Eugenia Keegan

The French are a strange mix when it comes to socializing. They are very private and an invitation to dine at someone’s home is a true compliment and sign of friendship and affection. But they love to bavarder and therefore the town cafe is a marvelous source of camaraderie and information. The town of Maury is no different. Many people think that sitting around the cafe is a post card picture of sipping rose (sorry can’t do accents on this device) with a cashmere sweater draped over the shoulders, no socks and gucci loafers. BUT, at our cafe the look is more vineyard grunge. Virtually any working person in the village works either in the vineyard or the winery and after a long day in one or the other a cold beer is just as welcome. An evening at the cafe is one of the true delights of our little town. I start this short photo journey with a shot of Pierre the most generous and even keeled proprietor.

This year we had a fun group of Brits in town to intern and/or make their own wines. They added a lot of color.

The final delight after an exhilarating morning of mushroom hunting is the meal that follows. Late afternoon was time to clean the bounty. By the time I arrived at the Calvets for dinner Jean-Roger and darling daughter Constance had cleaned our haul of craterellus (never to young to learn). Marie, with the assistance of son Hugo whipped up an omelette that tasted like no other.

The haul cleaned and prepped for the evening meal:

Constance relaxing after an afternoon of mushroom cleaning:

Hugo (on the eve of his 12th birthday) preparing the omelette:

Craterellus in the pan sizzling to perfection:

Preparing dinner is a family affair:

My first foraged meal:

What an unexpected joy to find something that is so much fun and edible too. My time has been soaked up with reading and the investigation of all things mushroom (I am now a member of the Oregon Mycological Society!).

I was soon dining chez Calvet and yammering on and on about mushrooms when Jean-Roger asked if I might like to head back to the forest the following day. I jumped out of my seat with youthful glee. It turns out (this really should not have come as a surprise) that Marie spent many weekends hunting mushrooms and truffles (sadly those forests have been completely destroyed by greedy hunters) when a child. The outings were lead by her grandfather (still alive and kicking but too old to ‘shroom) and her uncle, Jean-Marc. Jean-Roger made a quick call to Jean-Marc and the rendez-vous was set.

I could hardly sleep that night and was up early and waiting. We headed out in a different direction than the earlier expedition. The drive was a bit shorter. Finally we pulled over, grabbed our baskets and headed over pastures and into the forest. It was a very different day, cloudy, foggy and cool, but again the wind was quiet.

JM and JR made a quick sweep of the pasture floor.

Minutes later we were deep into the forest. JM whispered an “oh la la”, brushed aside a duff of leaves and exposed a beautiful outcropping of yellow craterellus the baby cousin to the chanterelle. Like a lens coming into focus it became clear that the forest was carpeted in these beauties.

We were home in time for lunch with an absolute cache.

The morning yielded such lovelies as the rose des pres or rose de Paris:

The pied de mouton

The pied bleu:

The saint michel:

The cariolette which is dried and enjoyed over the winter:

A smiling Jean-Marc after a successful morning of hunting and teaching the new enthusiast:

The weather has taken a turn here and winter has arrived. Although it is not cold out it is wet and windy. Really a day to sit by the fire but that is not my day. First, I don’t have a fireplace, but more importantly friends from Oregon are here today and we will be enjoying a leisurely French Friday lunch. Knowing that the afternoon will be very quiet (euphemism for nap) I thought I should get some work done early.

Hunting for mushrooms is serious fall endeavor for the southern French. Families spend weekends in the mountains gathering champignon and picnicking in the woods. And as the saying goes, “When in Rome….”.

Friends Carrie and Marcel had had a successful day hunting and gathering the week prior and as we had consumed the final catch in our pumpkin soup it was time to fill the cupboards.

We made an early start. The day could not have been more beautiful. The sky was a crystalline blue with one or two fluffy clouds. The wind was still sleeping off yesterday’s hangover. Almost two hours later we arrived at the most beautiful side of a mountain with the babbling brook and the forest floor sporting a copper and gold carpet of leaves.

It is amazing as you first look about and see just the forest and then slowly the magic presents itself.

Carrie packed a delicious lunch enjoyed after a full morning of gathering. We brought along a frying pan and olive oil for an added lunchtime treat.

We were joined on this outing by the great interns this harvest at Domaine des Enfants, Davide from Sardinia (yes, great coincidence since David and I were just there. Learned more about the treasured old vines of the island).

And Pascal from Switzerland.

The ‘shrooming bug has also bit Marcel and Carrie. As we drove the longer scenic route home we made many quick roadside stops when we spotted those little caps winking at us from the side of the road. And indeed, we were not alone in the hunt. This was a typical “look” as we drove homeward.

Final stop was at a small roadside cafe where we quenched our thirst and watched the sun slipping behind the mountains.

I arrived in Maury to the first sounds and smells of another vendage. The whites had been picked and were just beginning their transformation into delicate and aromatic wines. There was a decided break while waiting for the reds to reach optimal flavor and phenolic ripeness. The previous year had been hot, hot, hot with six brutal weeks of temperatures in the 90’s. This year was decidedly different. The sun made only an occasional appearance and was usually accompanied by wind. I had never seen wind damage like this before where actual full sized clusters were whipped off the vine….and so close to picking time.

Two thousand and twelve was already a year where weather had battered the vines. Hail in both April and August had lightened the load considerably and there was constant pressure from oidium. I immediately made a trip to each of my little vineyards (OK, at this point NOT my vineyards due to a weird banking snafu. The money was “lost” in transit…now really Wells Fargo, I’m supposed to believe that??).

La Mouriane, the more easterly vineyard is approximately 65 years in age. The vineyard is remarkably healthy and vines have a full canopy. This is particularly important here where the sun can be intense. The shade is greatly appreciated by the clusters and the winemaker. On first tasting the berries were still fresh and full of acid with the beginning flavors of red raspberry and black currant.

The westerly vineyard, Falgauayra sits on bare schist. The vines are closer to 85 years and they show their additional age. Canopy was sparse, but still a virulent green. The crop was small but the berries were juicy and succulent with black cherry notes supported by a distinct spiciness.

The low crop made for a slow easy harvest. Each day we would pick and process with very little backup or need to push. The fruit ripened slowly due to the cool weather and cloud cover. The acids remained high and the fruit maintained a lovely freshness.

We picked my fruit on the last day of harvest, October 4th. At this point the money for the vineyard purchase still had not arrived (it was getting downright embarrassing!). I had Wells put a trace on it and miracle upon miracles it instantly was found.

The boxes of grapes were put into the cooler (a refrigerated container) overnight so we could process the fruit cold. The morning of Friday the 5th we gently placed one cluster at a time on the conveyer, through the destemmer and then the berries were dropped onto the sorting table running at a very slow speed. Practically every berry was given a little smootch on the way to the fermenter!

After a celebratory lunch Jean-Roger (who was signing for my cousin, my partner in this purchase) and I drove the short ten minutes to Estragel to the office of the notary to sign the papers.

After 36 years in the business I finally have a little piece of dirt to call my own. Happy does not come close to a proper descriptor for my feelings. Not even sure”ecstatic” is adequate!