a motorcycle built for two and no one wearing a helmet. We made it all two miles back to the hotel safely, and then got some terribly peculiar looks from the hotel guards and staff. Our motorcycle guy seeing that he will get in trouble if he stays too long, jets off into the Kerala night and we never see him again. If only our parents knew how crazy and irresponsible we were...