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French Wine Writer
I bet you’ve noticed – that every time think you’ve got things pretty well sussed out in your little world, when you think you’ve got a handle on the way things work, what needs to be done, by who and how – you get an unexpected wake up call – (and aren’t those the best kind?) that says – “YO Mr. Certainty. Time to update yer brain!”
Yes, dear reader, as you have by now no doubt surmised – it has happened to DA BG. While I can still get my hat on, I used to think I was the only card carrying stranger from the far away lands adventuring through the French Country backroads. Until Robert Camuto popped up on my radar.
Although M. Camuto is adventuring through the French country backroads, he is not, as far as I’m aware, doing it by bicycle. Or filming it. Other than a promo clip or two. For his book. That’s right, like DA BG, Robert Camuto is an Author. Whose French Wine adventuring is the subject of his book – “CORKSCREWED.” So, we have Authordom in common.
But the prolific M. Camuto is one up on DA Mighty BG there, as he’s birthed a second tome – “PALMENTO” extolling the joie de vivre of Sicily it’s people, and, bien sur, it’s wine. I’ve previously adventured and filmed in Italy, and, eventually I would have gotten to Sicily. Hard cheese for DA BG. Kudos to M.Camuto.
Unlike DA BG, Robert Camuto is a real-I-went-to-school-and-got-a-degree writer.(Columbia University) From there; freelance writing, runs his own paper, marries beautiful French girl(they are the best kind…..another point of commonality), has son, moves to South of France. (Like Peter Mayles, like Grahame Greene, like……)
So far, M. Camuto and DA BG have’nt clinked glasses. But, two writers, both Americans, surfing the French country backroads, sharing the lives of remarkable people in incredible locations(often with extraordinary wine!), well………could be in da cards, n’est ce pas?
Robert Camuto’s adventures continue HERE.
THROW ME A BONE HERE PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
French Wealth
France has made me wealthy. Not from the sales of my videos, my photos, my music, my book, or my (coming soon) tee-shirts, mugs, iphone apps, bumper stickers and monogrammed underwear. Nada. We’re talking about another kind of wealth here, folks. The kind you can’t buy. The “up close ‘n personal kind.” Happily, I gots it in truckloads.
It’s wealth I’ve gathered…..more accurately…..that has been bestowed upon me during my of filming “Bicycle Gourmet’s Treasure of France.”
Although these”memorable meetings with remarkable people n incredible locations” have been 90%”one nighters”, the bond forged between the locals and the exotic stranger from the far away lands has been strong and constant.
Case in point – This mail I received recently, from folks I spent a night with FIVE YEARS AGO : “Your visit stays in our memory and the door is always open for you here.” Don’t get much richer than that, do it?
And that’s just one of many. Every holiday season, every excuse to send a card , a letter or an email, I get remembered. Just for being me. And that’s the point of this ramble, folks. I’m nobody special. Just someone who followed his heart in the best way he knew how. And because of that….BECAME SPECIAL to the people(of all nationalities) I’ve been fortunate enough to meet in my backroads travels.
What does all this mean for you? – Quite simply, everyone has a gift. Everyone has something of value to share. And your “unique quality” is most likely unknown to you. But others see it. And appreciate it.
The moral of this rant, dear reader : whenever you feel you’re “nobody special” – to somebody else, without even trying – you are.
For the French scholars in my audience, this mail from a French “Grandmere” who offered me(and I accepted!) her guest cottage for an extended stay –
de Jacques BREL( et cela reflète ce que je vous souhaite pour cette nouvelle année) :
Je vous souhaite des rêves à n’en plus finir et l’envie furieuse d’en réaliser quelques-uns.
Je vous souhaite d’aimer ce qu’il faut aimer et d’oublier ce qu’il faut oublier.
Je vous souhaite des silences.
Je vous souhaite des chants d’oiseaux au réveil et des rires d’enfant.
Je vous souhaite de résister à l’enlisement, à l’indifférence, aux vertus négatives de notre époque.
Je vous souhaite surtout d’être vous.
Enough warm n’ fuzzy blah blah for ya?
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya Thinkin’?
French Christmas Fiesta
Like most of us, the French don’t like to be cold. So, when vines become grapeless skeletons, terrace lunches are only for polar bear club members, and it’s dark by four thirty; those that can afford it head to the sun. Typically, Morroco, Tunisia, or the French isles of Guadeloupe and Reunion.
The ones who can’t – The ones in those hilltop villages with no multiplex – No twenty-four seven supermarket – No videos-r-us; They eat. They drink. And they tell stories. Used to be, in simpler times, they did that in the excited states. The travelling storyteller was a respected and welcome guest. An “Oral Historian” who kept traditions, heritage, and regional humor, alive and vibrant.
They still got ‘em here folks. Here’s how it works: The regional cultural council sets up a series of “Contes” (story evenings) in villages throughout the area. These nights of food, wine and tall tales are hosted in the local community center. (Salle de Fete) For ten to twelve Euro, you get : A choice of two aperitifs; as the storyteller launches into round one. As my “got the froggie tee-shirt” readers know – The French are not renowned for vegetarianism. Alors, Quelle surprise round two of “stories-be-us”, is accompanied by a plate of cold cuts (“charcuterie”) along with wine number one. When this action winds down, it’s time to circulate, commiserate, and appreciate an exhibition of local art.
The main course(usually chicken or lamb) arrives chaperoned by wine number two. Accompanied by – you guessed it – more stories! Naturally, by this time, after one or more aperitifs, at least two glasses of wine and the grub, the assembled multitude are feeling no pain. And the story teller is feeling his oats. (And you thought this was a family evening. Silly you!) The story teller is now definitely on a roll. And tho’ his humor is past borderline risqué, his double-entendres, register only on the adults. Then, just when you think these folks could’nt possibly be any happier, guess what? You’re right. Wine number three!
At this point, the locals are seriously inter-acting with the man-o-many-words. Exuberantly investing themselves in the narrative and the spirit of the evening. Something that’s difficult to do with the slasher movie from videos-r-us. Aware of the French passion for chocolate, cream, and all things diet-busting, I know your taste buds are spewing rivers of saliva as you imagine – what’s for dessert!? Black Forest Cake? Kirsch- soaked. Studded with cherries? An orange extravaganza with alternate layers of hazelnut crème and pear puree?
The classic Profiteroles? Dark chocolate rounds stuffed with lightly sweetened heavy cream? Hard cheese for you, dear reader. Tonight’s “piece de la resistance”, although a French dessert classic, contains no chocolate. No cream. No exotic puree. No candied fruit. And – glorly gee to besus – no calories!
It’s a seasonal favourite. Served in a cone. Of warm newspaper. Does the phrase, “Chestnuts roasting on a open fire” ring any bells?
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
but not until sometime in 2011 – because after 52 posts in 8.5 months – DA BG needs a little r ‘n r. Even it it was’nt Christmas!
MY XMAS WISH : Be good to yourself. Be better to each other.
